Chapter 7 - Fern
Every pair of eyes in the clearing turns to stare at me.
I stand frozen at the edge of the torchlight with my hiking boots rooted to the forest floor.
Dozens of faces watch me with expressions ranging from shock to curiosity to outright hostility.
The old woman on the raised platform—the one who just declared my name should be added to some kind of lottery—hasn’t looked away from me once.
I hurry to explain, “I’m so sorry. I was just hiking, and I heard voices and—”
“There are no mistakes in the Hollow,” the old woman insists. “The spirits guide all who enter this sacred space.”
I take a step backward, ready to bolt into the darkness. “I’m not a shifter. I’m human. I can’t be part of whatever this is.”
Murmurs ripple through the crowd, and I only catch snippets of what they’re saying. “Unprecedented.” “Never happened before.” “What is Amelia thinking?” My panic ratchets up another notch with each passing second.
Then a familiar face appears at my side. Skylar, the nurse from the medical center, takes my elbow and steers me away from the crowd’s direct line of sight, positioning us near a thick oak at the clearing’s edge.
“Breathe,” she instructs. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“I might.” I press a hand to my chest and feel my heart slamming against my ribs. “Connor told me about the lottery, but he never mentioned it was happening tonight. And he certainly didn’t mention he was the one being matched.”
Skylar winces. “He probably didn’t want to scare you off. You’d only just learned about us being shifters.”
“So this is his lottery?” I glance toward the platform where the old woman is conferring with the Alpha. “And that woman wants to put my name in the bowl?”
Skylar nods and replies, “Elder Amelia. She’s the head of our council. I’ve never seen her do anything like this before. A human has never participated in the lottery. Not once in our entire history.”
I look around the crowd and find Connor standing in an outer ring with his blue eyes fixed on me. When he catches me looking, he offers a small, uncertain smile.
I look away quickly and return my attention to Skylar. “This is insane. I’ve been in this town for less than a week. I’m not a pack member, and I’m certainly not a werewolf. How can they possibly expect me to participate in something like this?”
“They believe strongly in fate here. If Elder Amelia says the spirits sent you here for a reason, people will listen.” Skylar pauses and studies my face. “Can I ask you something?”
“I suppose.”
“You’re running from something, aren’t you? Something bad.”
I don’t answer, but my silence must be enough of an answer.
“I thought so. The way you showed up here, the way you flinch at sudden noises, the way you’re always checking over your shoulder… I recognize the signs.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is that Silvercreek can protect you. Whatever you’re running from, whoever is chasing you, the pack can keep you safe. But the truth is, we only protect our own. Outsiders come and go. Pack members stay.”
The implication settles over me like a heavy blanket. If I want the pack’s protection, I need to become part of the pack. And apparently, the lottery is one way to make that happen.
“This is crazy,” I repeat, though my voice lacks conviction.
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s exactly what you need.
” Skylar gently squeezes my arm. “Look, I’m not going to pretend this isn’t strange.
Like I said, a human has never participated in the lottery before.
You’d be the first. But Elder Amelia doesn’t make declarations like that lightly.
If she believes the spirits guided you here tonight, there’s probably a reason for it. ”
I glance back at Connor. He’s talking to another man now, but his gaze keeps drifting in my direction.
I remember the way he looked at me this afternoon by the stream, the gentleness in his voice when he promised I’d be safe.
The way my pulse quickened when he smiled at me on my first day in town, before I knew anything about werewolves or lotteries or ancient pack traditions.
The attraction is there. I can’t deny it.
But attraction is one thing. Marriage is something else entirely. Marriage to a supernatural being, no less.
“Even if I agreed to this,” I begin, “I’d be binding myself to a werewolf. That’s not exactly what I pictured for my future.”
“Connor’s a good man. One of the best in the pack. He’d never hurt you.”
“You can’t know that for certain.”
“Actually, I can. The mate bond doesn’t work that way.
Once you’re connected, your partner’s well-being becomes as important as your own.
Hurting you would cause him pain.” She must see the skepticism on my face because she adds, “I know it sounds strange, but it’s true.
Mated pairs in this pack are devoted to each other.
It’s not some kind of prison sentence, Fern. ”
“What if we’re not compatible? What if the magic gets it wrong?”
“There are ways to dissolve a mating bond if things truly don’t work out. It’s rare, but it can be done.”
“How rare?”
Skylar shrugs and glances away. “Honestly, I’ve never seen it happen in my lifetime.”
A cold knot forms in my stomach. “So essentially, this is permanent.”
“It’s permanent because the lottery works.
The magic finds compatible matches—people who are meant to be together.
” She gestures toward the platform where the Alpha stands with his arm around a dark-haired woman.
“Look at Nic and Luna. Look at Ruby and James, or Thomas and Fiona. Every couple matched by the lottery is still together, still happy. The spirits don’t make mistakes. ”
“But I’m human. The magic wasn’t designed for someone like me.”
“Maybe not. But you’re here, aren’t you? At this exact moment, in this exact place. Elder Amelia has conducted dozens of these ceremonies, and she’s never once stopped the proceedings to add someone’s name. Not ever. Whatever brought you to the Hollow tonight, it wasn’t random chance.”
I want to argue with her. I want to point out all the logical flaws in her reasoning, all the ways this situation is completely irrational. But a small, traitorous part of my brain whispers that maybe she has a point.
I’ve spent the last six months running. From Robbie, from New York, from everything I used to call my life. I’ve been alone and scared and constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for disaster to strike.
Maybe it’s time to stop running and start building something instead.
“Let’s say I agree to this,” I say carefully. “What happens next?”
“Your name goes in the bowl with the others. Elder Amelia draws a name. If it’s yours, you become Connor’s match.” Skylar tilts her head. “If it’s someone else’s, you go back to your cottage and this whole thing becomes a strange story you tell at dinner parties.”
“And the odds of my name being drawn?”
Skylar glances at the innermost circle, where several dozen women stand in ceremonial attire, waiting. “There are about forty eligible females participating tonight. So, not accounting for magic, your odds are roughly one in forty.”
One in forty. Less than three percent.
“Those aren’t terrible odds,” I admit.
“Exactly. The chances of you actually being chosen are tiny. But if Elder Amelia is right and the spirits did guide you here, then maybe those odds don’t matter at all.”
I look at Connor again. He’s stopped talking to the other man and is watching me openly now, making no effort to hide his attention. There’s something in his face that I can’t quite name. Concern, maybe. Or hope. Or some complicated mixture of both.
Can I really do this? Can I put my name in a magical lottery and potentially bind myself to a man I barely know?
A week ago, the answer would have been an emphatic no. But a week ago, I didn’t believe werewolves existed. A week ago, I was sleeping in my car at rest stops, terrified that Robbie would find me before I could escape.
Everything has changed since then. Maybe I need to change, too.
“You’ve spent so long running from things,” Skylar whispers, as if reading my thoughts. “Why not try running toward something for once? See how it works out?”
I let out a shaky laugh. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s not simple at all. But the best things in life rarely are.”
I take a deep breath and hold it for a count of five before slowly releasing it. My hands are trembling, and my heart is racing, and every logical part of my brain is screaming at me to walk away from this clearing and never look back.
But logic hasn’t gotten me very far lately.
“Okay,” I hear myself say. “I’ll do it.”
Skylar’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”
“Don’t make me second-guess myself. You’re right. The odds of my name being drawn are tiny. And if there’s even a chance that this could give me a real home, real protection, a real fresh start…” I trail off, unable to finish the thought.
“Then it’s worth the risk,” Skylar finishes for me.
“Something like that.”
She squeezes my arm one more time, then guides me back toward the others.
The crowd parts as we approach, and I feel the weight of dozens of stares pressing against my skin.
I keep my gaze fixed straight ahead and try not to think about how completely out of place I must look in my hiking clothes and muddy boots.
Elder Amelia watches my approach with ancient, knowing eyes.
Up close, she’s older than I initially thought—deep wrinkles line her face, and her hair is pure white—but there’s nothing frail about her.
She carries herself with the kind of authority that comes from decades of power and responsibility.
“You’ve made your decision?” she asks.
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“And you understand what participation means? That if your name is drawn, you will be bound to Connor Langley as his mate?”
“I understand.”
“The spirits guided your feet to this clearing tonight. I felt their presence the moment you stepped into the torchlight.” She reaches out and takes my hand. “Whatever happens next, remember that you were meant to be here. The Hollow does not welcome those who do not belong.”
She releases my hand and turns to address the assembled pack.
“Let it be known that Fern Ramos has agreed to participate in tonight’s lottery. Her name will be added to the bowl alongside the other eligible females.”
The voices swell again, louder than before.
I catch sharp looks from several women in the innermost circle with resentment plain on their faces.
I don’t blame them for their anger. They’ve probably been waiting for this moment their entire lives, preparing for it, hoping for it.
And here I am, a human outsider, inserting myself into their most sacred tradition.
Elder Amelia writes my name on a slip of paper and drops it into the ceremonial bowl. Such a small thing, that piece of paper. Such enormous consequences hang in the balance.
Skylar guides me to stand with the other eligible females, and I feel painfully aware of how different I am from everyone around me. A human among werewolves. A stranger among lifelong pack members. A woman in hiking boots while everyone else wears flowing dresses and ceremonial jewelry.
But I’m here now. I made my choice. There’s no going back.
I find Connor in the crowd one last time. He’s watching me with something that looks almost like wonder, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.
That makes two of us.
Elder Amelia raises her weathered hands, and the clearing falls silent. She closes her eyes and chants words I don’t recognize, ancient syllables that seem to vibrate in the air around us. Then she reaches into the bowl and stirs through the slips of paper, her fingers moving slowly.
The silence stretches on. No one moves. No one breathes.
Her hand stills, and she pulls out a single folded slip.
My heart hammers against my ribs as she unfolds it, her ancient eyes run over the name written there. For a moment, her face reveals nothing. Then she looks up, and her gaze finds mine across the clearing.
“The spirits have chosen,” she announces. “Connor Langley’s mate will be… Fern Ramos.”
The world tilts beneath my feet.
Voices erupt around me—gasps, whispers, and a few heated protests—but I can barely hear them over the roaring in my ears. One in forty. The odds were one in forty, and somehow my name was the one she pulled from that bowl.
I look at Connor. He stands frozen, his blue eyes wide and locked on mine, his mouth hanging open.
Skylar squeezes my arm and whispers, “Breathe.”
But I can’t. I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t process what just happened.
One in forty.
And the spirits chose me.