Boris made his way down the winding path to the house of worship, a serene smile plastered on his face as he greeted the wolves he passed. He paused several times to settle minor disputes among his pack members, a constant hum of apprehension growing stronger the closer he got to the glass dome. He couldn't shake the unsettling image of Trinity's blood, how it swirled with golden waves. The sight defied all biological norms, triggering a forgotten memory of an ancient book he had once read about the monarch.
Arriving before the grand structure, Boris felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over him. The dome was a breathtaking sight—a perfect circle of triangular glass panels, each one precisely fitted and welded with metal edges.
The morning sun danced off the crystalline surface, casting a kaleidoscope of light on the ground. He hadn't been to this sacred place to pray or give thanks in far too long. He could almost feel his mother's ghostly slap to the back of his head for letting his devotion lapse.
His mother, a devout woman, used to drag him here almost every other day. She believed that to be alive was reason enough to thank the Goddess. The gift of a long life, with all its joys and sorrows, was a measureless blessing that deserved constant praise.
He toed off his shoes, placing them neatly to the side before pulling the heavy door open. Inside, a hushed reverence filled the air. A few wolves prayed silently, some in their full lupine form, while others knelt, completely naked, their skin touching the earth to be as one with the sun and their Goddess.
Boris knelt, his palms pressed into the cool grass. He closed his eyes and whispered the ancient prayer. "Moon above, I run with you in time. Cast your protective glow around my family. Give me strength, give me guidance. I need your wisdom, Goddess. I will run with you in the fields of Nyx until eternity ends."
As he stood, a young boy's anguished voice pierced the quiet. "—cast your protective glow around my family. I beg you, Goddess, make me whole! You have to be real! You made wolves, you can't live broken!
Goddess, please, give me a wolf so I will no longer suffer. I promise I will run with you in whatever fucking field until eternity ends." The boy's voice caught, thick with tears.
Boris recognized the boy as George, a young defective, whose older parents had him late in life. Hearing the boy's desperate prayer made Boris's heart ache. He made a mental note to check on how the local high school was treating their defectives.
He walked past the praying wolves, making his way to a secluded library at the back of the dome. The library housed the pack's history, along with the sacred lore of the Queens who came before.
The librarian, Penelope, a woman in her mid-twenties, smiled warmly at him. She was dressed in a pristine white tunic with long, flowing sleeves, a silver cord cinched at her waist. It had a modest, yet official feel to it, a subtle nod to a clergy person's attire, but with delicate, fantasy-inspired silver clasps and embroidery along the cuffs. She bowed her head, exposing her neck in a sign of respect and acknowledgment of his rank. "It has been a while, Beta," she said softly. "Are you here to update some records?" Penelope was used to receiving a digital record of information to log into the archives; the beta rarely came in person.
"I am only here to read. No reports today," he assured her.
"It is true what they say, mates are of one mind. Alana has been here all morning," Penelope said, pointing over her shoulder to a table where Alana sat, hunched over a pile of books.
Boris felt a jolt of longing in his chest. He hadn't seen his mate in what felt like a lifetime. Her black hair, usually pulled back in a severe, perfect bun, had come loose in a few places, with several strands curling around her face. He could smell her enchanting scent from across the room. His instincts screamed at him to go to her, to hold her, but his better judgment held him back. He couldn't forget what she was doing, what she would do to their daughter. Even though their bond was unbreakable, he was struggling to forgive her.
A pang of envy shot through Penelope as she watched the beta stare at his mate. She longed for the day she would find her other half. Though she was already twenty-four, she still held out hope. She turned back to her desk and continued to archive the previous reports sent by the beta.
Boris, wanting to avoid any further rumors, located the books he was looking for. He took a deep breath before pulling out a chair directly across from Alana. She was so engrossed in her reading that she didn't notice him at first. He had turned off their bond, so she couldn't feel his presence. When she was this focused, the world around her seemed to vanish. He had always found it endearing.
The scrape of the chair legs against the floor and the thud of the books on the table made her jump. Alana looked up, her eyes widening with shock and joy. She had missed him so much.
"Bo," she whispered, the quiet nickname from the beginning of their relationship slipping from her lips.
"It wouldn't look right if I sat anywhere else," he said, his voice low so only she could hear. He opened a book, feigning interest.
Alana closed her book and reached across the table to take his hand. He flinched, pulling his hand away as if he'd been burned. Her heart ached, a jolt of pain radiating through the bond they shared, causing them both to wince.
"This is stupid! We are mates!" she protested, her voice a fierce whisper. She couldn't understand why he was punishing her, punishing both of them. The longer they stayed apart, the weaker their bond would become. It was unhealthy.
Boris reached across the table and picked up the book she was reading. He saw the pictures of partially shifted wolves, their contorted bodies a testament to the failed shifts of defectives. He flipped through the pages, his jaw tightening. She was still trying to find a way to make Trinity shift, even when this book showed the brutal reality of what could happen. Bones displaced, ribs protruding from faces, spines so twisted they created a permanent hunch.
He slammed the book back on the table and stood up in a fit of rage, his palms pressing into the wooden surface until it groaned under the pressure. He opened their mental link. When will you stop? he seethed.
I'm trying to help her. To fix her, Alana pleaded mentally. Pulling her hair from its bun angrily.
She's not broken, Boris snarled. His nostrils flared, and his hands trembled with fury.
She is! You just refuse to see it. She won't even be able to enter the fields of Nyx! Her body will decay, and she will turn to nothing. Is that what you want for her? she argued back, her voice echoing in his mind. Like him, she had been raised to believe in their Goddess, but she also believed that defective wolves were not recognized by her, and their bodies would simply vanish upon death.
Then it's not the true fields of Nyx if my daughter is not there.
Penelope, watching from a distance, felt a knot of awkwardness tighten in her stomach. She watched the mated couple argue silently, their fury a palpable force in the air. The tension was suffocating. She tried to look away, busying herself with a stack of scrolls, hoping they wouldn't notice her staring.
Boris let out a low growl, snatched his books from the table, and stalked off to an empty table on the other side of the room. He didn't care about the rumors that would surely start to circulate.
He opened his book to a random page, his eyes scanning the words. It is believed by all that the Queens are not made, but are born into their sacred role. From the moment of their first breath, they are bestowed with the divine abilities and natural leadership of their station. They are, from the very beginning, the strongest among us, possessing all the qualities needed to lead with wisdom and grace. When the pack finds itself without a Queen, it is not for lack of a worthy successor, but rather a sign that the goddess has not yet blessed us with her next chosen one.
He looked up to see Alana glaring at him viciously from across the room. He wasn't the only one pissed off. He tried to read, but he could feel her eyes burning into him. As she slammed a new book open on her table.
He turned the page. —testament to the goddess's favor, is marked by the crimson fire of their hair, a shade as vibrant as the setting sun. This glorious mane is said to be flecked with the purest gold, a reflection of the strength and divinity flowing through their veins. The more profound a Queen's bond with the goddess, the more her divine gifts manifest. Her hair deepens to a rich, molten crimson, and her eyes, once merely gold-flecked, burn with a radiance of pure light.
"Divinity flows through their veins," Boris muttered to himself, his mind flashing back to Trinity's blood, swirling with gold. He wasn't sure if the ancient text was meant to be taken literally or as a metaphor. He reread the passage, dissecting each word, wondering if any of it could apply to his daughter. Eyes flecked with the purest gold... He worried. Trinity's hair wasn't red, and her eyes weren't flecked with gold—they were completely golden. The text mentioned that those cherished by the Goddess would have eyes that "burn with a radiance of pure light." He didn't understand, but he was afraid he did.
His mind kept circling back to the pool of blood beneath Trinity, and he questioned if he could truly trust his Own eyes. He had to see her again to know what he would do next.
Author's note:
I have wanted to write a silent wolf argument. Because I think it's such a funny concept. Yeah I love this LOL. Vote, comment, and gift power stones. All the things I love.