Chapter 6
TO BE MARKED
“Would you excuse me?” I say, not caring too much if the visiting alphas are offended. It’s suddenly too warm and too packed inside, so I head for the doors to the balcony, Jasper trailing behind me.
“Wait up,” he says once we’re outside, taking my elbow to turn me back to him. The sky is almost all the way dark, and the pleasant summer breeze is helping cool me down. “Are you okay?”
I struggle to look him in the eye. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“What just happened?”
Without looking up I know he’s studying my face, his eyes probably full of care and concern.
“Why did you freak?” Jasper finds my hands, lacing his fingers through mine. “Tell me.”
Mustering the courage to meet his gaze, I find I can’t hold in my thoughts any longer.
“Are people seriously expecting us to have a marking ceremony? We’re, like, teenagers, we’ve only been together for like a year and half.
I’m . . . we’re still young and I’m about to go to college, and—and marking ceremonies are just so—public, they’re such a spectacle, and I .
. .” Spotting the grin creeping into the corner of Jasper’s peachy lips, I trail off. “Why are you smiling?”
“You hate the idea of bearing my mark that much?”
“No, it’s not that.” I squeeze his hands a little tighter. “You know it’s not that, it’s just . . .”
How do I tell the wolf I’m mated to that I don’t know if I ever want to be marked, let alone have a very big, very public ceremony to—excuse my phrasing—mark the occasion?
For werewolves in packs, marking ceremonies are basically like weddings.
They’re this big ritual where two mates get all dressed up and stand in front of a big crowd, full of their loved ones and everyone they know, to confirm how much they love each other.
One partner, historically the more dominant one (which is archaic AF), or both (the more modern way of doing things) will bite the other’s neck, leaving a mark on their skin that lasts forever.
It’s super corny and harks back to a less civilized time in wolf culture, when dominant wolves laid stake to their more submissive mates. And it’s permanent, an irreversible decision.
Not that I’m doubting Jasper’s and my potential to go the distance, but I’ve always been on the fence about whether being marked or having a whole-ass ceremony is something I want.
“Hey.” Jasper leans in closer, his forehead resting gently against mine. “We don’t have to have a marking ceremony anytime soon, okay? People are just happy for us and they want to celebrate what we have.”
I glance up through my curly bangs, feeling sheepish. “But you do want to have one—a ceremony, I mean—one day?”
Jasper leans back so I can see his expression clearly and the pure excitement there has me freaked.
“Yeah, of course,” he says. “I mean, it’s expected as the future alpha. And it’s tradition. An alpha always marks their luna.”
For a second I don’t say anything, twisting the heel of one foot into the ground until it aches. Jasper is so confident that this is something he wants. What if me not wanting the same thing is a deal-breaker?
“And you want to do this in front of people?”
“For sure.” His eyes are sparkling again.
Is he picturing our wolf-style wedding as he speaks?
“I’ve always dreamed about having a big wedding.
So that my family and the whole pack can see how much my mate and I care about each other.
” Okay, well that’s freaking sweet. His face turns pensive.
“Of course, I always thought my mother would be there . . .”
Now it’s my turn to comfort him. I pull him a little closer, one hand curving around his cheek, and speak gently. “She will be,” I say, only realizing once the words have spilled out of me what I’ve done. Did I just agree to a big marking ceremony?
Jasper sucks in a deep breath through his nose and pulls his shoulders back. “I promise you we don’t have to do anything until you’re ready.” I force myself to smile. “We should probably say hi to a few more people before the blessing starts. You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m good,” I say, and he kisses my forehead in response.
We wander back into the party. A server passes with a tray of canapés smelling equally as potent and delicious as the last, but it’s a different waiter. I stop when I’m reminded I meant to tell Jasper about my last encounter with the staff.
“Hey, I meant to say—”
“Ugh,” Jasper says, once again cutting me off. His face is turned downward into a grimace.
“What is it?”
“Remember that new development I mentioned . . .”
I follow Jasper’s gaze and spot Alpha Jericho standing across the room by a couple of out-of-place-looking hay bales and a maypole that’s been erected next to one of the bars.
Girls and boys are dancing in circles around the pole, twisting pastel ribbons in a swirling pattern.
Next to him, Melissa is standing, watching on, smiling and clapping, and then I spot the development Jasper is talking about.
Jericho’s arm is firmly wrapped around Melissa’s waist, his sizable hand resting on her hip.
“Oh,” I say, catching on. “OH!”
“Yeah,” Jasper grumbles.
“How long has that been going on?”
“A while, I think,” he says squinting, clearly unimpressed. “But they just told Jodie and me a week ago, when I got back from Harvard.”
“It’s serious then.”
Even though Jasper is staring daggers, I take another look at Jericho and Melissa and can’t help feeling happy for them.
Jericho deserves to find love again—maybe having someone close like that will help him lighten up a little—and Melissa has been devoted to him and his kids for years.
It makes sense they would develop feelings for each other.
While my mate may hate me saying so, they make a cute couple.
“Hey, I need to tell you something,” I say, pulling Jasper’s attention away from his potential future stepmom. “It’s about one of the waiters.”
Jasper tilts his head questioningly but before I can continue, Katie calls my name and appears at my side.
“Max!” She’s back in her signature pink, with glittery highlighter sparkling on just about every inch of her skin, looking very Glinda-core. “You’ll never guess who I just ran into in the bathroom!”
Katie launches into a monologue about some movie star she’s obsessed with, a Hollywood actress who is secretly an Elite Pack wolf, and who needed rescuing when she ran out of toilet paper just now.
Not that I mean to tune her out, but I was literally with Katie this afternoon helping her find last-minute shoes to go with her dress, and though I’d usually be super up for gossiping about a hot celeb sighting, my attention is pulled across the room, in search of the mysterious waiter.
I scan the crowd but can’t spot him. For some reason there is a seemingly endless number of waitstaff slipping through the hordes of wolves, some hoisting champagne flutes and cocktails on trays above their heads and others with canapés.
One by one, I home in on each of their faces, hoping to spot the guy who served me earlier, but he’s nowhere to be found.
Thinking I need more than just my eyes, I reach out with my mind, trying to identify each wolf in the room.
But the crowd is packed, and not just with Elite wolves—there are foreign dignitaries, visiting alphas, and a whole mix of wolves from other packs making the noise and the web of threads connecting us all a total, incomprehensible mess.
Besides, I didn’t get a good read on the waiter from earlier anyway, so it’s hard to say exactly what I’m looking for. To find him I’d need to reach out to each individual wolf here, and with the number of people in attendance messing with my wolf senses this would be almost impossible.
I’m still thinking about reaching out when Jasper places a hand on my shoulder.
“The prayer is about to start,” he says, interrupting Katie mid-story. She turns to look at the raised platform in the middle of the balcony with excited, wide eyes.
“Oh,” she says, “I don’t want to miss this, let’s get a good spot.”
The crowd are already flowing in the direction of the balcony, so Jasper, Katie, and I join the stream.
“What’s up, Max?” Todd says, waving as he somehow manages to move against the current to join us.
“Sup dude,” Simon says, a beat behind Todd.
“Hey guys.”
The few stars that can be seen above Manhattan are glittering in the night sky.
A circular platform has been erected in the middle of the wide patio area, with pack wolves standing shoulder to shoulder around it, all facing inward, creating a strange effect where it’s impossible not to meet eyes with the wolves across from you.
I wonder if this is supposed to create a sense of community.
Katie and the bro twins—although these days I consider them more like friends—set up behind me and Jasper, holding hands in a cute chain.
This past year they’ve come through a lot, figuring out how to make their polycule work in a way that feels best for each of them.
They’ve overcome their relationship’s teething problems, dealt with jealous feelings, and figured out how to not make anyone feel like a spare wheel at any point, and now they’re more functional than most two-person pairings I can think of.
They don’t even seem stressed about the fact that each of them is going to college in a different part of the country.
How they’ve figured out the machinations of that I have no idea.
Jasper puts an arm around me as Finnegan Gealach, the pack’s high priest, steps onto the platform, followed by his son, Marcel.
They’re wearing matching robes in this shimmering silver fabric that, I think, is supposed to give holy moon vibes, but is also sort of giving religious-diva-slaying-the-church-down boots.
“Greetings wolves of the Elite Pack,” Finnegan says, opening his arms with his palms raised skyward.
“Tonight we gather to bless the young members of our community who will soon gather under a blue moon, looking to find their soul connections. These connections, as divined by Selene, Nannar, Mani, Igaluk, and Tsukuyomi, are the backbone of werewolf life. The finding of a mate and the acceptance of their love is what makes us holy and connects us with the moon gods and the Lunar Plane.”
Moonlight is reflecting in Jasper’s eyes. He’s locked in, listening intently, his jaw set, and his hand firm against my hip bone.
“Finding a mate,” Finnegan continues, “is the pinnacle of our lives as wolves. The mate bond is a sacred connection to be celebrated and held in high esteem.”
All the faces around me mirror Jasper’s reverence, every bowed head or wide eye betraying how deeply the importance of mating is in our culture. A culture that would celebrate Jasper and me marking each other before we’ve even finished college. What would it mean if I said no to receiving his mark?
“Join us now in prayer,” Finnegan says, gesturing for Marcel to step forward, “as we sing in harmony with the Lupine Chorus.”
Marcel, who is only a year older than me, yet has the gravitas of an ancient deity, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before opening his mouth and beginning to sing.
His throaty baritone is haunting and rings out through the night air with crisp clarity.
He sings in Lupine, the ancient language of our people, so of course I have no idea what he’s saying, but it’s beautiful, nonetheless.
As he sings, I feel a vibration in my mind, as if the threads of the Lunar Plane are being strummed like the strings of guitar.
Marcel’s holy song must be reaching into that plane, rippling through it, and I find my blood-wolf senses opening up of their own accord.
I close my eyes and let myself experience this strange yet exhilarating sensation.
Over the past year I’ve honed my blood-wolf skills, continued to develop my ability to commune with the Lupine Chorus, to walk the infinite roads of the Lunar Plane, and to connect with wolves across the country.
I’ve become so attuned to the Plane I don’t need to perform a full ritual to access it, at least for the most part.
The noise of wolves even at this concentration doesn’t pain me anymore, in fact I find it comforting.
Marcel’s voice shivers through me, his pitch rising as the prayer becomes more intense.
Without anyone knowing, I send out a ripple connecting my mind with everyone present, feeling the community we share, the wolf-bond, the intention of being here tonight to celebrate and bless those about to embark on their first Mating Run.
But as the song reaches a crescendo my eyes snap open.
I’ve sensed something. A shrouded presence, brimming with dangerous intentions.
I cast my eyes across the crowd, which is when I realize, members of the waitstaff are positioned at equal intervals around the perimeter of the circle of wolves.
They’ve surrounded us. Each watching Marcel with open eyes and unmoved expressions.
Finally, I lock eyes with the waiter from earlier, his brow still dark and heavy, his stare still intense.
He catches me looking and lifts an eyebrow, a sadistic grin spreading on his lips.
And in that moment, I realize what was off about this wolf: He’s not a member of the Elite Pack, and he reeks of the same cologne that Walter Bridgers drenches himself in.
“Look out—!” I scream as a premonition rocks my core, but I’m a moment too late. An explosion erupts to my left, shattering the glass walls, blasting the crowd with jagged shards.
Chaos erupts around us as each of the waitstaff shifts into their wolf form.
Their uniforms fall away as bones crunch and muscles tear.
Screams tear through the chaos, replacing Marcel’s song as the young priest falls, a daggerlike shard of glass protruding from his chest, blood staining his silver robes.
“Run!” Jasper cries as the wolves attack.