Chapter 5 Cinderella among the wolves

After showing Dolph around Lunaris, we headed toward the alpha's compound. The sun had already slipped beneath the horizon, painting the sky in deep reds and oranges that bled into the forest's shadowy outline. The scent of roasted meat wafted on the breeze, teasing my senses and making my stomach growl.

The distant rhythm of drumbeats mingled with animated voices, drifting down the path as we approached. My wolf stirred, her ears pricking at the lively sounds. I drew in a steadying breath, trying to keep my nerves in check.

It didn't matter that some of the wolves there might have been my tormentors back at the academy. Tonight wasn't about old grudges-it was about forging bonds and finding mates. I hoped they'd be too preoccupied with their own futures to bother with me.

The sprawling lawn ahead was bathed in soft, floating lights, casting an ethereal glow over the gathering crowd. Wolves from our pack mingled with unfamiliar faces-some from the Norse pack and others with fiery hair who could only be from the Celtic pack.

"Quite the turnout," Dolph remarked, slipping an arm around my shoulders. The weight of his hand was steadying, his presence grounding me in a way I hadn't expected.

"Have you been to one of these before?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

"Not to participate." His lips quirked into a small smile. "We hosted one a few years ago. I only got to watch from the sidelines."

As we passed a long drinks table, Dolph reached into a frosty icebox and pulled out two bottles. He handed me one, and I took it gratefully. The twins, dressed in servant uniforms, loitered nearby, their eyes narrowing at me with thinly veiled contempt.

I ignored them and turned my attention to the rest of the crowd. My eyes found my mother by the first aid table. She was wearing a pristine white coat, her face calm and composed. A pang of anger churned in my chest. The same wolves who whispered about her taking paid work as a healer were perfectly content to exploit her skills for free at events like this.

My gaze flicked to the towering statue of Fenris at the edge of the lawn. Moonlight glinted off the silver detailing on its eyes and teeth, giving it an almost menacing glow. The base of the statue now served as a raised stage, a focal point for tonight's ceremony.

"How many matches usually happen at these events?" I asked, taking a long sip from my bottle. The cool liquid soothed my dry throat.

"About half find their mates," Dolph replied. He paused, his blue eyes meeting mine with quiet curiosity. "The rest sometimes find companionship anyway."

My chest tightened under his gaze. Was he asking if I would consider him? A part of me wanted to say yes. He was intelligent, kind, and strikingly handsome-qualities that were hard to ignore. But my heart hesitated. Rushing into something without certainty had burned me before.

As we moved deeper into the crowd, the Norse wolves greeted Dolph with nods and friendly smiles. Others, from my own pack, stared at me with thinly veiled disbelief. Despite the attention, I straightened my back and held my head high.

"Dolph!" A tall blonde woman jogged toward us, her bright eyes locking onto him. "Uncle Valko's looking for you. He wants you up front."

Dolph smiled. "Ayla, this is Ingrid-my cousin."

I managed a small wave, unsure of how to respond to her easy, warm demeanor.

Ingrid grinned, her cheerfulness infectious. "Come on, you two. This way."

As we followed her through the throng, the chatter around us dimmed. I glanced toward the stage and froze. Beowulf stood at its center, flanked by two other alphas-one broad and blonde, the other red-haired and imposing. Beowulf's gaze skimmed past mine briefly before shifting to someone beside him.

The man next to him caught my attention immediately. He was wiry, with lean muscles stretched over sharp features. His sunken cheeks and filthy, matted hair gave him the appearance of someone pulled from the grave. Yet his presence was anything but weak. The braids of his mustache hung past his chest, where they rested over intricate tattoos etched into his skin.

"Who is that?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Dolph followed my gaze. "Grog Halfdan," he said. "Our pack's shaman-and one of the most powerful alive."

Recognition dawned. "Doesn't he have a show?"

"Shaman's Studio," Dolph confirmed with a chuckle. "You've seen it?"

"Bits and pieces," I admitted, my curiosity piqued.

Before I could ask more, Beowulf's amplified voice boomed across the lawn. "Wolves of Europe, tonight we gather under the Wolf Moon to celebrate kinship and unity. Let us welcome Alpha Gundahar of the Norse pack and Alpha Morgan of the Celtic pack."

Polite applause rippled through the crowd. I clapped along, my smile tight. Dolph's attention lingered on me, his expression soft but thoughtful. When our eyes met, I returned his gaze with a tentative smile.

The shaman stepped forward, his presence commanding despite his frail frame. "Form two lines," he rasped, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "Unmated males to the left, unmated females to the right. After the offering, Fenrir will reveal each resonant soul."

My stomach twisted with nervous energy. Dolph leaned close, his warm breath brushing my ear. "See you on the other side."

His words, soft and steady, sent a flutter through my chest. My wolf stirred, barking excitedly. Was this a sign? Perhaps everything I thought I'd felt for Beowulf was just leftover resentment.

"See you later," I whispered back, my lips curving into a shy smile.

The enforcers moved in, their faces stern as they began organizing the crowd. Once the lines were set, the shaman raised his staff, signaling for us to join hands. The air grew electric as musicians stepped forward, their leather drums pounding in a rhythm that seemed to sync with the beat of my heart.

Ingrid, Dolph's lively cousin, bumped me lightly with her shoulder. "You and Dolph seem to be hitting it off," she teased, her tone playful.

"Is he always this... considerate?" I asked, genuinely curious.

Her eyes softened. "Since his mom passed, I haven't seen him this alive. Whatever you're doing, keep it up."

Before I could respond, someone shoved between us, yanking my hand out of Ingrid's grasp. I turned, startled, to see Frida glaring at me, her teeth bared in a feral sneer.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed, her voice dripping with venom.

"I was invited," I replied, lifting my chin and letting my voice ring with pride. "By Alpha Gundahar and his son."

Frida snorted, her lips curling in disdain. "Did you sleep with them both, or just the alpha?"

I froze for half a second, but then a sharp laugh escaped me. "That's how you graduated after failing for four years?" I asked, feigning admiration. "Impressive."

Her face twisted, her temples bulging with barely contained rage. "You're delusional if you think you'll ever be more than a mangy reject. No alpha would ever-"

"Oh, Frida," I interrupted, an idea sparking in my mind. "I just realized something."

"What now?" she spat, her eyes narrowing.

"You're, what, four years older than me?" I asked sweetly, tilting my head.

"So what?"

"That means you've attended four of these ceremonies already, maybe more." I let the question hang in the air.

Her face stiffened, her eyes darting away as if she could escape the truth. Her grip loosened, but I held her hand firm.

"Funny," I murmured, my tone turning cold. "For all those chances, you've never been chosen. Not once. Makes you wonder, doesn't it? Without your illusions and desperation, what are you even worth?"

Her hand trembled in mine, but I didn't let go.

Suddenly, the lights dimmed, and a hush fell over the crowd. The shaman raised his staff high, its carved runes glowing faintly.

"Fenrir, we summon you across the void!" His voice resonated like a storm, shaking the air. "Consume the moon's light and illuminate the chosen souls!"

Magic crackled through the air, setting every nerve in my body alight. My throat dried as questions swirled in my mind. How would it feel to be chosen? Would it be a burst of clarity or something tangible, like glowing marks or an invisible pull?

The earth trembled beneath us, and whispers rippled through the lines. The statue of Fenrir blazed silver, its eyes and teeth gleaming like liquid fire. My chest grew warm, and I gasped as a glowing circle appeared at its center.

I glanced down the line of women. Half of us were illuminated, our chests shining faintly in the moonlit darkness. Across the gap, the same glow marked some of the men.

Frida's hand went limp in mine. I turned to her and noticed her chest remained dull, unlit. For the fifth year in a row, she had not been chosen. Her shoulders slumped in defeat, and I felt a strange mix of satisfaction and pity.

"Step forward, chosen ones," the shaman intoned, his voice echoing from everywhere and nowhere at once.

My fingers released Frida's, and I stepped into the glowing circle alongside Ingrid and the others. My heart pounded as I scanned the line of men, searching for Dolph.

He stood near the back, his head bowed, his chest unlit. My heart sank, a sharp pang cutting through the euphoria of being chosen.

Ingrid took my hand, her own trembling slightly. "I hoped this would be Dolph's year," she whispered, her voice heavy with disappointment.

"Me too," I murmured, the words sticking in my throat.

It hovered in front of Ingrid's chest for a heartbeat before it moved away, as if beckoning her forward. Her eyes widened with surprise, and then she broke into a bright, startled smile as it led her to a tall blond man. He grinned widely as he pulled her into his arms, lifting her off the ground in a long, joyful embrace.

My heart hammered in my chest, each beat heavy with anticipation and uncertainty. One by one, the girls around me followed the glowing spheres toward their mates. Some were familiar faces from the pack, their hearts and hands already intertwined. Others were strangers, yet their faces lit up with wonder as they reached their destined partners.

Then, there was a gasp-sharp and unexpected-drawing all eyes to the left of the line. I turned to see Eliza walking slowly past me, a glowing cord now attached to her chest.

I froze, my hand instinctively going to my mouth, my heart sinking into my stomach. What was happening?

The cord stretched, delicate as twine, and led directly to Randel, the one person from Beowulf's enforcers who had ever shown me kindness. He reached out, his fingers brushing gently against Eliza's cheek, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that seemed to speak volumes without a word.

The shaman's voice rang out, filled with reverence. "Behold, a true fated pairing!"

Frida's anguished cry sliced through the moment, so sharp that it made me flinch. I turned to see her face contorted in disbelief and pain. I couldn't help but feel a flicker of guilt, but it was quickly overshadowed by my own confusion.

I searched for Dolph, needing to know why he hadn't been chosen yet. Why, after everything, hadn't his chest lit up when his wolf had reacted so strongly to mine? His gaze was locked on me, unblinking, almost too intense.

A hollow ache began to spread in my chest, gnawing at me. But then, just as I started to lose hope, I felt something tug at me. I looked down and saw it-an invisible thread, thick and alive, spiraling from my chest. It snaked its way through the other glowing males and ended at the stage, where the cord connected directly to Beowulf.

My heart seized, and for a moment, everything went still. My wolf reacted, though-she wagged her tail and let out an excited yip, as if she had already known what I refused to believe.

Then, Alpha Gundahar threw his head back and let out a triumphant bellow. "Alpha Zayden has found his fated mate!"