EMBER
The invitation to dinner arrived with two black robes and instructions to meet at the temple.
Werewolves aren’t modest. Nudity is natural.
We live as skin and fur without shame. But the gods clearly don’t want a stray nipple popping into the dessert, or a burly chest hair falling in the roast. Another part of me wonders if it’s to deter the male wolves from acting upon their primal urges prematurely.
A wolf during mating season is … aggressive and impulsive, to put it nicely.
I’ve heard some horror stories and seen wolves come back scarred, or not at all.
“I don’t like it. It has sleeves, what if it gets in my soup?” Roman is flapping his arms like a bird. The robe is too large for him, the arms are belled and hang past his fingers, and the length pools around his feet. I hide a smile.
“Mmm, robe-y soup, my favorite,” I tease as I pull back my hair on the right side and refasten my seashell to keep my hair off my face.
“Oh, me too. What I wouldn’t give for some cottony soup right now.” This is the only part of the rituals surrounding the trials Roman is allowed to attend, for obvious reasons. I won’t let an oversized robe ruin his night.
After a pause, his voice softens. “Are you nervous?”
“Me? Nervous? Who wouldn’t want to find a fated mate and live happily ever after?”
Me. I wouldn’t want that. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. But I’ll be damned if I put worry on my brother, who’s already been through so much loss.
“I’d be nervous.” He shrugs.
“Well, you have nothing to worry about. Not with those stinky feet and that beef jerky breath.”
I open the door and slip out into the hall, trying to contain my laughter.
“Hey!” he yells, chasing after me. “You have jerky breath too!”
The temple hall is nothing like the drafty stone corridors we’ve seen so far.
Two towering columns frame the entrance, snarling wolves carved at their bases.
The double-arched doors swing open into a huge circular room.
The room is lined with columns that hold up nothing but tendrils of ivy and eucalyptus as the ceiling is open to the night sky above.
The midnight moon pours silver light down at a long table that stretches from end to end.
The Shadow pack isn’t hard to identify as we are all wearing the color robe of our pack, black.
We’re not named for anything creepy or nefarious, only named after the shadows of a cave in which we reside.
The others are sorted by color as well. Aurora pack from Alaska, donning stark white, Pine pack from Maine in green, Autumn pack from Washington in gold, and Great Lakes pack from Michigan in sea blue.
Roman and I make our way across the room to our pack.
As I walk, my leg slips out of the slit in my robe, making me suddenly feel conscious of my nakedness underneath.
I’ve never been noticeably aware of nudity until I realized every pair of eyes in this place is evaluating me as a potential mate.
I meet no one’s eye as we find two open seats amongst the Shadow pack all lined at the far side.
Cullen is standing across the table, talking and laughing with another male with long white hair.
They are comparable in size, although the snow-haired male has wider shoulders and bigger muscles.
I’ve never seen my Alpha share a hearty laugh.
Until today, I was under the assumption that he didn’t.
Now I can see why, it almost makes him look …
approachable. His companion turns, I notice three parallel scars from temple to cheek just missing his eye.
Claw marks. His face is carved from ice and angles and combined with his ice-blue serious eyes, it makes him look terrifying.
His long white hair is partially pulled back with twine.
He is proud of his scars. It’s as if he wants his battle scars to be seen.
He’s wearing a white robe, Aurora pack. They are located in the remote Alaskan tundra, said to live in an entire cavern of ice.
The brutal winters have made them just as cold and cruel, or so I’ve heard.
No one ever stays mated to one of them for long.
I can’t say I blame those mates; I love sunsets in summer and a nice warm dip in the lake.
The amusement in the white-robed male’s eye extinguishes when he meets mine. If looks could kill, I’d be aflame. I can tell there is no exaggeration to the brutality of Aurora pack.
“Ah, back again, Thorn?” Honi calls from beside me, grinning, “Are you finally going to choose a mate this season?”
He turns to meet her gaze. “We shall see.” Before Cullen and Thorn turn back into conversation.
Leaning into Honi, I whisper, “Who is that?”
“Thorn? Alpha of Aurora pack.”
“Oh…” I can see why. One look and I’m pinned into place.
She leans in conspiratorially. “He’s been coming to the Mating Trials for years. Never once claimed a mate.”
“Never?” I gasp. Glancing back to him, he’s not ugly. On the contrary, he’s handsome in that rugged sort of way. His scars make him appear dangerous and also makes my stomach flip. How has he not taken a mate? I can’t imagine that he hasn’t had an opportunity.
“Oh, he’s an Alpha, I’m sure he’s had pleasure companions, but never a mate during mating season. Cullen’s been saying he needs to secure his line, or Alpha may be taken from him.”
“Challenged?” I gasp.
She nods.
I’ve only experienced one Challenge in my lifetime, and it took everything from me.
Challenges can technically happen for any reason of deeming an Alpha unworthy.
The challenger(s) and the Alpha fight to the death.
The survivor is declared the new Alpha. If there’s gossip of a Challenge, I’d hate to be part of Aurora pack right about now.
“How does he make it through the trials without choosing a mate?” Hope blooms in my chest, maybe I can do that too.
“He’s Alpha,” she shrugs, “He wins the Chase.”
“The Chase?” Any hope I had falls, crashes down, and ignites on fire.
Honi nods, “To win you need to be the first to the Sacred Tree. Then you get to pick any mate you wish. But if you can make it through the Chase and all the way to the Sacred Tree unmated, you’re welcome to try for a mate next year.”
“So I just have to make it to the Sacred Tree—”
“Attention.” A tall, older, red-robed figure calls for everyone to be seated before continuing, “Welcome to the 100th annual Mating Trials. These traditions exist to foster strong pairings and ensure the continuation of powerful bloodlines. There are many new faces on this monumental year, so I will run through the rules, and the two specially added trials for this monumental anniversary. Every year the eligible, unmated northern packs journey north…”
“I still can’t see his face,” Roman whispers.
“Maybe he has three eyes?” I whisper back.
“Or a receding hairline.”
A few males glance our way, frowning. I’ve tried to ignore the sidelong glances all day.
This place is not the sort of tradition for a child.
But the rules state families are allowed to join in public festivities.
Since I have no family to watch him back home, Cullen made an exception.
Cullen has always given me and Roman certain liberties throughout the years.
It’s mainly due to his guilt. Our parents both died in his Challenge for Alpha five years back.
“The trials are based on a wolf’s natural mating instincts: Howl a wolf’s song to the moon gods. Scent and taste are important for every animal, but for wolves it’s essential. For fated mates especially, all the senses can be aphrodisiacs.
This year, we introduce Touch and Trust. Two more strong and necessary staples in a good mating relationship.
On the second-to-last night, we host the ceremonial ball.
This is where you can show off your creativity and ingenuity, crafting an outfit of your choice for females to attract your mate, and males to prove your prowess.
Then, of course, this all culminates in the Chase. Where you follow your instincts developed in the previous trials, find your mate in the dark forest, and claim them under the full moon, the Sacred Tree, and the gods above. May the gods bless the unions on this 100th—”
I swallow hard. I don’t like any of those trials.
“Taste?” Roman whispers, “Like a feast.”
“Shh,” I scold, but I have a feeling food is the one thing not on the menu.
“It’s a feast of sorts,” a male voice snickers.
I turn red, then my blush turns to anger. A white-robed male with wavy dark hair from Aurora pack leers at us from across the table. Beside him, a male who looks exactly like him, narrows his eyes at us as well.
I bare my fangs. “Is there anything else you’d like to explain to an eight-year-old? The birds and the bees, perhaps?”
“In my defense, this is no place for children.”
“Is that what your mate said to you? Is that why you’re still here?” My voice is sugar-coated venom.
His claws extend as he rises from his seat. A threat. One which I meet, also standing. My hands bracing the sides of my plate preparing to leap at any moment. He wants a fight, he’s about to get one. Weakness is not a virtue wolves admire, and I’d tear down the world for Roman.
“Enough!” a deep resounding voice cuts through the air like a blade.
It reverberates through my bones, an Alpha.
The click of claws retracting echoes in the silence that follows.
My head turns to see Thorn’s ice-blue eyes scolding his subordinate, before my combatant stills.
Then those piercing eyes fall on me. I shiver under his stare; even though I should — I don’t — lower my gaze. “You will respect the temple.”
I nod. My opponent sits and I go to do the same, but when I lift my hand, a fork is embedded in it.
In my haste to defend myself, I’ve stabbed my hand instead.
I pluck it out. Blood blooms from the four little pin pricks.
It heals quickly scabbing over with my werewolf superior healing, but the damage is already done.
The priest gasps at the head of the table. A few other males sniff in my direction, scenting blood.
“Virgin.” One of them gasps. Then the hushed whispers sound around me. My cheeks flame as I wrap my hand around my robe, stifling the blood.
“Virgin blood, in the temple room.” The tall, priest stammers, flipping his hood back to stare at me.
No, he’s not bald or receding, no three eyes or crooked teeth — instead, he looks unfortunately quite ordinary.
I, on the other hand, feel the heat of every eye turn to me, still standing.
A virgin wolf is as rare as a dragon. They don’t exist. That’s the first thing a female wolf sheds before eligibility to mate for this very reason. They don’t want to be a target.
“A virgin?” A male in a green robe stands.
My entire body is aflame as I stumble back into my seat. The chair falls with a clatter as more males rise from their seats.
“Everyone, remain seated.” Thorn’s demanding voice causes me to make eye contact with him.
Mistake, big mistake, for his eyes are no longer serious, but surprised.
That somehow makes it worse… so much worse.
I glance to Cullen who nods approval for me to be dismissed, and I pull Roman to his feet.
We dash out of the hall with tears brimming in my eyes as whispers resound behind me.
In the hall, I release Roman and let the tears fall.
“Well,” he sighs, “that was…dramatic.” He continues as we walk, “Probably a little more than I needed to know about my sister.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. Defeat and embarrassment sagging my shoulders. I tried so hard to protect him that I ended up leaving myself vulnerable. Now it’s too late because if I lose my virginity during mating season, it’ll mean something. It’ll lock me into a whole season with them.
“If all trials are dramatic like this, I can’t wait to see what happens next.”
Unfortunately, I was thinking the same thing, but not with any of his excitement.