CHAPTER 18
EVEN THE HIGH SPIRITS of the party couldn’t dismiss the stigma of Lenore’s turning.
Lenore sat alone on a dark stone ridge, distracting herself with the trickling streams that flowed through the cluster of rocks. As soon as she entered the crowded gathering, wary glances followed her. Werewolves moved out of her way, and faint whispers threaded the uneasy air.
Brynn had approached her excitedly at first, only to be ushered away by other werewolves vying for her attention. Outside of a few werewolves exchanging polite introductions, Lenore was left alone.
It was almost like whiplash—the kindness she’d been shown one-on-one vanished in the crowd. Everyone had the familiar company of each other, while she became the distant shape of the old, darker legends they’d grown up with.
Azelf, your idea was horrible. Lenore smiled through her thoughts, waving at curious wolflings before they quickly rushed off. Absolutely horrible.
A muffled, “Pip piip…” pulled her out of her sinking thoughts. A ghost of a smile crossed Lenore’s face. She sniffed.
“Is that your way of encouraging me?” she whispered. “Thank you.”
Her eyes drifted back to the main spectacle of the party—the mithrial.
The impressive beast lay at the center, nestled in pine needles on top of a large slab of onyx rock.
Starflies surrounded the mithrial like shimmering stars, drawn to the unique minerals within the stone.
The stag-like creature was pearly-white, its coat bathed in a faint ethereal glow around its body, as though it were an embodiment of the moon itself.
Wispy clouds of hair tufted over its hooves, and its long tail ended in wavy cascades.
A collar of silver, iridescent blood marked its long neck.
It would have been beautiful if not for its hollow stare and the metal tools laid out beside it—ready to carve the creature into undifferentiated slabs of meat.
Ryker stood by the mithrial, dressed in a pristine apron. Lenore’s eyes tightened, studying him closely.
He must’ve thrown on a new one in a hurry. She glanced at a few other werewolves that were with him, likely his assistants for the ordeal ahead.
Her fingers absently rubbed against each other, remembering the black feather she had held. The string of events that followed only brought a frustrating ache to her head—unable to fully piece it all together.
An icy burn throbbed in her right arm, forcing her to clench her fist tightly to endure the pain until the sensation disappeared.
Since her arrival at the party, it flared and faded throughout the night, and only in the company of certain werewolves did it surface—confronting her with the rising suspicion that the pain was more than just a terrible side effect.
It seemed as if… the pain was warning her.
Lenore’s brows drew close. But what is it warning me about? That was another piece of the puzzle. Her eyes trailed after the starflies, letting her mind wander off from the never-ending thoughts.
A familiar tug stirred in her chest before she even saw him—her heart skipping a beat when she turned to see Edmund.
He moved and spoke with the anger Nox had mentioned—his brows set low, his lips peeled back to show a hint of his fangs.
But the Vesren’s composure stayed dignified, his shoulders squared.
His figure commanded an imposing presence, and even Ryker—bulky as he was—felt small next to Edmund.
Ryker and the others nodded with bowed heads to words Lenore couldn’t hear, words she presumed were instructions as Edmund gestured at the slain mithrial. Ryker’s hands closed into fists, veins bulging beneath his skin.
Lenore’s gaze stayed on Ryker for a moment more, a faint frown forming, before drifting back to Edmund. Their eyes met—and she tore her gaze away, heartbeat racing. Her hands found purchase at her sides, nails scraping against stone.
“Pip peep?”
“Shhh…” Lenore shushed the light sprite through her teeth. Slowly, she looked in his direction once more, only for a shadow of disappointment to fall over her. He had turned away from her.
She didn’t expect loneliness to pierce so sharply. Her shoulders curled inward.
“Oh, Pip…” she murmured. The light sprite chirped at its new name. “I really don’t belong here, do I?”
She felt the light sprite smacking its little arms against her leg, the pocket of her dress rustling with movement. “Pip pip pip!” it argued back, but it fell on deaf ears.
As she readied herself to leave, her head lifted, only to be startled when she realized Edmund was staring at her again, his form growing bigger.
He was walking straight toward her. The weight of his presence grew with every step.
Before she knew it, his long strides halted right in front of her. She gawked at him. “Hi?”
Edmund’s furrowed brows and frown looked ready to give her a scolding, and she braced herself for any scathing words to come.
“What’re you doing?” he asked, throwing her off her guard. “Sitting out here all alone?”
“Huh?” Lenore sat up straighter, scrambling to gather her scattered thoughts. “I—well—you know, I think um… I think I’m still getting used to the pack and... vice versa.”
His eyes narrowed. Before he could respond, she smiled brightly at him, quickly diverting the conversation. “So, congratulations on catching the mithrial!” Her hands lightly clapped together. “Good job, Vesren! How was the hunt?”
The praise softened him, though his head turned away slightly.
Lenore couldn't help but stifle a chuckle when his shoulders straightened with pride. “You don’t have to make a show of it,” he said quietly.
The gleam in his eyes said otherwise. “This is the third one I’ve ever caught, but it is a group effort.
They run too fast for just one werewolf to keep up with. ”
“Good job to all the hunters then,” Lenore cheered.
“It’s a beautiful creature, on par with even unicorns.
” Her eyes wandered back to the mithrial, flinching as soon as she realized they had begun the process of skinning it.
She turned away sharply, her insides squeamish.
A light huff of amusement blew through Edmund’s nostrils.
“Unicorns?” One of his brows subtly lifted. “Should I assume you feel a little sad over the mithrial being dead?”
Lenore let out a small laugh. “Because I’m comparing it to unicorns, who are supposedly a maiden’s best friend or just because it’s dead?”
“Both.”
She angled herself away from the gory sight, the tip of her boot tapping against the stone ledge. “Mostly because it’s dead,” she answered. “I think you already know how I feel after our hunting fiasco earlier.”
“I know too well,” Edmund muttered, eyes darting up to the side. “You don’t need to say anything more.”
“I wasn’t finished!” Lenore stood with her arms pressed against her sides.
“It is a bit sad, but I mean, I eat meat—” She gave a quick shrug.
“And I was at the butcher’s long enough to see that you all use every part of the animal.
” Her arms relaxed. “So, it’s nice, actually, knowing that the mithrial isn’t just for show.
It’s a blessing for the entire pack in many ways, including this party.
” A light blush dusted her cheeks when she looked at him. “Sorry, was that too much?”
“No,” Edmund said. “It helps to see that you’re not a bleeding heart. Or a completely lost cause.”
“I guess that’s your way of being nice, so I’ll take it.” The corners of Lenore’s lips twitched into a faint wry smile, her eyes warm with humor. He responded with a light scoff. “Thank you, Vesren,” Lenore added.
“You’re using my rank,” Edmund noted. “That’s different.”
“Oh—well—” She glanced around, flustered. “There’s other werewolves around and that helped me remember to um, address you properly. That’s the standard anyway, isn’t it? Calling you by your title?”
To her confusion, his face was set with faint displeasure, clashing with the quiet amusement found in his eyes.
“... It’s like watching a puppy trying to address a wolf,” he said.
His boot scraped against the stone tiles, shifting his weight, clearing his throat.
“But I’m fine with you using my name when it’s just us two. ”
She tugged at her sleeves, refusing to acknowledge the butterflies in her stomach. What does he mean? But her silent question was left woefully unanswered. Edmund had turned away, gesturing for her to follow.
She tilted her head, her confusion only growing even more. “Where are you taking me?”
“Getting you to introduce yourself to everyone here.”
“Pardon?” Lenore gulped. “Did... you just say everyone?”
He glanced back at her. “I’m not letting the one who was under my responsibility be treated like a lone wolf.”
“Ah—”
“Think of my reputation here.”
“... Of course.” She gave a slight roll of her eyes. “But to be honest, I’d rather go home. Is that an option instead? Pretty please?”
“No. You can suffer with me,” he grumbled.
“Suffer?” Lenore paused, then laughed warmly, lifting her knuckles to her lips. “I guess you don’t seem like a party kind of werewolf. That makes two of us then.”
“Then you understand the level of importance of the task I’m ordering you to do over our discomfort.” He crossed his arms. “Most of them have had a drink or two anyway so it won’t be too horrible.”
Lenore groaned quietly. Even as Edmund moved toward the crowd, she lingered where she was for a good second before reluctantly following. “That doesn’t change the fact that I’m dying on the inside,” she admitted.
“Welcome to the club for every social event I have to go to,” he replied dryly. He didn’t turn back to look at her, but Lenore smiled at the back of his head.
She knew he didn’t mean it literally, and it was silly of her to think more of it. But if it was a club, a tiny part of her—just maybe—hoped it was only her and him.
At the very least, it helped that there was someone else who shared the same sentiment, especially as they grew closer to the crowd. She could feel eyes on her, watching her every move.