Chapter 167 Will you be my wife?
Chapter 167 Will you be my wife?
The ring on my left hand felt incredibly heavy, not because of the platinum band or the flawless, raw-cut emerald nestled between two diamond slivers, but because of what it had taken to put it there.
We were in the back of the grand-tourer, the city lights of the Redmoon capital blurring into long, neon ribbons against the rain-streaked glass. Rayder’s hand was warm over my knee, his thumb tracing slow, rhythmic circles over the silk of my dress.
Neither of us had spoken since we left the bistro. We didn't need to. My heart was still hammering against my ribs, a wild, fluttering thing that refused to settle.
I kept looking down at my fingers, my mind drifting straight back to the small, secluded human restaurant Elias had reserved for us on the southern edge of the sector. It had been an intimate, low-lit space—exposed brick, low-hanging amber bulbs, and a complete absence of guards, reporters, or political councils. Just the two of us at a small corner table that Rayder’s massive, nine-foot Lycan frame had nearly swallowed whole.
He had looked so out of place in that fragile wooden chair, his broad shoulders filling his tailored midnight suit, his golden eyes tracking every movement of the human waiter with the quiet, hyper-vigilant intensity of a predator trying to understand a menu.
I had been laughing at him, teasing him about how a Southern Alpha was supposed to handle a salad fork, when he suddenly set his wine glass down with a definitive clink. The humor had vanished from his face, replaced by a gravity so pure, so unyielding, that the air in the room had instantly thickened.
“Selene,” he had said, his deep bass vibrating through the table, cutting right through the soft jazz music playing in the background.
Before I could ask him what was wrong, he slid out from the booth. He didn't just stand up; he stepped to the side of the table, his eyes locked onto mine, and slowly, deliberately, dropped down onto one knee on the plush velvet carpet.
I had frozen, my fork hovering mid-air, my breath catching so hard it burned.
In the history of the territories, an Alpha did not kneel.
They did not bow their heads, they did not lower their posture, and they certainly did not bend their knee to anyone but the moon herself. It was against every ancient law, every shred of instinct drilled into their bloodlines from the moment they drew their first breath.
But as I sat there in that dim human restaurant, looking down at the giant who had commanded armies, he looked up at me with an expression of absolute, defenseless surrender.
He pulled a small, dark leather box from his jacket pocket, his large, scarred fingers handling it with an extraordinary, trembling care.
“I don't care about the customs of the old court, and I don't care about the laws of the plains,” Rayder had whispered, his voice rough with an emotion so raw it made my eyes sting. “You spent four years living in the dirt as Cyrus to avenge your blood, and you built a world where our son can breathe without a cage. I don't want to just be the Alpha you share a council table with, Selene. I want to be the man who holds your shield when you’re tired. I want to be your home.”
He snapped the box open, the emerald catching the amber light. “Will you be my wife? Properly. The human way, the wolf way, every way until my heart stops beating.”
The tears had broken past my eyelids before he could even finish the sentence. I didn't care about the waiter watching from the kitchen door, or the absolute absurdity of a nine-foot Lycan-blooded warlord kneeling on a human rug. I had thrown myself across the small table, knocking a bread basket to the floor, my hands flying to his face as I cried out the only words that made sense.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!”
The memory flared behind my eyes like a physical heat as the grand-tourer finally glided into the subterranean garage of the penthouse. The engine died with a soft electronic hum, leaving us in a heavy, expectant silence.
Rayder turned his head, his golden eyes catching mine in the dim dashboard light. The elegant, restrained gentleman from the restaurant was already starting to recede, the dark, territorial warmth of the Southern Alpha rising to the surface as his gaze dropped to my lips.
"We're home, Luna," he murmured, his voice a low, heavy rumble that sent a delicious, familiar shiver straight through my silk-clad thighs. "And Miss Eleanor has already checked out for the night.
The penthouse was dead silent when we stepped through the front door.
The sweeping glass windows showed the glittering expanse of the capital, but inside, the lights were turned down to a deep, amber twilight. The nursery door at the end of the long corridor was shut tight, a soft, green nightlight glowing beneath the frame—signaling that Winter was tucked away in his crib, hopefully dreaming of tractors and completely oblivious to his parents' return.
The moment the heavy front door clicked shut, the restraint we had maintained through the flashbulbs, the reporters, and the public dinner dissolved entirely.
Rayder didn't wait for me to take off my heels. His massive hands found my waist, lifting me off the floorboards so effortlessly it made me gasp, his mouth coming down on mine with a fierce, possessive hunger that had been building for three days. It wasn't the polite, measured kiss of a fiancé in a human bistro; it was the raw, heavy demand of a mate who had spent too many hours watching his woman wear silk in front of other men.
I wrapped my legs around his hips, my fingers digging into the thick fabric of his suit jacket as he carried me down the dark hallway toward the master suite. My clutch purse hit the hardwood with a dull thud somewhere near the kitchen, but neither of us cared.