Chapter 4 When the moon calls

The town square had transformed under the blue moon's glow. Torches lined the perimeter, their flames unnaturally still in the windless night. The cobblestones, usually dull and worn, seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly luminescence. The townspeople had gathered in a perfect circle, their faces solemn masks of ritualistic acceptance, no one daring to meet Fidira's eyes as Madison led her to the center.

Her father's grip on her arm was unnecessarily tight, his fingers digging into her flesh through the delicate fabric of the white dress. He hadn't spoken a word to her since she'd descended from the attic hadn't even looked directly at her. Now, as they reached the center of the square, he finally released her, stepping back quickly as if contact with her skin burned him.

"Madison Blackwell presents his daughter as tribute," announced Elder Thorne, his reedy voice carrying across the hushed gathering. "The Council accepts this substitution in place of the son, Maxwell Blackwell, who was chosen by lot."

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Substitutions were rare and typically not granted without significant compensation to the Council. Fidira wondered briefly what her father had traded for Maxwell's freedom certainly more than he'd ever invested in her well-being.

"Does any member of the community challenge this offering?" Elder Thorne continued, though the question was merely ceremonial. No one had ever challenged a Selection.

Silence settled over the square, broken only by the occasional crackle of torchlight. Fidira stood alone in the center, acutely aware of hundreds of eyes upon her some curious, others relieved, a few even pitied. Melissa and Maxwell watched from the front row, her stepmother's hand protectively clutching her son's arm, her expression one of naked relief.

Elder Thorne nodded, satisfied. "Very well. The offering stands." He gestured to four men holding a large brass gong. "Sound the Calling."

The deep, resonant tone of the gong vibrated through the square, echoing off the buildings and seeming to continue far beyond what should have been possible. Once... twice... three times the sound rolled outward, each strike sending a visible ripple through the blue moonlight.

Then came the waiting. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the townsfolk standing motionless, barely breathing. Fidira remained in the center, her white hair and dress making her appear like a ghost in the torchlight, her mismatched eyes fixed on the northern edge of the square where tradition held the werewolves would appear.

When it happened, it was not with the dramatic entrance many had expected. No howling, no dramatic transformation. One moment the northern entrance to the square was empty, and the next, three figures stood there, having arrived with such preternatural silence that several townspeople gasped.

The werewolves' emissary stepped forward first a tall woman with copper-colored hair that fell in a sleek curtain to her waist. Her movements were too fluid to be human, her amber eyes scanning the crowd with predatory assessment. Behind her stood two men, both unnaturally still, their muscular frames suggesting the power that lay dormant beneath their human appearance.

The town gathered in silence as the werewolves' emissary approached the center of the square. Her eyes found Fidira immediately, widening slightly in what appeared to be surprise. For a heartbeat, the woman seemed frozen, staring at Fidira's face with an intensity that made the air between them feel charged.

Then the emissary circled Fidira slowly, examining her from every angle. The woman leaned in, inhaling deeply near Fidira's neck, causing several townspeople to look away in discomfort. Finally, she stepped back, a strange smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"This one," she said, pointing directly at Fidira, her voice carrying an accent none in the town had heard before. "The alpha will be pleased."

A collective exhalation seemed to pass through the crowd-relief that the selection had been accepted, that the ritual could be completed for another seven years. Only Fidira noticed the emissary's next words, spoken too softly for human ears to catch.

"After all this time, the last one returns to us."