try being the only sucrose intolerant unicorn in a species that spins sugar into magic!” A sheen misted his large brown eyes. “Do you know what they eat for breakfast in Unicornland?
“Cotton candy!” Wallis sobbed. “Cotton fucking candy. And for lunch, it’s jelly beans. And dinner—” his voice grew thick, choked with tears. “They, they gave me...hay. Hay! Just because I was different.” Fat, pearlescent teardrops slid down his long, elegant face. “They all laughed at me. They called me names.”
“Oh, Wallis.” I rushed over to him, wrapping my arms around his broad neck. “I’m so sorry.”
“Hanna,” Allan coughed.
“It hurt so much.” Wallis inhaled a long, wet sniffle.
“You poor thing,” I said, stroking his flank.
“Show me your tits,” came his hoarse whisper.
I drew back, looking him in the eye. “What did you just say?”
“It would make me feel so much better.” He batted his long equine lashes at me. “Really it would.”
“You son of a bitch!” I said, the realization dawning. “The laughing, the name calling. You stole that from Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer!”
“He’s my cousin,” Wallis said. “Isn’t that close enough?”
“Look, you,” Allan said, grabbing Wallis by the ears. “I’m going to call the caterer and have another cake brought. And you’re not going to touch it. You’re going to carry de bride down de aiswe. You’re goin’ to keep your mouf shut, and be a good unicorn, if you do right the rest of the time you’re here, I won’t report you. You understand?”
Wallis’ eyes widened. “I’ll be good. Promise I will. Just don’t report me, okay?”
“We’ll see.” Allan released Wallis’s ears as a pointed a stiff finger down the hall. “Go see Joseph ‘bout your weddin’ gear.”
The sound of hooves clopping against a wood floor echoed across the gallery until Wallis was out of sight.
Allan pressed his forehead against the wall. “If we get out of this weddin’ alive, it will be a bleedin’ miracle.”
“In the meantime,” I said, taking a dramatic step back to admire his ensemble. “You look fantastic.”
He wore a fitted black jacket over a white button up shirt and black vest. Below this was a kilt of red, green and blue tartan. Thick white socks came to just below his knee interrupted only by the laces of his black ghillie shoes. Hanging at his waist, the traditional tasseled Scottish sporran swayed in time with his panicked breaths.
“Breathe, Allan,” I said, completely unfamiliar with being the calm-ee in this scenario. “It’s going to be okay.”
“It’s not!” he insisted. “In a few minutes ‘is gallery is going to be full of werewolves, satyrs, nymphs, and God knows what else!”
“You forgot Crixus.” Who definitely fell under the what else category.
“Bite me ballocks! ‘Es here too, then?”
I nodded.
“Mark’s goin’ta kill ‘im you know. After what he done at the castle. Gonna skin him alive and wear ‘im like a scarf.”
“I’ll take care of Mark and Crixus,” I said. Somehow. “Just go make sure Steve and Shayla are ready.”
Allan closed his eyes took a deep breath, the unflappable mask of professional confidence dropping back into place. “All right, then,” he said, giving my arm a squeeze. “Showtime.”
Mark and I met at the top of the aisle, his dark eyes drinking me in from head to heels just as I’d hoped they would. Draped in Allan’s sartorial masterpiece, I felt bold enough to meet his gaze.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hi,” he answered.
We stood opposite each other just out of sight of the throng of seated guests, their excited buzz making a hive of the gallery. He offered me his suit coat clad arm as we shuffled to our place in the processional line. Paired up by height—or so Allan said—we were to be the caboose.
Kirkpatrick and Helena were in front of us, disparate height notwithstanding in consideration of their mated status. Pregnancy had tacked on a good thirty pounds since the last time I’d seen her, her rounded butt a hypnotizing juggling act beneath fabric the same pale green shade as mine.
Allan had met my shocked expression with the revelation that werewolf gestation periods were roughly equivalent to all wolf gestation periods. At forty days pregnant, Helena was more than halfway through, and Shayla wasn’t far behind.
“Nice sparkles,” Mark said, giving me a quick sideways glance.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I fixed my eyes straight ahead, trying to prevent little bursts of light from reflecting from my cheeks by keeping my head still.
We took a few steps forward and paused, waiting for Allan’s nod to signal our turn to