Chapter 3 - Sera
The Hollow glows with torchlight, flames dancing in the evening breeze, casting long shadows across anxious faces.
I stand among thirty other unmated females, my heart hammering so loudly I'm certain everyone can hear it. The ceremonial clearing feels both too small and impossibly vast—a circle of ancient oaks surrounding a natural depression in the earth where Silvercreek has conducted its most sacred rituals for generations I wasn’t here to witness.
"Breathe," Caleb whispers beside me. A fellow Cheslem refugee insisted on walking me here, though as a male, he'll have to join the outer circle once the ceremony begins. "You look like you're about to pass out."
"That's still an option," I mutter, tugging at the sleeve of my dress—a borrowed navy-blue thing that Ruby insisted would bring out my eyes. As if looking pretty matters when my future hangs in the balance of a glorified raffle.
All around us, pack members file into the Hollow, arranging themselves in concentric circles around the central platform.
The hierarchy is clear—eligible females in the innermost ring, then mated pairs, then single males, with elders and the Alpha's inner circle elevated on the wooden platform that stands opposite the ancient oak known as the Mother Tree.
The energy pulses with anticipation, excitement, tradition.
I feel none of it. Only dread, coiling cold in my stomach.
"It'll be fine," Caleb says, squeezing my arm. "Your name is one of many. The odds—"
"That's what Ruby said about her lottery." I force a smile that feels more like a grimace. "Look how that turned out."
Caleb starts to respond, but is cut off by a low drumbeat. The signal for all to take their places. He gives my hand a final squeeze before melting into the crowd, leaving me standing among women I barely know, all of us prey to ancient tradition and random chance.
The drums grow louder as Alpha Nic and Luna ascend the platform, followed by Thomas and Fiona, then James and Ruby.
Ruby catches my eye and gives me an encouraging thumbs-up that does nothing to settle my nerves.
Elder Amelia, the recently appointed head of the council after the previous Head Elder’s death three months ago, stands tall and dignified behind them, her silver-streaked dark hair gleaming in the torchlight.
At forty-five, she's younger than most who might take such a position, but carries herself with unmistakable authority.
And then Dylan appears, the last to join the assembly on the platform, dressed in finery I can’t bring myself to focus on.
Even from this distance, his discomfort is evident in the rigid set of his shoulders, the tight line of his jaw.
His eyes scan the crowd, passing over the eligible females without lingering.
He looks like a man facing execution rather than potential mating.
I can relate.
The drums cease abruptly. Alpha Nic steps forward, his voice carrying effortlessly across the Hollow.
"We gather tonight to honor one of our oldest traditions—the mating lottery.
" His eyes sweep over the assembled pack, warmth and authority balanced in his gaze.
"For generations, Silvercreek has trusted fate and the wisdom of our elders to guide compatible wolves together, strengthening our bloodlines and our bonds as pack. "
Luna moves to stand beside him, her hand slipping naturally into his.
"In recent years, this tradition has brought unexpected joy to many, including ourselves.
" Her smile touches Nic briefly before returning to the crowd.
"What begins as duty often blossoms into something deeper, when we open ourselves to possibility. "
My fingers twist nervously in the fabric of my dress. Easy for her to say. Luna was paired with the Alpha—the most respected position in the pack. I'd be lucky if whoever draws my name someday doesn't immediately demand a redraw.
Elder Amelia steps forward, her voice clear and commanding.
"The lottery has sustained us through war, through peace, through times of great change—like the one we find ourselves in now.
" Her knowing eyes seem to find me among the women, lingering just long enough to make my skin prickle.
"With new members joining our ranks, tradition becomes even more vital. It binds us, reminds us who we are."
All of this performance, I realize—the speeches, the explanations—is for us, their new members. They’re introducing us to the system that will govern the rest of our lives.
The thought makes me shiver. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, I find myself thinking.
Nic nods, gesturing toward Dylan, who stands rigid and expressionless. "Tonight, Dylan Zaleska, our recently promoted lead security officer, has volunteered to participate in the lottery, demonstrating his commitment to Silvercreek's future."
A ripple of appreciative murmurs passes through the crowd.
Dylan Zaleska—respected, feared, admired.
His loyalty to the pack is legendary, even though I’ve heard he hasn’t been known as a fighter for very long.
Nonetheless, every unmated female around me straightens slightly, hope brightening their eyes.
Even those who find him intimidating recognize the status that would come with such a match.
Everyone except me. I struggle to keep my expression neutral while silently calculating escape routes. The path behind that leads to the eastern border. If I move quickly enough after the ceremony...
"The eligible females will now step forward to be recognized," Elder Amelia announces.
One by one, we move into the center of the Hollow. Some walk confidently; chins high. Others shuffle nervously. I force my legs to carry me forward, focusing on the simple mechanics of movement to keep panic at bay. One foot, then the other. Breathe in, breathe out.
In the torchlight, thirty-one women form a circle around the ceremonial fire pit in the center of the Hollow.
I count faces, calculating odds. One in thirty-one.
Roughly a three percent chance. Statistically insignificant.
I cling to this mathematical comfort as Elder Amelia approaches with a wooden bowl containing our names.
"As our Alpha and his mate bear witness, as our ancestors watch from beyond, I call upon the spirits of Silvercreek to guide my hand to the perfect match for Dylan Zaleska." Her voice rises, taking on the ritual cadence that sends a shiver down my spine despite my skepticism.
She passes the bowl to Luna, who stirs the contents with elegant fingers before returning it. Nic places his hand briefly atop the bowl, a symbolic blessing. Then Elder Amelia reaches inside, fingers hovering for a dramatic moment before selecting a folded slip of paper.
The Hollow falls absolutely silent. Even the forest seems to hold its breath.
Elder Amelia unfolds the paper slowly, her expression revealing nothing as she reads the name. Then her eyes lift, finding me unerringly in the circle of women.
"Sera Daley."
For one suspended moment, I'm certain I've misheard. The torches blur, sound fading to a distant buzz. Then reality crashes back as the pack erupts in cheers and excited whispers. Women beside me turn with expressions ranging from relief to sympathy to envy.
My eyes snap to the platform, seeking Dylan's reaction. His face has gone completely blank, a mask of control that fails to hide the shock in his eyes. Our gazes lock across the Hollow, and in that brief connection, I see my own horror perfectly mirrored.
This can't be happening.
"Sera Daley, please step forward," Elder Amelia's voice cuts through my paralysis.
My body moves without conscious direction, carrying me through the circle of women toward the platform. The ground beneath my feet feels unsteady, the cheers of the pack distant and surreal. This is a nightmare. It has to be.
I ascend the wooden steps, hyperaware of every eye watching, every whisper following. Dylan moves forward mechanically to meet me at the center of the platform. Up close, I can see the muscle twitching in his jaw, the carefully controlled breathing. He's as trapped as I am.
"The lottery has decided," Elder Amelia announces, placing one hand on my shoulder and the other on Dylan's. Her grip is surprisingly firm, almost warning. "Dylan Zaleska and Sera Daley, matched by tradition, blessed by the pack."
***
Ruby rubs my back gently. "Breathe, Sera. Just breathe."
But I can’t breathe. How can she possibly expect me to breathe?
“What the fuck,” I mutter into my knees, crouching in the darkness of the treeline where Ruby has spirited me away from the party for a moment, having noticed my impending panic attack. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck—”
“It’s going to be okay.” She smoothes my hair off my sweaty face. “Sera, it’s all going to be fine.”
"Dylan Zaleska? The man who thinks I'm a security risk? Who'd probably prefer mating a cactus?" My laugh sounds hysterical even to my own ears. "This is a cosmic joke."
"The lottery isn't random," Ruby says quietly. "Not entirely. No one knows how. But… you’re compatible, Sera, I’d bet on it. You’re going to be fine.”
"Compatible?" I stare at her incredulously. "We can't be in the same room without arguing! He thinks I'm a naive, reckless pacifist, and I think he's a paranoid warmonger with control issues."
"And yet..." Ruby's eyes hold something knowing that makes me want to scream.
"Don't. Whatever you're thinking, just don't." I press my palms against my temples. "There has to be a way out of this. Can't he refuse? Can't I?"
Ruby's expression softens with sympathy. "Not without serious consequences. Refusing the lottery is seen as rejecting the pack itself. For a newcomer like you, especially from Cheslem..."