Chapter 6
Bolton
Ilean against my truck's hood, parked just off the trailhead that leads into the thick woods behind my family's land.
From here, I can already hear them, the steady pulse of low drums echoing like a second heartbeat beneath the trees.
Smoke curls into the crisp night air, scented with cedar and burnt sage.
Sparks float skyward from the bonfire, drifting like golden fireflies before vanishing into the darkness.
The full moon hangs low and heavy above the tree line, its light so bright it flattens the forest into silhouettes.
It coats the world in cold fire, making everything appear unnaturally sharp.
My skin prickles in response. My wolf stirs beneath the surface, pacing just behind my rib cage, claws scratching for escape.
He knows something’s coming. We both do.
Not just the usual pre-ceremony tension, though that’s always there, thrumming through the pack like static. No, this is different. My wolf is coiled tight, ears flat, tail low, not in submission, but in readiness.
Anticipation.
A raw, electric edge that tastes like metal on my tongue.
Hunger.
Not for food. Not for blood. For truth. For something primal I can’t explain, not even to myself. My wolf wants her. Craves the bond that’s waiting just out of reach. And not just for her scent or the way her voice lingers in my head long after she’s gone.
He wants to know if she’s one of us.
I rub the edge of my palm against my jaw, eyes scanning the trailhead for movement. My heart pounds as if I’ve already run a mile.
I check the time: 8:48 p.m.
Dax appears from the tree line, already halfway shifted, the way he prefers it for these things. He flicks his gaze toward me, then nods, wordlessly falling into step beside me as I open the driver’s door.
“She really said yes?” he asks, his voice low and taut.
“She’s waiting at the corner now.”
“You sure about this?” he asks, tone careful. “Once she sees who we are, what this is, there’s no walking it back.”
“No,” I say. “There isn’t.”
He studies me for a long second. “You always said you’d never bring someone to the bonfire unless you were certain. So, are you?”
I hesitate.
Am I certain?
Her scent still lingers in my hoodie from the time I brushed past her in Biology.
The way her eyes tracked mine in the hallway, confused but curious, like some part of her already knew.
And that moment in the cafeteria when Cassie made her usual passive-aggressive jab and Maya didn’t flinch.
That girl has a fire in her she doesn’t even realize.
It’s not just attraction. It’s something more. It’s recognition.
“I’m sure,” I say, my voice firm.
Dax grunts. “Then I guess we’re doing this.”
I pull onto the road leading toward her street. Just shy of nine, I see her waiting beneath the single flickering streetlamp, hands tucked in her hoodie pockets, hair braided to the side in a way that makes something in my chest stutter.
I slow the truck to a stop, and she slides into the passenger seat without a word. For a moment, we just sit there in silence, listening to the low rumble of the engine and the crickets buzzing outside.
Her profile is sharp in the moonlight, jaw set, eyes forward, but I don’t miss the way her hands are clenched in her lap, white-knuckled against the fabric of her jeans.
She's trying to project calm, but her body betrays her. Every limb is wound tight, like she’s bracing for impact.
I wonder if she knows what she’s walking into, what she might awaken tonight.
“Hi,” she says, barely above a whisper, but firm. Her voice carries more steadiness than her posture suggests.
I can't help but smile. “Hi.”
There’s a weight to the word between us. Not just a greeting, acknowledgment. Recognition.
We drive in silence, but it’s not the awkward kind.
It’s charged. The hum of the engine fills the space between us.
We don’t talk, but I feel her energy shift with every mile.
By the time we near the edge of the trailhead, she’s sitting straighter, her jaw relaxing just a little.
She’s still nervous, but she’s also curious.
When I pull the truck off the road, the tires crunch over gravel and pine needles. The air is thick with wood smoke and something older, wild, untouched. Sacred.
We climb out at the same time. I glance at her to make sure she’s good, and she nods once, then falls into step beside me.
Our shoulders almost brush as we walk down the dark footpath, lit only by lanterns strung in the trees like glowing amber orbs.
Music pulses in the distance, echoing off the mountains like a heartbeat calling something forward.
By the time we reach the clearing, it's already alive.
Dozens of people are gathered around a massive bonfire at the center of the forest glade.
Flames leap toward the sky, painting everything in flickering gold and crimson.
Shadows dance across familiar faces, pack members moving with easy confidence and barely leashed power.
A circle of high school students, mostly juniors and seniors, lingers near the outer edges,laughing and sipping from red cups.
To them, it’s just a party—a Stone Mountain tradition.
But for the pack, it’s how we spot the ones who don’t know they’re one of us yet.
Maya slows beside me, her mouth slightly open as she takes it all in. Her eyes flick across the crowd, some faces she recognizes from school, others she doesn’t.
I see the way her breath hitches when someone on the far side of the circle lets out a howl that’s a little too realistic, animalistic even, before laughing it off with his friends as if it’s all part of the act.
Torches line the perimeter, flames flickering and revealing faces painted in war ash, symbols marked on shoulders, arms, and foreheads.
Some students from school are already here, laughing too loudly, their eyes gleaming a little too brightly.
Others stand close together in tight circles, whispering.
The rest, my pack, move like a current beneath the surface. Smooth. Silent. Watching.
Cassie’s already here, dressed in a blood-red jacket and tight black jeans, her platinum hair glowing like a halo in the firelight. She leans against one of the towering pines, and when she sees Maya, her expression sharpens.
“Looks like your new pet decided to come play,” she murmurs as I pass.
“Not tonight, Cassie,” I say without looking at her.
“Oh, I think tonight is exactly the night,” she replies, her voice laced with venom. “She doesn’t belong here, Bolton. You know it.”
Maya lifts her chin and glares at Cassie, meeting her stare without flinching.
“We’ll see,” I say, keeping Maya close beside me.
Maya stiffens but doesn't say anything until we’re a few steps past Cassie.
"She doesn't like me much," she murmurs, her voice low.
"Don’t let her bother you," I reply, keeping my voice calm. "She talks big, but most of it’s just noise."
Maya takes it all in, the pounding music, the flicker of lights strung between trees, the way students cluster in fire lit circles like it’s just another high school party.
“This is... intense,” she mutters.
“This is tradition,” I reply.
She turns to look at me then, really look. “And you’re part of it?”
“I was born into it.”
“And me?” she asks quietly. “Where do I fit?”
I don’t answer because I don’t know. Not yet.
But I hope the moon does.
We step into the sacred circle as the music stops and a ripple of awareness moves through the crowd. My father, Alpha Sharpe, emerges from the shadows like a mountain walking. His eyes flick to me, then to Maya.
His gaze lingers.
Then he lifts both hands.
“Welcome,” he booms, his voice echoing through the trees. “To all who live on this mountain. To those joined by blood. And those who find their way to us.”
He looks at Maya again, and his lips twitch into something that might be a frown or something darker.
I feel Maya’s breath catch beside me.
And I know.
The moon sees her.
The pack sees her.
And whatever happens next, we can’t go back.