EMBER
The foyer hums with nervous energy, the air sharp with the scent of fear and excitement.
The full moon normally makes us jittery, but combined with the mating season…
it only makes us volatile. Dozens of females crowd together, their chatter sharp with nerves, their laughter brittle as glass.
The world hanging on a precipice. Our bare skin glowing in the torchlight, breaths uneven as we wait for the doors to open and the march toward the cliff to begin.
Unlike some, I have no idea what to expect.
My heart hammers so hard, it’s a wonder no one else can hear it.
I keep to the edge, hiding in the shadows of the top of the stairs, watching the others fidget and gossip.
“Last year there weren’t many options, I just ran for the Sacred Circle.” A blonde female leans in to her friend.
“I agree, this year has a lot more eligible mates.” Her friend nods.
“I just hope I don’t end up in Aurora pack,” another comments.
“Oh, me neither, I got a cliffside room this year, which confirms I can’t live without a fireplace.” The blonde flips her hair over her shoulder.
“Aurora pack has fireplaces, you nimrods.” Tala slips past them, climbing the stairs. “Where do you think we roast the abominable snow beast?”
They shiver and slip through the crowd away from her. She stands across from me on the top of the stairs, leaning against the banister with a smirk. I think she enjoys taunting the other females. “Don’t listen to them, Aurora pack isn’t all bad.”
“Abominable snow beast?” I snort.
“Some morons believe anything. I’ve got to start a few more rumors while I can. We don’t need weak females anyway.”
“No, I suppose only the strong survive the winters.”
Her smile widens. “The winters are the best part. The winter carries with it the longest nights. I’ve never seen the moon so big as it is hovering over pristine white snow.
Then when the sun rises, it coats the snow in nothing but sparkle.
Paw prints in soft, freshly fallen snow.
White as far as the eye can see, untouched.
Winter is magic.” Her dark eyes are looking past me, lost in thought, with a smile on her face.
Wow, she really means it. Maybe Alaska isn’t totally horrible.
“Look who thinks she belongs here,” Robyn sneers, cutting through the crowd and climbing the stairs until she’s in front of me. Her two friends flank her like wolves circling their prey.
I steel myself, refusing to flinch. “Not tonight,” I warn, my voice low.
That only makes her smirk widen into a malicious grin. “Oh, I think tonight’s exactly the night.” She presses closer, shoulder colliding with mine to shove me backward. Instinct surges — I shove her right back.
It happens too fast.
Her claws slip free in the scuffle, half-shifted from the high tension. They rake across my arm in three burning lines. I gasp as blood wells instantly, hot and scarlet against my pale skin.
The foyer goes still. Dozens of wolves inhale sharply, the scent of blood carrying like wildfire through the air.
Robyn freezes. Luna and Sky snicker behind her.
Dove’s voice cuts through the air like a blade, “You stupid idiots.”
The foyer stills, all eyes shifting to her. Dove steps forward, her golden hair glimmering in the torchlit flame, her expression dark with fury. She grabs Robyn by the wrist and shoves her back. “Do you even realize what you’ve done?”
The bullies shrink, but my former friend doesn’t let up. She jabs a finger toward my bleeding arm. “Fresh virginal blood has been spilled. Do you understand? Not only does she have a target on her back, but now you gave them a beacon right to her.”
A few girls gasp and then a hush falls over the room. The reality sinks in, heavy and dangerous.
Dove leans closer, her words sharp enough to slice.
“Every unmated male out there will smell it. They’ll hunt her harder, faster, desperate to claim her.
And you—” her gaze snaps back to Robyn “—whoever you end up with this season, just remember it wasn’t because they wanted you.
It was only because they didn’t reach Ember first.”
Her hazel eyes blaze with satisfaction as she delivers the final blow, “Enjoy her rejects.”
The females pale, their smirks wiped clean and suddenly unable to meet anyone’s eyes. My wound heals quickly but, the scent of my blood still hangs in the air, coppery and damning.
Dove turns to me. Her voice softens. “I’m sorry, Ember. I should’ve stopped them before it got this far.”
Our gazes meet, and for the first time in days, there’s no walls between us. It’s just how it was in the caves when she was the only friend I had. The friend who stayed up with me when Roman was sick and helped me hunt when he was hungry, or snuck me scraps from her dinner. This is the Dove I know.
I nod, swallowing hard. “Thank you.”
Something shifts between us, an unspoken truce. No matter what happens today, Dove will be there.
The heavy wooden doors of the entry creek open, flooding the foyer with the crisp night air. The time has come.
A collective shiver runs through us all. The air sharp with fear, thick with anticipation.
Every female straightens, every muscle pulled tight with readiness. Together we spill into the torchlit path, feet pounding as we march toward the valley.
Toward the chase.
Toward our fate.
The moon hangs high and merciless above us as we descend the hillside in silence. The air feels heavy, suffocating, like the gods themselves are holding their breath. Some wolves look resolute, jaws tight, eyes fixed on the horizon.
As females, we’re walking into either our future…or our demise. Whether it be with a mate that won’t last or literal death, because male wolves can be merciless when it comes to getting what they want during mating season.
Each step echoes louder in my skull than the last, and I can’t stop scanning the crowd. I’m searching for him — the ice-blue eyes that always seem to find me. Thorn. My heart kicks at my ribs when I don’t see him in the group of males who line up behind the priest.
Could he have left? Could what Olcan say be true and he walked away from a female years before during the Chase?
The thought carves me open in a way I don’t expect, disappointment slicing sharper than fear.
Why should it matter? Hadn’t I been thinking the same thing earlier?
Maybe I didn’t want to be caught at all?
But still the emptiness gnaws. My heart, my head, and body are feuding in a brutal war I can’t hope to win.
And then, like a curse, I remember: I smell of fresh blood.
The faint sting at my arm reminds me, the scent too sharp to ignore.
I can smell it myself, bitter and coppery, laced with something that makes my stomach churn.
The males start to catch it on the wind too.
I see it in the way they shift into wolf form impatiently, sniffing the air, shoulders rolling as if they’re already gearing up for a fight.
Some growl low in their throats, others stomp their feet into the dirt, claws scraping, tails twitching. They’re restless, hungry.
Dove had said it, but the realization slams into me — I am a target.
The priest raises his hands, his voice smooth and steady over the restless pack.
“Welcome to the final trial — the Chase. This is the culmination of the Mating Trials and will decide your mate by officially claiming them under the full moon. This is how it will work: at the horn, the females are given a five-minute head start. At the second horn, the males will follow. Once caught, mating and claiming may occur. The first to arrive at the Sacred Tree and cross the holy circle may choose freely among all mates. Any who arrive to the tree without a mate may return next year to try again.”
His words should sound ceremonial, divine. Instead, they feel like the opening of a brutal war.
The crowd bursts into a fury of movement. The males howl and slap each other on the back. Claws gouging the earth and paws stomping the ground. The sound is feral, wild, vibrating through my bones.
Hunt.
I’m not walking toward a trial anymore. I’m walking into the woods as prey. The males here tonight will treat females as though they are vermin to be hunted and mounted.
I shiver, my skin itching with the need to run. My wolf pushes at the surface, begging for release. Around me, females drop into their wolf forms, fur bristling in the moonlight. My own body tears and reshapes as I shift, my paws digging into the dirt, instincts flooding me in a desperate rush.
My heart pounds, the smell of my own blood dizzying in my nose. The wolf will make me faster. It has to.
The first horn blares.
My heart stops and then suddenly, the world erupts into motion. The female wolves surge forward, pelts flashing past me. I sprint, every muscle burning, every sense sharpened. Branches whip past my muzzle, the ground flying beneath my paws.
For a few breaths, Dove keeps stride with me. Our eyes meet through the trees flying between us, and she dips her head in a quick nod — an acknowledgement, maybe even a promise — before she veers left and disappears into the trees.
Alone now, I drive myself harder. The forest is a blur, shadows and moonlight streaking past. My blood roars in my ears louder than the pounding of my paws.
I can do this.
I have to do this.
I can make it to the Sacred Tree. I can try again next year.
The second horn blares.
And behind me, the hill explodes with the sound of the hunt.
The males are coming.