Chapter 1 #2
They shift with ease, fur rippling, claws unsheathing, muscles snapping into new forms. I remain bare, bound to skin and bone. I cannot transform like them, can’t shed this fragile flesh for the armor of fang and fury. My gift has always made me valuable, but safety is not a luxury provided by it.
You’ll see, my she-wolf whispers.
I scan the grove, heart pounding. Goose bumps rise along my arms despite the heat of the torches. The ground feels too wide. The sky too low. There are too many eyes, and claws, and teeth.
They’re not seeking us to mate, I tell her. They want to control our gift.
She nuzzles me, her presence warm and reassuring.
A mate cannot harm. She’s calm. Certain.
She doesn’t understand because wolves are simple creatures.
Honest, instinctive. When they love, they love wholly.
When they choose, they do so without games or cruelty.
They know their mates the moment they catch their scent at the Claiming.
They enter, expecting to chase down their soul match.
It’s an urge that is primitive and wild, anchored in the body and soul.
A wolf can be trusted to find their mate, to value her in body, mind, and soul.
But it’s not the wolf I fear. It’s the men.
It’s the wolves who wear fur but think like men—calculating, manipulative, always seeking to take rather than cherish. It’s the human minds inside that want my gift, not my heart.
My she-wolf doesn’t understand. And why would she? She’s a creature of moonlight and bone-deep devotion.
She believes in mates. I believe in betrayal.
The wind shifts, carrying whispers to my ears.
“My Alpha demands I claim the seer. But she’s weak and old,” one of them tells a friend, his voice laced with disdain. “Barely worth the effort.”
I stiffen, the sting of his words sharper than I expect. At twenty-five, I’m considered long overdue for claiming, my worth already bartered down to scraps. To them, I am a cracked cup, barely useful enough to drink from.
My wolf growls inside me, but I quiet her.
Now would be a great time to show me what happens next, I tell her.
She just yawns and curls up, her ears twitching. All will be well.
I can’t see my own future, or the futures of the people I care about most. My visions don’t work that way. They skip over the things closest to me, as if my own story isn’t important.
It’s why my pack kept their distance. Why I’ve lived a solitary life. Because if I can’t see them, then I become useless.
“She is weak,” another wolf agrees, “but her gift is of value. If she bears pups, there’s a chance they’ll inherit it.”
A low hum of approval ripples across the air, terrifying me.
“She wouldn’t be a true mate,” someone says, their voice calculating. “Too weak to take the mating we crave. She’d be a breeding opportunity, a runty fuck before seeking your satisfaction elsewhere.”
“My Alpha promised me a second mate upon her death. But only after I’ve had her push out a pup or two.”
My stomach turns, a bitter taste flooding my mouth. They don’t see me as a person—just a vessel. A means to an end.
I turn my head to study the packs, considering what I know of them through word, deed, and vision.
The Moonclaw Pack’s alpha, Xavier Drake, stands with his enforcers, their silver-tipped hair marking them even in human form.
Their territory borders ours to the east, and they’ve long coveted our river access.
I’ve been forced to spy on them countless times and know the hunger in Xavier’s eyes when he looks at me isn’t just for my body—it’s for the strategic advantage my gift would bring.
The Red River Pack clusters near them, their Alpha Female, Selena Peachut, watching the unmated women with calculating eyes.
Her pack is known for its female leadership and fierce independence.
In another life, I might have sought refuge with them, but they’re pragmatic to a fault.
They wouldn’t offer their protection without demanding a high payment.
The Grayback Pack holds the high ground near the ceremonial stone, fitting for a pack that rules the northern mountains.
Their alpha, Darius Vale, is known for breeding some of the largest, most physically powerful wolves in the territories.
His pack’s trademark gray fur and massive size make them easy to spot among the gathered wolves.
I’ve heard he’s particularly interested in my gift—the Grayback Pack has a history of producing berserker wolves, and a seer’s ability to predict their violent episodes would be invaluable.
Grayback, I decide, turning away from the gathered packs. If I must be claimed, let it be from the Grayback clan. They have little interest in politics and despite their berserker ways, seem to treat their females well.
I turn away when a new scent cuts through the air, dancing across my nostrils. It’s like earth and smoke, like rain on stone, sharp enough to steal my breath.
My wolf stirs, ears pricking. Her nostrils flare, then her hope catches in my chest.
Mate.
The word isn’t thought. It’s known. Bone-deep. A truth that hums through me like a string pulled tight.
I whirl, searching for him among the crowd. But the wind shifts, taking the scent with it before I can find its source.
A howl sounds, low and commanding.
Grand Alpha Thaddeus steps forward, his white ceremonial cloak pooling around his feet like mist. His voice is calm and cold, designed to carry. “We gather tonight for the Claiming. Let us begin.”
The words send a jolt through me. Too soon. Too fast.
He lifts a hand, and the packs begin shifting, growls rippling through the grove as the unmated males tense, their hunger rising.
No. Not yet.
The bond in my chest hums, my wolf straining.
They’re here, she tells me. Find them.
Grand Alpha Thaddeus gestures with his hand. “I call on the alphas of the four packs represented here to—”
A growl, deep and violent, tears through the clearing like thunder cracking stone. Wolves stumble back. Darkness moves at the edge of the firelight, and the hair on the back of my neck rises.
And then I see him.
Ryker Ashmere, alpha of the Shadowmist Pack, emerges from the trees like a nightmare given form.
Towering and scarred, his bare chest displays a map of violence survived—claw marks, bite wounds, and the distinctive silvery lines of wounds that should have killed any normal wolf.
One eye burns amber gold, the other a blood crimson that seems to glow in the firelight.
Unlike the other alphas who affect a civilized appearance, he embraces his savage nature.
His black hair falls wild to his shoulders, threaded with gray at the temples.
Each step is calculated and lethal, like a predator perpetually on the edge of violence.
The shadows themselves seem to cling to him, writhing around his feet like living things.
Whispers erupt around me.
“The Shadowmist wolves weren’t supposed to be here...”
“They haven’t participated in a Claiming ceremony in decades...”
“He’s even more terrifying than the stories...”
I’ve heard those stories since childhood, how as a pup not much older than myself he slaughtered his way through three rival packs in a single night, how he drinks the blood of his enemies, how even silver wounds can’t stop him.
Not him, I think, instinctively stepping back. Anyone would be better than him.
His gaze sweeps the grove, and for one heart-stopping moment, locks onto mine. Recognition flickers as his nostrils flare. A cold wave washes over me, not a vision but something equally powerful—a certainty that my fate has just been sealed.
I look away, forcing myself to focus on the ceremony.
My own pack, the Silvercrest, stands closest to the stone, though our position feels shaky.
We’ve always controlled the least land, but that was before my gift showed up.
Now Alpha Varick plays a dangerous game, having used my power to raise our pack’s standing.
Tonight, he stands to lose me entirely, if Kieran or another of the unmated enforcers fail.
Grand Alpha Thaddeus stands on the claiming stone, power rolling off him in waves that make the torchlight flicker.
His white hair catches the moonlight like fresh snow, the scars across his face silver in the darkness.
Ancient magic clings to him like a cloak, a reminder that he is more than just a political leader, he is the voice of the Moon Goddess herself.
“All who would compete, step forward.” His voice shakes the ground itself. “Present your offerings for the right to hunt tonight.”
As ruler of all the territories, the Grand Alpha’s word is law. He keeps peace between the packs, settles disputes over land, and makes sure our oldest traditions are followed. Every alpha must bow to him or risk losing their pack’s standing.
Or worse, their life.
This is why the alphas approach one by one, each knowing that their offerings aren’t just for the hunt, but for Thaddeus’s favor.
Xavier of Moonclaw steps forward first. “We offer thirty percent shares in our southern tech company and exclusive hunting rights to the river valley for three years, Grand Alpha,” he says smoothly. “And request six of our sons be allowed to run.”
Thaddeus’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Accepted.”
Selena follows, her red hair—a symbol of the Red River wolves—catches the firelight. “Five million in cash and twenty percent of our diamond mining profits for the next five years to the Grand Pack,” she states confidently. “For five of our hunters to participate.”
“Accepted.”
Darius Vale’s massive form towers over the others as the Grayback alpha speaks.
“Four of our trained security teams at your disposal for special assignments, Grand Alpha, along with our new mountain resort’s penthouse suite for your personal use.
” His voice rumbles like distant thunder.
“We ask the right to run four of our strongest.”
“Accepted.”