Kieran's words still burn in my ears like a brand.
"May the goddess' light shine on you."
As if I need his blessings. As if I need anything from him.
I watch from the corner of my eye as Noah settles onto the grass, passing Oliver to Kieran with an easy familiarity that makes my teeth ache. He sits and Kieran passes the toddler back and goes to sit down—almost toppling over. Noah catches him with a laugh. The sound is warm and bright. Unburdened.
The kind of laugh he hasn't given me in years.
Fenrir snarls inside my skull, a sound so loud it rattles my bones. Nearby wolves glance over at me, their eyes flashing gold in the firelight.
Rowan nudges me. "Woah. Someone's pissed."
I force my claws to retract. "I'm fine."
He follows my gaze and immediately chuckles.
"Let's be fair," Rowan says, sipping spiced wine from the wooden goblet in his hands. "You should've seen this coming. Noah's an amazing man, and you dropped the ball with him."
I groan. "Should I be faulting the person who gave you wine for your unwelcome judgement?"
"My wife poured me a cup," he points the goblet at me, his eyebrows dipping. " And my judgement is only unwelcome because you hate to be reminded of your fuck ups."
"Not you too, Rowan." Maybe coming home was a mistake.
"Yes, me too." Rowan's voice drops. "I have a nephew who barely knows I exist because you couldn't understand that family matters more than anything." A bitter chuckle. "Typical of a PAC dog, really."
The words land like a kick to the ribs.
Since I got back, my family had granted me the small mercy of not mentioning Noah. No lectures. No 'what were you thinking?' Just silence.
Now, it seems, that truce is over.
"Is it really that bad?" I ask quietly.
Rowan exhales. "Our parents raised him after… y'know." After his mum died. "He's family. And now he wants nothing to do with us." He nods toward where Mama is offering Noah a plate of food, her smile tentative. Noah blushes, ducking his head like he's ashamed to take it. "Mum misses him. She wants to spend time with Olly. We used to send gifts—birthdays, holidays—until he sent a card saying he'd appreciate it more if we didn't."
"Oh."
The word feels too small for the guilt curdling in my gut. I hadn't just left Noah. I'd left all of them. Torn a hole in the pack without a second thought.
"Well, he's here now," I say, watching Noah accept the food with a sheepish smile.
Rowan snorts. "Probably because of that bloke beside him."
Kieran.
Fenrir's growl vibrates through my chest. He hates being reminded of that Beta's existence even more than I do… just as much as I do.
Rowan elbows me. "Reel it in."
"I'm fine," I lie.
But it's not a complete lie. Kieran's just competition. That's all.
I told Noah it was fine if he saw other people, and I meant it—because in the end, all I have to do is prove I'm better. Prove that the only mate for Noah is the one the goddess chose for him.
Me.
A voice booms across the lawn, cutting through the noise:
"May we have everyone's attention!"
I turn toward the makeshift stage at the forest's edge—a raised earthen platform, likely conjured by a witch. Three Alphas stand atop it:
- My father, stern and broad-shouldered.
- Casper Oden of Solivern, his dark braids threaded with silver.
- The Great Ulfr, oldest of our kind, his spine bent but his presence colossal.
Ulfr steps forward first. The crowd falls silent as death.
"Blessed children of the goddess," he rasps, voice like grinding stone. "My siblings under the moonlight. I welcome you."
The pack roars. Ulfr raises a gnarled hand, and the noise cuts off instantly.
"The sun has set. The goddess begins her journey across the sky." His milky eyes sweep the crowd. "Long ago, our kin ruled this land. Now, three packs remain. More recently but still long enough that some adults do not know, we gathered as one—family, friends, brothers. But our usurpers"—his lip curls—"have tried to clip our tails. They are thorns in our paws. And yet—still we run."
A howl rises from the crowd. Ulfr bares his teeth.
"The goddess recognizes our strength. She blesses our hunt."
Casper takes the mic next, younger but no less commanding. "The bands on your wrists are courtesy of the Nahuel Coven. They'll keep you from losing your clothes when you shift—"
Ulfr scoffs. "Clothes are human propaganda. We were born bare."
Rowan whoops, "Yeah!" Laughter ripples through the crowd.
Casper rolls his eyes. "They also monitor hunters. The witches have cast surveillance spells through the forest. Your catch will be recorded. The one who takes the Ox will be honored."
I roll my left shoulder, anticipation coiling in my muscles. That honor will be mine.
My father steps forward, his voice a deep rumble. "May our brave hunters kindly approach the forest line."
Rowan sets his cup on a nearby table and wipes his lips with his thumb, "Let's get this show on the road."
I shake my head, he's never serious about hunts. Told me once he only does it because Astrid's rabbit stew is to die for.
We both stride towards the spot where the lawn ends and the forest begins along with some other Alpha's and Beta's. A few omega's follow, clinging to their mates and partners. The cubs make a show of running forward only to run back to their parents, squealing.
To my surprise, I spot Kieran, moving toward the forest line with the other hunters.
Fenrir's hackles rise. I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood.
"He'a just competition," I tell my wolf.
It's also a reminder to myself. Kieran is competition, no more than the opposing team in any one of my games. We only have to do what we do best; win.
My father continues speaking, his tone more somber. "Tonight, we run as we always have—free. May the goddess light your path. May your kill be fair. May it be true."
Ulfr reclaims the mic. When he speaks next, the earth itself seems to tremble:
"CHILDREN OF THE MOON, HEAR ME!"
The crowd stills. Even the wind holds its breath.
"The night is ours—the wind sings our names! The earth trembles beneath our claws!"
My pulse thrums. Fenrir paces beneath my skin, hungry.
"The Melee begins!" Ulfr's eyes blaze. "Let the weak falter! Let the strong feast! Let the unworthy bleed!"
My gaze flicks to Kieran.
Our eyes meet.
He smirks.
Ulfr's final words are a thunderclap:
"RUN WITH FURY! KILL WITHOUT MERCY! PROVE YOURSELF WORTHY OF THE GODDESS' GAZE!"
A beat of silence.
"NOW—SHED YOUR SKIN AND CLAIM THE NIGHT!"
The moment the last word leaves Ulfr's lips, the air cracks with energy.
A hundred wolves throw back their heads and howl—a sound so vast it shakes the stars. Then, like a wave collapsing, they shift.
Bones reshape. Fur erupts. Muzzles elongate.
Under the full moon, there is no pain in shifting— only release. The goddess' blessing. A return to the bodies she always intended for us.
For me, it's even easier. Always has been.
One breath, I'm Logan.
The next—
Fenrir.
The world sharpens. Colors bleed into shades of gray, but the scents—gods, the scents—explode. Roasting meat. Damp earth. The iron-tang of adrenaline rolling off the hunters beside me.
And Finnian.
My mate. The mother of my cub.
Her scent hooks into my ribs like a barb. Almonds and pine and honsysuckle. A dash of something even sweeter, buried under the musk of that Beta clinging to him.
Fenrir fills his nostrils with her scent. He wants to be by her side again. The aching pulses through me like a heartbeat.
No. Focus.
I shake out my fur—thick, white, Alpha through and through—and scan the tree line. The other wolves are already moving, a river of muscle and teeth surging into the forest. Rowan nips at my flank, his russet coat gleaming, before veering left. He's probably going to end up failing to catch a rabbit again.
I will bring home more.
I lunge forward, paws tearing into soft earth. The forest swallows me whole.
Lykandor land is vast. As a pup, I swore I could run forever and never reach its end. Now I know better—but the woods are still deep enough to lose yourself in. Deep enough to lose prey in.
The Ox won't be near the clearing. It's not foolish enough to graze so close to its predators and especially not after that howl shattered the night. It'll be deeper in, where the trees grow dense and the brambles knot into walls. Somewhere it can hear us coming, vanish between the trunks, and still graze undisturbed.
I push harder.
Branches whip past. The wind carries snippets of the others—barks, snarls, the occasional yelp as someone trips over roots. Fools. The Ox isn't caught by brute force. It's caught by patience. By outthinking it.
I slow as the undergrowth thickens, nostrils flaring.
Moss. Rotting leaves. And—there.
Ox dung. Fresh.
Fenrir's pulse kicks. 'Close.'
I creep forward, ears swiveling. The forest hums—crickets, owls, the distant rush of the river. My steps are slow, careful. Fenrir's paws are silent over the forest floor.
We catch the sound quickly.
A snap.
Not a twig. Something bigger.
I freeze.
Thirty paces ahead, a shadow moves between the trees.
The Ox.
Tall as a horse, its obsidian horns glint in the moonlight. It's beautiful. Muscles ripple under its dark hide as it tears at a patch of clover, utterly unaware.
Mine.
I coil, haunches trembling as I prepare for the inevitable chase.
A howl splits the night.
Not mine.
The Ox's head jerks up to the west, to the direction of the sound.
And from the east, a blur of black fur leaps—
It's a wolf whose name I don't know but whose eyes I recognise as his teeth dig into the Ox's neck and his eyes lock on mine.
A Beta with brown eyes so dark they near black.
Kieran.