Chapter 193: Wedding Bells
**Avery**
The days that followed the quad incident were a whirlwind of emotions. Relief, yes, that I hadn’t been seriously harmed, and a strange, almost exhilarating pride in my own strength. But mostly, a profound sense of being cherished, protected. Donn and Vincent had been beside themselves, their fury a palpable thing that made the very air crackle. Alden, too, had been unusually stern, his gaze holding a quiet promise of retribution for anyone who dared cross me. It was a potent reminder of the formidable forces now aligned with me.
The bullies, as it turned out, had indeed learned their lesson. Whispers spread like wildfire across campus, painting me as something of a legend, a force to be reckoned with. No one dared to even look at me the wrong way after that, and the path to and from the library suddenly felt a lot safer.
But the incident also served to solidify the mates’ resolve. The wedding talk, which had been a distant hum, now surged to the forefront of our lives, a roaring torrent I could no longer ignore.
“You don’t have to do everything yourself, Red,” Cassius murmured one evening, finding me hunched over a stack of bridal magazines, my head aching from the sheer volume of choices. We were in the living room of the mates’ campus house, a place that now felt more like home than any other. James was sketching something intricate on a large parchment, Clint was polishing a set of gleaming, ornate daggers, and Conner was, predictably, reading. Donn was attempting to braid my hair, his fingers surprisingly gentle, while Vincent sat by the window, his gaze distant, yet somehow acutely aware of every breath I took.
“It’s just… where do I even begin?” I sighed, tossing a magazine onto the coffee table with a thud. “There are six of you! Six! And a queen, apparently. Do I need six dresses? Six ceremonies? Do we invite everyone we’ve ever met? Dragon clans? Shifter families? What about my family? Oh, wait, I don’t have one.” A bitter laugh escaped me.
Donn’s hands stilled in my hair. “You have us, love,” he said softly, his voice a balm. “And that’s all that matters.” He leaned down and kissed the top of my head.
James looked up from his parchment, his intense gaze softening as it met mine. “Avery, sweetheart, this is *our* wedding. We want it to be what *you* want. We’ll handle the logistics, the security, the invitations – everything. You just tell us your vision.”
“My vision is currently a blurry mess of tulle and ancient dragon rituals I don’t understand,” I grumbled, but a flicker of warmth spread through me. It was nice to hear them say that.
“Let’s start simple,” Conner interjected, closing his book. “What kind of atmosphere do you envision? Grand and traditional? Intimate and wild? Something in between?”
I paused, picturing it. The beach house had been perfect for our intimacy, but a wedding… a formal bonding. “Something… natural,” I finally said, looking at the ocean through the window. “Outdoors, definitely. And powerful. Not just grand, but *powerful*. And I want it to feel like *us*.”
Clint grinned, sheathing a dagger. “Natural, powerful, and us. I think we can work with that.”
Over the next few weeks, the wedding planning became a joint effort, albeit with me as the creative director and them as the most efficient, formidable wedding planners imaginable. My initial overwhelm slowly gave way to genuine excitement.
The first major decision was the venue. We considered several options, from ancient, sacred groves hidden deep within shifter lands to the sprawling estates of powerful dragon families. But in the end, the choice felt obvious. “The cliffside where we first shifted, where we first truly felt our bond,” I suggested one day, a thrill running through me. “Remember that wild, beautiful meadow overlooking the ocean? It felt so right.”
A chorus of agreement met my words. It was a place imbued with magic, a place where our destinies had intertwined. It was perfect.
Next came the dresses. *Dresses*, plural, indeed. It started with one, a breathtaking gown of ivory silk that flowed like water, with intricate silver embroidery mimicking dragon scales along the bodice and train. It was elegant, ethereal, and utterly beautiful. But then Donn, ever the instigator, suggested, “What about something a little… less traditional, for the after-party, love? Something you can *really* dance in.”
This led to a stunning, shorter dress in a deep emerald green, shimmering with tiny sequins, designed to move with every sway of my hips. And then, Cassius, with a possessive glint in his eyes, whispered, “And for us, later, my queen… something that leaves little to the imagination, but promises everything.” That resulted in a third, a sheer, almost liquid garment of midnight blue, designed to highlight every curve, every nuance of my body for their eyes only. I blushed fiercely even thinking about it, but the idea of indulging their possessive desires was surprisingly thrilling.
The mates, true to their word, handled the guest list and invitations. It was a fascinating process, watching them navigate the complex politics of shifter and dragon society. Alden, of course, was given a place of honor, and he proved to be an invaluable resource, guiding us through ancient traditions and protocols. My dragon parents received an invitation – a gesture of closure, perhaps, or a quiet acknowledgment of the small part they’d played in my past, and let them have a front row seat to the woman I had become.
The days of James, Cassius, Clint, and Conner’s “pre-wedding quest” now made sense. They had returned laden with treasures. James presented me with a set of seven intertwining rings, crafted from a rare, shimmering metal I’d never seen before, each embedded with a different precious gem, representing our individual bonds. “They are attuned to your unique magic, Avery,” he explained, his thumb stroking my hand. “And to ours. When you wear them, our connection will be undeniable.” But where did he get them? They seem familiar, yet I know that I have never seen them before.
Cassius had brought back lengths of exquisite, almost impossibly fine silk, woven with threads of silver and gold. “For your veils, my queen,” he rumbled, his touch reverent. “Each of us will have a piece, binding us to you in a way only our kind understands.”
Clint, with a mischievous grin, unveiled a collection of ancient, beautifully carved musical instruments. “For the celebration! We’ll have music that speaks to the wild heart, darling.” He even produced a small, intricately carved wooden flute, perfectly sized for me. “And perhaps you’ll play for us sometimes?”
Conner, ever pragmatic, had procured a series of rare, shimmering crystals, each pulsing with a soft, inner light. “For the ceremony,” he stated simply. “They will amplify the natural energies of the location, ensuring our vows are witnessed by the very essence of the earth.”
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