The first sliver of dawn was a pale thief, stealing into Liana's room. It slid across the cold, polished moonstone floor, over the thick pelt of the winter wolf she used as a rug, and finally touched her bare toes where she sat on the edge of her bed. The bees in her stomach had been buzzing all night.
A soft knock, barely a whisper against the heavy oak, broke the silence.
"Enter," Liana called, her voice hoarse from lack of sleep.
The door swung open, and Mara bustled in, her arms filled with a bundle of off-white linen. Her sharp Beta eyes took in Liana's posture, the untouched glass of water on the nightstand, the bedcovers still perfectly smooth.
"You didn't sleep a wink," Mara stated. It wasn't a question. She laid the garment—the ceremonial shift—on the bed.
"How could I?" Liana stood, her knees feeling weak. "It's like waiting for a thunderclap when the sky's been dark for hours."
"Nonsense." Mara picked up a bone comb from the dresser, its teeth carved with tiny, intricate runes. "It's waiting for the sun. Now, come. Your hair looks like a nest made by a blind bird."
Liana sat at the vanity, letting Mara's practiced hands work through the tangles. The steady, gentle pulling was a familiar comfort.
"Will it… hurt?" Liana asked, watching her own wide amber eyes in the mirror.
"The awakening? No, child. It's a warmth. Like drinking mulled wine on a winter's night." Mara's voice softened. "Then, the scent will come. And you'll know."
"What if… what if my wolf is silent? What if I have no mate?" The fear, small and sharp, finally escaped her lips.
Mara's hands stilled for a moment. "Every wolf has a mate, Liana. Even the old, crotchety ones like Caelan from the guard. Fate is rarely kind, but it is never empty." She resumed braiding, weaving in slim silver ribbons. "Your mother would be proud today. Nervous as a spring hare, but proud."
At the mention of her mother, Liana's fingers tightened on her knees. She said nothing. The memory was a locked box, and today was not the day to rattle it.
An hour later, cleansed and dressed in the simple shift, Liana stood at her chamber door. She felt strangely light, as if she might float away.
"Remember," Mara said, adjusting a silver ribbon one last time. "Shoulders back. Chin up. You are not just an Omega today. You are a daughter of the Nightfang, stepping into your destiny."
The corridors of the Nightfang Citadel were a river of cool, shadowed stone. Her bare feet made no sound on the smooth path worn by generations of wolves. She passed two guards at the archway leading to the Hall of Whispers. Their polished leather armor gleamed in the torchlight.
"Strength to you, Lady Liana," the younger one murmured, his head dipping in respect.
She offered a tight smile, her throat too dry for words.
As she neared the great double doors of carved ebony, the air changed. The clean scent of stone and night-blooming flowers was swallowed by a wave of warmth carrying a hundred different notes: the clean sweat of nervous warriors, the sweet smoke of burning sage, the underlying, wild musk of wolf.
The guardian at the door, an ancient Beta with a face like cracked leather, gave her a slow nod. "They are ready for you."
He pushed the door open.
The hum of a hundred whispered conversations died instantly. The air vanished from Liana's lungs. The Hall of Whispers was vast, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow. Pack members lined the walls, a sea of faces she knew and didn't know. A path of white nightshade petals led from the door to the dais at the far end.
And on that dais, standing beneath a shaft of sunlight from a high window, were the Twin Alphas.
Orion. Her friend since childhood. The light twin. His sun-lightened brown hair was tied back, and his hazel eyes found hers immediately. He offered a small, encouraging smile, the kind that had always made her feel safe.
Beside him, slightly stepped back into the cool shadow of a pillar, was Silas. The dark twin. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze was not. He watched her approach with the unblinking focus of a raptor, his slate-grey eyes missing nothing. He was all sharp angles and silent intensity, a stark contrast to his brother's warmth.
The High Beta, an elderly man with a voice like grinding stones, stepped forward. "Liana of the Fallowwood Line, step forward to meet your fate and awaken the spirit within."
Her legs moved, carrying her down the petal-strewn path. The only sound was the whisper of her shift against her knees and the frantic hammering of her own heart. She kept her eyes on Orion, drawing strength from his smile.
Five steps. Ten.
She was halfway.
Then, it hit her.
A scent. It cut through the sage and the crowd-smell, clean and undeniable.
Snow. And sandalwood.
It was cold and crisp and exotic, wrapping around her senses. At the same moment, a warmth bloomed deep in her chest—a sleepy, powerful uncurling. Her wolf. It lifted its head inside her, a presence she had never felt so vividly. Its first conscious thought was not a sound, but a pure, resonant feeling that vibrated through her entire being.
'Mine.'
Her steps faltered. The scent was pulling her, a magnetic north in her soul. Her head turned, slowly, helplessly, following the invisible thread.
Her eyes lifted past the smiling, sunlit face of Orion.
They locked instead with the cold, shadowed gaze of Silas.
His nostrils flared, just once. A flicker of something—shock, recognition, then instantaneous, calculating understanding—passed through his grey eyes so fast she almost missed it. Then, his expression smoothed into an unreadable mask.
But it was too late. Her wolf had howled. And it had howled for him.
The High Beta's voice echoed in the terrible, ringing silence. "Let the wolf speak! Who does your soul recognize?"
Liana's mouth was desert dry. She opened it, but no sound came out. She looked desperately at Orion, whose smile had now frozen into confusion.
It was Silas who moved.
He took one smooth, deliberate step forward, out of the shadow and into the same shaft of light as his brother. His voice, when he spoke, was low and carried to the farthest corner of the silent hall.
"Well, brother," he said, his eyes never leaving Liana's terrified face. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "It seems the moon has chosen a different heir."