Chapter 1
Mia
"Let go! You think you deserve this dress?"
The person across from me screamed.
I gripped the hem of that deep blue dress, my nails nearly digging into the fabric. The redhead across from me—Katelyn Black—yanked back just as hard, a sneer twisting her lips.
"You're just some mute working at an orphanage!" Katelyn raised her voice deliberately, drawing stares from nearby stalls. "You think you can afford this dress? It's the most expensive one in the thrift shop—five silver coins. How much do you make a month? Three?"
My face burned. She was right. The dress cost half a month's wages, but I'd saved for two whole months, eating one meal a day, just so I could look decent at tonight's Howling Ceremony.
I couldn't speak. I could only pull the dress toward my chest with everything I had.
"Give it up, Mia." Katelyn leaned in, lowering her voice. "A mute at the Howling Ceremony? You can't even howl. Why would the Moon Goddess give you a fated mate?"
The crowd started whispering. Someone recognized me.
"Oh, isn't that the girl working at St. Mary Orphanage?"
"I heard she doesn't even know who her parents are."
"Poor thing. Pretty face, but she's mute."
I bit my lip, not loosening my grip one bit. This dress meant more than just clothing—it was the first beautiful thing I'd ever owned, my armor for tonight. I was going to stand under the moon wearing it, lift my face to the sky like everyone else, and open my mouth.
"Enough!" A familiar voice cut through. Leah Taylor pushed through the crowd and grabbed Katelyn's hand. "She had it first. First come, first served. That's the rule."
Katelyn stared at Leah for a moment, then laughed and let go.
"Fine. She can have it." She dusted off her hands like shaking off something filthy.
"It won't change the fact that she's mute anyway.
Oh—" She raised her voice, turning to the gawking crowd.
"Everyone know what's happening? Our little mute is going to the Howling Ceremony tonight!
Wonder how she'll howl? Slap her ass for sound effects? "
The crowd burst out laughing.
"Oh my god, a mute at the Howling Ceremony? Funniest thing I've heard all year!"
"Maybe her fated mate's mute too? Then they can have a sign language romance—"
"Does she even understand how sacred the Howling Ceremony is?"
They were right. The Howling Ceremony wasn't just a tradition. It was our pack's lifeline.
A werewolf's howl wasn't an ordinary sound. It was ancient magic, the bond connecting us to the moon, the earth, and each other.
It guided young wolves to their fated mates.
The howl carried the Moon Goddess's blessing—a beacon letting them sense their other half in a sea of strangers. Without a howl to guide them, young wolves were ships sailing without lighthouses in the night, forever adrift, never reaching shore.
The laughter grew louder. My face felt like it was on fire, my eyes stinging. I wanted to punch every single one of them, but I held back. Not because I was civilized—because last time I got in a fight, I spent three days in lockup and missed Christmas dinner at the orphanage.
I clutched the dress to my chest, head down, and pushed through the crowd.
Leah caught up, concern on her face. "Mia, you okay? Don't listen to them."
I shook my head and forced a smile. I knew Leah meant well. She always stood up for me when things got ugly.
I pulled a glass bottle from my pocket. Clear liquid glowed faintly blue in the afternoon sun, like a captured piece of sky.
Leah froze. "What's that?"
I pointed to the bottle, then to my throat, then made a hopeful gesture.
"From a traveling witch?" Leah's eyes widened. "It'll let you speak temporarily?"
I nodded hard, eyes bright.
"Mia..." Leah took a deep breath, hesitation in her voice. "You sure this thing's legit? What if there are side effects—"
I waved her off. Side effects or not, I had to try. Tonight was the Howling Ceremony—the Moon Goddess's only chance to assign fated mates. Twenty years. I'd been waiting for this moment my whole life.
Leah watched me, silent for a few seconds. "I just don't want you to get hurt."
I noticed her eyes flicker when she said that, like she was afraid of something. But she quickly adjusted her expression and forced a smile. "Alright. I'll be there with you."
I patted her hand, letting her know she didn't need to worry. Then I raised my fist in a small gesture of encouragement.
No matter what, I was going to make the Moon Goddess see me. For twenty years, my life had been an endless loop of "you can't," "you don't deserve it," "you'll never manage." But tonight, I was going to prove "I can."
Night came faster than expected.
The Howling Ceremony was held outside the royal city at Moon Valley.
This was our pack's sacred ground, generation after generation. An open valley cradled by mountains, the ground a natural stone platform smooth as if cut by a blade. At the valley's center stood a massive boulder—the Ancestor Stone—carved with claw marks from alphas past.
Every full moon, the pack's young wolves gathered here to wait for their fated mates.
By the time I arrived, hundreds were already there. Everyone wore masks—tradition dictated a masked ball before the official howling, letting people interact without knowing identities. Supposedly, it made fate's work purer, free from appearances and social standing.
I stood at the crowd's edge and, when no one was looking, pulled the potion from my pocket, twisted off the cap, and threw my head back.
Rust flooded my mouth, bitter as bile. I forced myself not to cough.
The witch said to drink it an hour early.
The Howling Ceremony wouldn't start for another hour. Perfect timing.
I shoved the empty bottle back in my pocket and clutched my dress nervously.
Leah had disappeared somewhere—probably getting drinks.
Standing here alone, I felt like a sparrow that had wandered into a flock of swans.
My silver mask came from a secondhand stall, edges worn, but it still gleamed in the firelight.
The deep blue dress fit perfectly, showing off my slender waist and elegant shoulders.
Two girls passed by, whispering.
"Did you hear? The King still hasn't found his fated mate."
"Of course. This isn't His Majesty's first Howling Ceremony."
"Why hasn't the Moon Goddess matched him yet? Is it that hard to find someone worthy?"
"Can you imagine whose luck it'll be to become Luna!"
My heart skipped.
I couldn't help thinking—what if... what if I was the King's fated mate?
Then I cursed myself. Wake up, Mia. The Moon Goddess wouldn't pair a mute with His Majesty.
I smiled bitterly, grabbed a juice, and moved toward a more secluded corner. I could dream all I wanted. Fairy tales like that didn't happen.
Music started. A slow waltz, the cello's deep melody flowing through the night. People paired off and entered the dance floor, firelight casting shifting shadows across their faces.
I stood there with my cup, watching the spinning skirts and shuffling feet, envious and lonely. I backed up a step, looking for a quieter spot.
My foot caught on something.
I fell backward, juice splashing out in an arc.
Just as I thought I'd hit the ground hard, a hand clamped around my wrist and yanked me back with powerful force.
I crashed into a wall.
No—not a wall. A man's chest, hard as granite, smelling of cedar and tobacco. My face pressed against the shirt over his chest, and I could feel the texture of muscle beneath the fabric and its warmth.
I looked up.
Then I forgot how to breathe.
He was tall—I had to crane my neck to see his face. His black suit fit perfectly, showing off broad shoulders and a narrow waist. A mask covered the upper half of his face, revealing only gray-blue eyes and a sharply defined jaw. Those eyes gleamed in the firelight, like some dangerous predator.
He looked down at me. We stood so close I could see flames dancing in his pupils.
His hand still gripped my wrist, palm scorching hot. My other hand had somehow landed on his chest, feeling his strong heartbeat—steady, like war drums.
My wolf—the beast sleeping inside me—suddenly stirred. I felt it churning in my chest, claws lightly scratching my ribs, like it wanted to get closer to something. Not fear. A strange flutter, like being drawn to something more powerful.
It went quiet. Quiet, lying there, tail wagging gently.
It was showing submission.
The realization made me shudder. My wolf had always been defiant, never backing down even to the big male staff at the orphanage. But now it had sheathed all its claws before this stranger.
He didn't let go.
I didn't pull away either.
Seconds passed. Maybe minutes. He finally moved—the hand supporting me slid from my arm to my waist, not forceful but undeniably confident. He raised his other hand in a gesture of inviting.
My wolf rolled over in my chest again, nuzzling my ribs gently, as if urging me. Say yes.
I nodded without thinking.
The next second, he swept me onto the dance floor.
His steps were steady and strong, guiding me so that even someone who couldn't dance kept up with the rhythm.
Every turn, his palm pressed perfectly against my waist like a silent command.
The distance between us wasn't proper—his chest nearly touched mine, and I felt his body rise and fall with each breath.
He lowered his head, lips nearly touching my ear. I felt his warm breath brush my neck, raising goosebumps.
"You know," his voice was deep and rich, like a cello's resonance, "your eyes are beautiful. Like moonlight on a lake."
My ears burned instantly. I ducked my head into his embrace, heart pounding like it would burst from my chest. I didn't know how to respond, could only bury my face lower, pressing my forehead against his collarbone, breathing in the cedar and tobacco scent greedily.
He laughed softly and continued. "And this dress. It suits you."
My face burned hotter. I wanted to say thank you, wanted to say his eyes were beautiful too, wanted to say his voice was wonderful—but I couldn't say anything. I could only bury my head deeper, though the corners of my mouth lifted despite myself.
He probably thought I was just shy and laughed again, not pressing further. His hand tightened slightly, pulling me closer.
We spun through the music. My skirt flared, brushing his leg. His large hand pressed against my bare back, thumb absently stroking my shoulder blade—the touch light as a feather but sending electricity up my spine.
I looked up at him again.
He was looking at me, too. Those gray-blue eyes held something inscrutable—curiosity? Interest? Something else? I couldn't tell. I only knew that under his gaze, my cheeks burned and my heart pounded like drums.
Another spin, this one wider. His arm supported me steadily, making me feel like a leaf falling in the wind—weightless, out of control, yet completely safe.
The music built toward its climax.
His gaze dropped to my lips and stayed there for two seconds.
My breath stopped.
Just then—
Bells rang.
The Howling Ceremony was starting.
People around us stepped back, shifting into wolves. Magic and fur scented the air, bones cracking and reforming in waves. Within seconds, half the dancers vanished, replaced by wolves of every color.
He released me and stepped back.
Then he began shifting.
I watched—his form expanded, bones crackling, black suit tearing apart to reveal a body covered with silver-gray fur. Within seconds, the handsome man disappeared, replaced by an enormous silver wolf.
That wolf stood there, larger and stronger than any around him. Silver-gray fur gleamed coldly in the moonlight, gray-blue eyes—identical to those human eyes—staring straight at me.
He stepped closer.
I felt every gaze turn toward me. That silver wolf—he was still watching me, eyes full of anticipation, bright and burning like twin flames. He was waiting for me.
He was waiting for me to howl with him.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and let the power inside release.
Bones shifted, muscles stretched and reformed.
I felt every bone crack and pop, fine silver-white fur sprouting across my skin.
The process wasn't painful—for werewolves, shifting was as natural as breathing.
Within seconds, my vision lowered, and I stood on four legs, a fluffy tail extending from my tailbone.
I'd become a wolf.
Not big, not small. Average size. Silver-white fur glowed softly in the moonlight. I looked down at my paws—claws sharp, built for running and hunting.
I tried opening my mouth.
My throat felt the same familiar emptiness.
The potion... hadn't worked at all.
The wolves around us had already begun to howl. Their voices rose and fell in waves—some sharp and piercing, others deep and rumbling—blending into a primal, breathtaking symphony. Moonlight spilled across the ground, silver light flowing like water.
That silver wolf was still watching me.
His gaze was a spotlight pinning me down with nowhere to run. His mouth opened slightly, releasing a low whine—urging me, inviting me.
I opened my mouth.
A hoarse whisper squeezed from my throat, faint as an insect's wings, instantly swallowed by the surrounding howls.
His ears twitched. He heard it.
I tried again, straining until my throat ached and veins bulged. But nothing came. My vocal cords lay dead and silent. That damn potion was a complete fraud!
His expression changed.
In those gray-blue eyes, anticipation shattered bit by bit, replaced by confusion and bewilderment.
He stepped closer again, lowered his head, and nudged my neck with his nose, releasing a low whine.
That sound carried questions and confusion, as if asking: What's wrong? Why won't you make a sound?
I stepped back.
He followed.
The wolves kept howling around us, no one noticing the anomaly here. But those eyes stayed locked on me, refusing to let go.
I couldn't take it anymore. I turned and ran.
I practically launched forward, through the forest, over bushes, running as fast as I could. Behind me came a deep wolf howl—his voice, calling me. But I didn't look back.
I ran faster.
Branches whipped my face, rocks dug into my paws, tears blurred my vision. I didn't dare look back, didn't dare stop, didn't dare imagine what expression he wore now.
Moonlight washed over me, cold as ice.
The wolf howl behind me grew fainter and finally disappeared into the night.
I collapsed beneath an old oak tree and shifted back to human form. My whole body trembled—from cold, from fear, or from those gray-blue eyes.
In the distance, the howling continued.
It pierced the night sky, pierced the forest, pierced my eardrums, like sharp knives cutting into my heart.
And I couldn't even cry out loud.