Chapter 8 - Dina
I regret the dress. It’s not that I don’t think it looks nice; I do. It’s just that it’s bringing too much attention. People smile at me and nod in greeting. Suddenly, I prefer the anonymity of my normal functional clothes.
I only bought the damn thing because Alora had managed to puke through three layers of my clothes in the space of a single afternoon, and I’d ducked into Carin’s shop looking for another black t-shirt, something utilitarian and stain-proof.
Instead, Carin clocked me looking at the wrap dress, navy blue, soft as water, and longer than I’d normally wear with boots, and she bullied me into the changing room with the kind of cheerful aggression that’s contagious.
"You've got the shoulders for it," she said through the curtain, "and the hips. This is made for you, and you need something smart for the lottery." I know she’s right, I don’t want to stand out for looking scruffy. When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see the girl who ran ten miles to forget; I saw a woman who might actually survive the next few years.
I bought it before I could change my mind.
Now I’m wearing it, with boots and my leather jacket, because I refuse to be completely transformed, and I’m walking through Silvercreek’s square while the whole pack gets ready to watch the universe play matchmaker.
The elders have gone all-out with the decorations: strings of white lights, bunting in every shade of blue and silver, folding chairs lined up in concentric rings like the world’s friendliest coliseum.
At the far end, a stage has been built from rough planks, and a ceremonial bowl sits dead center, flanked by two beautiful flower arrangements of early spring blooms.
I keep my eyes forward, pretending not to notice the stares.
Some people nod. Some avoid my gaze. A few, mostly older wolves, give me the once-over with a look that says, "Will this one be called in the lottery?” I fight the urge to bare my teeth.
I know they’re not really looking at me; they’re just here for the pack gossip.
I know how these things go. From what I gather, Nick and Luna have done a lot to modernize the lottery, but it still magically pairs supposedly fated mates, and that makes me nervous.
I’ve avoided dating since I arrived in Silvercreek. I’m not sure I’m ready to explore that.
And this isn’t exactly dating, is it?
I’m halfway to the stage when I hear my name.
I turn, expecting to see Ruby or Skylar, but instead I see Luna.
She’s radiant, as usual, her magic curling behind her like an extra shadow.
She moves through the crowd with the easy authority of someone who knows she can bend the world if she really needs to.
"Dina," she says, low and warm, and steers me gently out of the path of a knot of running children. "You look…" She pauses, searching for the word, "…absolutely beautiful."
I glance down at myself; the deep blue wrap that clings in all the places I’m used to hiding, a V-neckline that is threatening to be too low if I move quickly.
In the window this morning, I’d almost convinced myself it looked dignified, but now, boots clomping on wet pavement, I’m aware of every sidelong glance, every flicker of surprise on the face of someone who’s only ever seen me in jeans and my old tactical jacket.
“Thank you,” I say, tugging lightly at the fabric of the dress.
Luna falls into step beside me, and for a moment, we walk together, silent, our pace matched like we’ve done it for years.
She doesn’t make small talk. She never does.
She just waits until the energy of the moment collects around us until there’s enough of it for her words to land properly.
“How are you doing, Dina?” she asks, and it’s not a throwaway line. She means it.
I search for something glib or neutral, but I can’t find it. “Fine,” I say, and instantly want to snatch it back. The word feels like an insult to both of us.
Luna quirks a smile, the kind that says she’s heard every lie and every confession in the book, and she’s never once let it change her opinion of someone.
“You don’t have to say you’re fine. If you want to tell me you’re angry, or scared, or that you want to set the whole system on fire, I’ll listen.
” She gestures with a flick of her wrist to the rows of folding chairs, the bunting, the ceremonial bowl.
“If you want to walk away, I’ll support that, too.
If you don’t think this is a positive thing. ”
I want to say that I don’t care, that I’m above all this. But the truth is, I want to stay. I want to belong, even if it means burning through another layer of discomfort to get there.
Instead, I say, “Doesn’t matter what I want. If the magic draws my name, that’s it, right?”
Luna shakes her head. “Not anymore. Nick and I changed that.” Her voice drops lower.
“If you’re matched to someone, you get a choice.
You don’t have to sign the bond if you don’t want it.
But,” and here she glances at me sidelong, “if there’s someone you do want, or even someone you think you might want, it helps to say so.
The magic isn’t as blind as people think. ”
My heart stammers, and instantly, traitorously, my mind conjures up Caleb.
His hands, big and clumsy, but so gentle when he holds Alora.
The way he calls her “little wolf,” the way he’s let me into his house, and then carefully, stubbornly pushes my buttons but draws me closer somehow.
And finally, how he looked when he stripped his shirt off at the BBQ…
I push the thought down so hard it nearly cracks a rib.
I shake my head. “No one comes to mind,” I say, and the words taste like blood.
Luna studies me, eyes luminous in the blue dusk. “If that changes, come to me,” she says. “Or to Ruby, or Skylar. There’s no prize for staying silent in Silvercreek.”
The words make me flinch in a way history likes to slap you to remind you it’s still there, under the surface.
Luna seems to notice and reaches out to touch my arm, so I can feel her warmth radiating off her. She gives me a brief squeeze, then lets go. “You’re stronger than you think,” she says, and then she disappears into the crowd, heading for the stage.
I curse myself for thinking about Caleb like that, and immediately dismiss it as a side effect of proximity and the fact that I spend more hours with his daughter than is healthy for anyone who doesn’t want to catch feelings. I’m just around him too much.
I look up, and as if conjured by spite, there he is.
Across the square, Caleb stands in a tight orbit of older women, all cooing and fussing over Alora, who is perched on his left arm, a string of drool connecting her chin to his flannel sleeve.
He’s grinning, working the crowd, telling some story that makes the women laugh and touch his elbow like they can’t get enough of him.
I try not to look, but my wolf reacts nonetheless.
I feel a surge of heat that isn’t embarrassment and isn’t anger, either.
He’s charming, of course, but it isn’t the charm that gets me; it’s the way he keeps glancing down at Alora, searching her face to see if she’s okay with the attention, or if she wants out.
He does it with a gentleness that triggers something inside me.
The whole scene is grating for reasons I can’t, or refuse to, name.
I tell myself it’s because these women are all strangers to Alora, and I’m protective.
But the truth is, I don’t want to imagine Caleb’s name being called and some other woman in my place, holding Alora, learning the soft spot behind her left ear, knowing the way she cries just before she falls asleep.
My wolf growls at the thought, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from snarling out loud.
It’s irrational. I am not her mother. I am not anything, really, except the hired help and the occasional backup when he’s late on perimeter patrol. I have no right to feel this way. I tell myself that twice, then three times, and it doesn’t help.
The crowd is starting to settle. Someone rings the bell loud enough to cut through the chatter.
I find my seat in the third row, next to Ruby, who’s wearing a blazer over a band t-shirt and looks like she’s preparing for a hostile board meeting rather than a magical matchmaking event.
She leans over and nudges my arm with her elbow.
“Breathe,” she whispers, eyes on the stage. “You look like you’re about to jump out of your skin.”
I force a breath, then another. “Do you think the magic is real?” I ask, quieter than I mean to. “Like, really real, or is it just a thing we tell ourselves so people don’t riot?”
Ruby doesn’t hesitate. “It’s real, but it only binds if there’s something to bind. It can’t force you. The worst it can do is make you feel a little dizzy and embarrassed in front of a hundred people.”
I laugh, or try to. “Thanks,” I reply, sarcasm dripping off the word as she laughs.
Luna and Elder Amelia take the stage and begin.
The first name called is not mine, but a woman I don’t know well, Katya, from the new merged group.
She looks stunned, then gets up and walks stiffly to the edge of the stage, where Luna’s magic forms a soft blue circle around her feet.
The next name is from Silvercreek, then another, and then the fourth is me.
I actually flinch when it’s called, like someone shot a rifle beside my head.
Ruby grabs my hand and squeezes, then lets go so I can stand.
I walk up, boots loud against the boards, and join the others. Five in total. We stand in a line, facing the crowd. The men’s draw goes next.
I try not to look, but I can’t help it. The first name is a guy I’ve seen around the logging yards; he walks up, all nerves and bravado.
The next two are strangers to me. I count three, then four, then the fifth: Caleb.
It’s a slap. I forget to breathe as he stands, hands in pockets, the crowd parting for him.
He’s wearing clean jeans, a shirt that nearly fits, and I watch as Skylar leans in and takes Alora from him, cradling her to her chest while he mounts the stage.
The difference in him is subtle but real; he’s not performing for once, and I wonder what he’s thinking.
When he steps onto the boards, my wolf goes wild. I hate that I feel it, hate that the thought of him paired with anyone else makes my senses burn, and hate even more that I understand why. He’s the only one up here who doesn’t even look terrified. He doesn’t look at me, either.
Elder Amelia raises her cane and the bowl between us all, and Luna’s magic flares, drawing thin blue lines between every possible pair, like a demented connect-the-dots.
“The lottery seeks true bonds,” Amelia intones, “but it does not force what is not wanted. If a match is found, the flame will burn blue. If not, you will enter another lottery in the summer.”
I suddenly feel a surge of hope, perhaps neither of us will be chosen, and things can just continue as normal. Whatever normal is.
They go first from the left. Katya and the logger guy hand over the bowl. Nothing. The next woman steps up, and there’s nothing again. Eventually, we’ve all tried, and the man is sent back to his seat. I’m not sure if he looks relieved or disappointed.
Caleb’s name is called next, and I watch as he takes his place in front of the flame.
The first woman is called, and I hate the way my wolf rears up, and for the first time in my life, I wish I could just overrule her.
I stuff down the reaction and watch as they both rest their hands on the rim of the bowl, and Elder Amelia lights the candle beneath it.
The flame snaps up, yellow, and flickers for a long, uncomfortable moment.
The woman’s jaw ticks. Caleb stares straight ahead, and then the flame splutters, dying with a thin wisp of smoke.
No match. The air relaxes by a fraction. Even my wolf seems to exhale.
I’m next.
I walk up, but I don’t look at him. I keep my eyes on the bowl, the stone, the flicker of the flame.
I expect and assume the same thing will happen again, and this will just be an awkward minute, a polite non-match, and then back to the anonymity of the crowd.
But then what? I watch him get matched with someone else?
My hand hovers for a second, and then I make contact with the rim, the stone rough under my fingertips.
Caleb’s hand lands opposite mine, and for a split second, his fingers brush against mine.
My wolf howls deep inside me. The sound is so loud and wild, I swear the bowl shakes.
My knees threaten to go, but I lock them, jaw clenched.
The flame beneath the bowl sputters blue, for a split second, then surges.
A flare of color washes up and out, a hot, electric blue that throws the shadows of our hands onto the stone in stark relief.
The crowd gasps, and someone actually claps in shock.
I blink, certain I’m hallucinating, but the blue is still there, curling and roiling between our hands, hot but not burning. The match is absolute, the magic is screaming, yes, yes, here is your fate, even if you don’t want it.
The next moment, the flame dies, and so does the hush in the crowd. There’s a ripple of excitement, confusion, and maybe even celebration. Out of the corner of my eye, Ruby is gaping at me, open-mouthed. Luna looks like she’s about to cry, maybe laugh, or both, but she doesn’t exactly look shocked.
For a moment, I don’t dare look at Caleb, and when I do, I wish I hadn’t; he looks horrified.
The knot in my stomach grows, and I realize, with painful clarity, that I wanted to see a different reaction.
And if that isn’t stupid enough, because he’s Cheslem and I shouldn’t want him anyway, I already knew he’s far too good-looking for me.
Given the look on his face, that’s exactly what he’s thinking, too.