Chapter Fifteen
Adriel
Who would’ve thought? Silas who’d rather swallow glass than spend more than a few minutes talking to an omega, has stumbled onto his perfect match. The thought is so absurd it makes me chuckle under my breath, earning a curious glance from the elderly couple standing nearby. I mask my amusement with a sip of wine and turn my attention back to the mountain, the towering peak shrouded in mist as Danae and Silas’ wolves make their climb.
The pheromones from their bonding still linger in my senses, a phantom sensation I can’t quite shake, especially hers. It hit me differently than I could possibly have anticipated …calming yet electrifying. There was a depth to her scent that I can’t stop thinking about as if it unlocked something in me that I hadn’t realized I was missing.
I move through the gathering, the hum of chatter and laughter filling the air as the crowd enjoys the festival below the mountain. The scent of roasted meats and sweet wine is almost enough to distract me, but my thoughts drift again to Danae. Her wolf looked determined before they started the climb, but this mountain isn’t forgiving. The weather doesn’t help; the clouds are thickening, pregnant with the promise of rain.
By the drinks table, I spot Damien, one of Danae’s brothers who was introduced to me as both our families rubbed shoulders before the ceremony kicked off. He’s clutching a bottle of wine, our city’s finest, a Howl’s Peak specialty, and judging by the glaze in his eyes, it’s not his first.
“Enjoying the wine, I see,” I say with a grin as I approach.
Damien looks up, laughing as he raises the bottle. “This is incredible. Truly. I think this is my third bottle or maybe fourth? I’ve lost count.”
“Careful,” I tease, pouring myself a drink. “This stuff sneaks up on you. Before you know it, you’ll be trying to climb that mountain yourself.”
He roars with laughter, a warm, genuine sound that makes me smile. “If this is what you drink here, I might just have to move in.”
“You’re welcome anytime after the ceremony,” I reply. “You can have all the wine you want. But I think we’d have to build a second vineyard just to keep up with you.”
Damien grins, but then his expression softens. He looks out toward the mountain, the mirth in his eyes dimming slightly. “I just hope Danae makes it,” he says quietly. “She’s been through so much. This is her chance to finally be part of something good.”
His words pull me up short. “What do you mean?” I ask, keeping my tone neutral.
Damien sighs, his grip tightening on the bottle. “She’s a recessive Omega. Back home, that means nothing but rejection and ridicule. She’s taller than most Omegas in our city, and that …well, let’s just say the men there don’t like being overshadowed in any way.” He shakes his head, a flicker of anger crossing his face. “She’s endured so much pain, so many rejections. She never complains, though. She just keeps going. We’re all so proud of her, you know? We just want her to be happy.”
His words, hearing about what she’s endured, stirs a pang of sympathy in me, a tightness in my chest that I can’t quite explain. Danae, ridiculed? Rejected? It doesn’t add up. The woman I’ve come to know does not seem weak or broken. She carried herself with quiet defiance as if daring the world to keep doubting her.
Before I can respond, another voice cuts through the moment.
“Damien, there you are!”
Jerome, the brother closest in age to Danae, strides over with an exasperated smile. He grabs Damien’s shoulder, shaking it lightly. “Come on, man, you’re embarrassing the family. You’re on, what, bottle five now?”
Damien swats him away, laughing. “Three! Maybe four.”
“And counting,” Jerome quips, dragging him a step back.
Mathis, the eldest of the siblings, follows close behind, his expression apologetic. “Adriel, I’m sorry if my brothers have been …too much.”
“It’s fine,” I assure him with a small smile. “Damien’s just enjoying our city’s hospitality. Besides, our wine has a way of creeping up on you. Sweet, smooth…it gets you hooked before you even notice.” I glance at Damien, my tone softening. “He’s just worried about his sister.”
Mathis nods, a faint tension in his jaw. “We all are,” he admits.
I catch the flicker of unease in his eyes as he looks toward the mountain, and it’s mirrored in Jerome’s expression. “You’re worried about the climb?” I ask gently.
Jerome sighs, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s just …it’s a hell of a mountain. And Danae …she’s strong, but…”
“The weather’s turning,” Mathis finishes, his voice tight.
I glance at the sky. The drizzle has started, soft but persistent, and the air feels heavier with each passing minute. “I understand your concerns,” I say after a moment. “But this ritual has been part of our tradition for generations. It’s not meant to break people …it’s meant to reveal their strength. From the little I’ve seen of Danae, I’d say she has what it takes.”
They both nod, though their worry doesn’t entirely fade.
The butler approaches then, bowing politely as he addresses the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, the rain is picking up. Please make your way into the hall.”
The guests begin to shuffle toward the grand building at the base of the mountain. Inside, the air buzzes with conversation, a blend of excitement and skepticism about Danae’s climb.
As I walk through the hall, fragments of chatter reach my ears.
“She won’t make it,” a woman murmurs to her companion.
“She’s an outsider,” someone else says dismissively. “She doesn’t belong here.”
“Too weak,” another voice scoffs. “What was the moon goddess thinking?”
My jaw tightens. I’ve never cared much for the gossip of my extended family, but tonight, it grates on me like never before. They have no idea who Danae is. No understanding of her strength, yet they judge her as if they’ve known her for years.
Then I hear it …the voice of my aunt, dripping with disdain.
“That girl is a mistake. She’ll fail just like we all expect, she’s not even from here, she’s not strong enough. And Silas? What a waste of a bond.”
I stop in my tracks, the blood roaring in my ears. Spinning on my heel, I stride toward her and her cluster of sycophantic cousins.
“Do you doubt the wisdom of the moon goddess?” I ask, my voice cutting through their murmurs.
She flinches but quickly recovers, lifting her chin. “I’m simply being realistic, Adriel. That girl doesn’t …”
“Hmm, correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t your daughter fail the climb the first time she attempted it?” I interrupt sharply. “Born and bred here in Howl’s Peak, raised with every advantage, and yet she couldn’t make it to the top on her first engagement. Maybe we should all practice a bit of humility before passing judgment. Don’t you think?”
The room falls silent, and I turn away without waiting for a response, my chest heaving with restrained anger.
The priest’s voice cuts through the hall just then, ringing with authority, “The fires have been lit!”
The hall erupts into excited chatter, guests rushing to the massive windows facing the mountain. Binoculars and telescopes are passed around as everyone clamors to see the proof.
I stand apart, watching the frenzy from a distance. A flicker of pride swells in my chest as I hear someone confirm it: two flames burning brightly at the peak. It’s proof that both of them made it to the top, as the ritual requires one person to light one flame only.
She did it. She really did it.
But the relief I feel doesn’t last very long. As I walk away from the crowd, my thoughts churn.
Why do I care so much? Why did hearing those people tear her down make me angrier than it should have?
It’s strange.
I know she’s beautiful. Hell, almost unbearably beautiful. And I can’t deny that there’s this magnetic pull that makes it hard to think straight when I’m around her, a wild, unexplainable attraction that leaves me reeling.
But this feeling—this protectiveness—it’s something I’ve never experienced before. It’s different. Unusual. Yet so raw, so powerful, it’s impossible to ignore.
The moment my aunt spoke against her, that sneering tone dripping with disdain, I felt it rise in me. That fire. That urge to defend her, to stand against anyone who dared diminish her, even if it meant going toe-to-toe with my entire extended family. The conviction wasn’t just in my head—it was in my gut, so deeply rooted it felt primal.
I reach up and rub the back of my neck, my fingers grazing the tenseness that’s built there. There’s a mild frustration bubbling beneath the surface, not because I’m angry, but because I can’t make sense of it.
This emotion has me completely at its mercy, and it’s as maddening as it is undeniable.
Maybe I’m far more invested than I thought.
Even now, the memory of her scent lingers, refusing to fade.