The drums hit harder. Faster. Like they're chasing something out of the dark.
"Step forward," Elder Morvain repeats, voice carrying over the Circle.
One by one, wolves move toward the altar. Young men with their chins up. Girls with braids tight and eyes bright. Some look hungry. Some look terrified. All of them look like they're pretending not to care.
Selene nudges me with her elbow. "Don't laugh."
"I'm not laughing," I whisper.
She narrows her eyes. "Your face is doing that thing."
"My face is cold."
"That's not—" She cuts off as a woman near the altar gasps. A sharp sound. Like air being ripped from lungs.
Everyone leans in.
The woman's eyes go wide, then soften. Across from her, a man steps forward like he's been yanked by a rope. His hand lifts. Shakes. Then lands against her cheek like it's the only place it belongs.
A hush rolls through the pack. Not quiet—reverent.
Mate bond.
Selene's breath catches. "Oh."
I swallow. My mouth tastes like ash.
They don't speak. They don't need to. The bond is written all over them—the way their shoulders relax, the way the woman's scent shifts sweet and sharp, the way the man's eyes go glassy like he's drowning in relief.
Elder Morvain nods as if he approved the Moon's choice.
"Kneel."
They kneel together. The drummers slow. The chant changes. A blessing spoken in the old tongue.
I drag my eyes away before my throat tightens too much. It's not envy. Not really. It's… the way the whole world seems to rearrange itself for them.
For some people, fate is a gift.
For others—well. I don't know what it is yet.
More pairs step forward. Some bonds snap soft like a thread. Some hit like a wave. Two young warriors are chosen; they laugh like idiots and clap each other's shoulders, eyes bright with shock. An older woman is chosen by a quiet tracker, and she cries into his chest like she's been waiting her whole life.
Time blurs. Names are called. Bodies move. The Circle breathes. The moon watches.
My satchel bumps my hip as I shift my weight. The stones at the edge of the clearing press cold through my boots. I try to focus on details—torches flickering, oil-slick altar, Morvain's thin mouth—anything but the hollow feeling behind my ribs.
Selene whispers, "Do you think—"
"No," I say.
She blinks. "I didn't even finish."
"I know what you were going to say."
She huffs. "You don't know everything."
"I know you were about to say something stupid."
"Rude."
"Accurate."
Her lips twitch despite herself. Then her gaze flicks toward the Alpha again, and her face goes serious. "He hasn't moved."
I look.
Kael stands near the altar, half a pace behind the elders, still as a statue. His hands remain clasped behind him, but his shoulders look… tight. Like he's holding himself together with sheer will.
Elder Morvain calls another name. A young woman steps up, eyes on Kael like she might catch his attention by force. Her wolf scent spikes—hope and heat.
Nothing happens.
Her cheeks flush. She returns to the crowd fast, head down.
Kael doesn't react.
He doesn't have to. His silence is a weapon here.
Morvain's gaze sweeps the Circle, lingering on Kael for a beat too long. Then on me.
My stomach drops.
No. That's ridiculous. Elders don't look at me. Not unless someone's injured or someone's accusing.
The chant rises again. The drummers pick up pace.
"Step forward," Morvain says. "Those who have not yet been chosen."
A small group moves. I don't.
Selene tugs my sleeve. "Come on."
"I'm not part of it," I whisper.
She gives me a look. "Elara. It's tradition. You stand in the Circle. If the Moon chooses, it chooses. If it doesn't, you stand there and act like you're fine. Everyone does it."
"Everyone isn't—" I stop. My tongue feels thick.
Selene's eyes soften. "Late-bloomers get chosen all the time."
I almost laugh. Not because it's funny. Because it's kinder than the truth.
My wolf has been silent for nineteen years. Silent wolves don't get chosen. They don't get mates. They get pity, if they're lucky, and sharp looks if they aren't.
But Selene's hand is warm on my sleeve. Her nails are bitten down, nervous.
I exhale.
"Fine. If I die of embarrassment, you're carrying my body."
She grins. "Deal."
We step into the Circle with the others. The air inside feels different—thicker, charged. The torches seem brighter. The moonlight sharper.
I keep my head down. Just stand. Just breathe. Just—
The chant shifts.
A strange sound threads through the words. A hum. Like the stones are singing.
My skin prickles.
I lift my gaze without meaning to.
Kael is looking at me.
Not glancing. Not scanning.
Looking.
His eyes hit mine and the world tilts.
My chest tightens, then expands too fast. Heat slams into my veins like molten metal. I suck in air and it doesn't help. Something snaps—not a sound, not a rope, but a sensation so sharp it might as well be teeth.
Bond.
No. No, no, no—
It hits like a violent wave. My knees buckle. The ground rushes up, then steadies as I catch myself before I fall flat on my face. My fingers dig into my cloak.
Inside my ribs, something locks into place with a brutal click, like a door slamming shut.
And suddenly, I can feel him.
Not "see him." Not "sense him." Feel him like a second heartbeat. Like a presence pressed against my mind.
Kael stiffens like he's been struck.
His jaw clenches. The gold in his eyes flares, then goes flat, as if he's forcing shutters down.
Around us, the Circle ripples. Whispers spark like dry grass.
"Did you—"
"Impossible."
"Moon above…"
Selene's hand flies to her mouth. "Elara—"
I can't answer. My throat won't work. My pulse is too loud. The bond is too loud.
Kael takes one step forward.
Then he stops.
His gaze flicks to Elder Morvain, quick and sharp. Morvain's face is unreadable, but his eyes gleam like he just won a game.
Kael's nostrils flare. He inhales—once, controlled—and I know he smells it too. The bond. The truth.
His lips part like he's about to speak.
Then they close again.
His shoulders square. His hands curl behind his back, knuckles turning white.
The bond tightens—like it's waiting for acknowledgment.
And Kael's eyes, still on mine, do something I don't understand.
They harden.
Like he's afraid.
Like he's already deciding to deny what the Moon just did.
The chant falters for the first time all night.
Elder Morvain's voice slices through the silence.
"Alpha."
Kael doesn't answer.
He just stares at me, jaw locked, and the bond between us burns hotter—wild, new, wrong in the eyes of everyone watching.
My breath shakes.
Because I can feel it in him.
The panic.
The refusal.
And the terrifying certainty that whatever happens next, it won't be gentle.