The Dual Claim

The chandeliers blazed with hundreds of candles, their flames mirrored in the polished marble until the ballroom looked like the inside of a star. Music drifted from the gallery, bright and full. Perfume, wax, and heat mixed in the air. A bell rang twice and the hall quieted.

Alpha Corren rose from his chair at the head table. He was older than I remembered-hair gone silver, shoulders still straight.

"Welcome, allies and honored guests. As the Moon turns through her twelve faces, each of the Twelve Allies stands in turn to serve as host before the full moon. Tonight, it is Silverpine's honor to celebrate the banquet of The Luna's Calling."

Applause rippled through the room, soft and polite. He lifted his glass in salute, then nodded to the dais.

Elder Galdo stood. His voice carried calm authority. "We thank Luna for her bounty and the strength she gives our hunts. May our alliances hold, our hearths stay full, and our hearts remain ready for her choosing, and our appetites sated from the feast before us. Blessed Be."

"Blessed Be," everyone replied in unison.

Servers moved between the rows, the scent of roasted meat and spiced fruit filling the hall. I copied what the others did-napkin in lap, hands folded, wait until the Alpha lifted his fork.

Don't drop anything, she told me with a lopsided grin. I didn't argue.

I tried to eat slow, careful not to spill on my gown. No one spoke to me, but I caught a few sidelong glances from the next table. I wasn't sure if they were pity or curiosity.

The servers quietly came in and took our plates then withdrew again.

Once the tables were cleared, the Pack Priestess stepped forward, her ivory robes flowing over the dais steps. Candlelight caught the faint shimmer of silver thread at her sleeves.

Her eyes were bright with love and faith as she lifted her hands toward the open skylight. "We stand in the days of Luna's swelling light," she said, "the time between shadow and fullness. When her face is nearly whole, she turns her gaze upon us and marks those she would see run beneath her silver crown. One week from now, when her light completes, the chosen will run as one, and balance will be kept among the Twelve."

She lowered her hands. "The goddess watches. Let us begin."

High Elder Selwyn rose next. His robes were plain gray, his expression measured, but his voice carried the weight of habit. "First, the pack daughters of their first year will test the bond with Alpha Corren's son, Lucien.

If no bond awakens, you will leave the stage and join the unbonded Alphas and other unbonded males. Next, the first-year daughters of our allies. If Luna does not call for their bond, all remaining unbonded may mingle as the Moon allows."

Chairs scraped. Girls began to line up near the dais, their families whispering. I rose too, already moving toward the end of the line. I knew my place. Wanes always went last.

Wane-the word they used for orphans the pack took in, protected but never quite full pack.

Every eighteen-year-old girl in Silverpine stood in line, waiting for the elders to call them up for their chance to be pack Luna. Mothers tugged at hems, adjusted jewels. Nervous laughter bubbled behind painted lips.

I had no one. No jewels to fuss with. No father to glare at boys staring too long. No mother to calm my nerves with a touch. I just stood alone in a dress that pinched under the arms and sagged at the hem.

My gown was a hand-me-down from some first year long gone, pale silver satin that ran a fraction short at the ankles if I stood straight. I stitched the hem by hand in Wane Hall two nights ago, the fabric finer than anything I'd ever worn.

While trying to look and feel like I fit in with the rest of the pack hoping for an awakening bond, I heard the not-so-subtle whispers around me.

"Look," someone said, not even trying to keep it soft. "A Wane in a silk dress."

"She should've stayed in the hall where she belongs," another voice murmured, bright with amusement.

I kept my eyes on the chandeliers. If I stared long enough, I could pretend I wasn't the girl at the end of the line, and that I belonged here, even if no one else believed it.

On the dais, at the top of the carved stone steps, stood the man who would decide the fate of every unbonded woman in line.

Lucien Veyrac.

Then he stepped forward, and every eye followed. Taller than anyone else on the stage, his shoulders were broad enough to make the space feel smaller. The black jacket fit like a glove, seams stretched over his biceps, every button closed, every line deliberate.

His golden hair caught the light, falling in loose waves to his collar. His eyes were liquid heat.

He didn't walk; he swaggered.

Lucien's eyes darted to a table next to the head table. A woman in red sat there, flanked by an older man and two identical younger clones of the older one. All of them bore resemblance to each other.

Her crimson gown was bright, more daring than any of Silverpine's girls. The tilt of her chin and the calm way she held her shoulders marked her for what she was-Alpha-born.

The men flanking her tried to appear casual, but their every move was protective, from the arm on the back of her chair, to the constant scanning of the room from the other. They were family, protecting their own away from home.

For me, Wane Hall was home, but it never felt like one. Home meant parents who wanted to know your every move, shared meals, questions about your day. Wane Hall was a place to sleep, eat, and shower. Warm enough to live in, but never warm enough to feel loved.

"By law and by bond," Elder Ansel intoned, "we witness Luna's Calling. Let those who have come of age this year step forth when called."

Someone squeezed my hand by mistake and yanked it back when they realized whose fingers they'd grabbed.

I pretended not to notice.

The first name carried easily through the hush. A girl in ivory moved like a trembling candle toward the steps.

Lucien descended one step to meet her. He placed two fingers lightly on her wrist and closed his eyes.

I held my breath along with half the room.

Nothing changed. No invisible thread pulled them together. No air snapped like a struck string. He opened his eyes, the corner of his mouth polite and unmoved, and shook his head.

Lucien's eyes zeroed in on the lady in red again.

"Rejected," someone breathed, not unkindly.

The girl turned on a caught sob and stumbled back to her family. Her mother caught her and guided her toward the remaining eligible males.

The elder called the next name.

A girl in sea-glass blue. Then a girl in violet.

They walked away from the dais with faces tight, searching the crowd for their family to offer comfort or for a mate who might be waiting somewhere beyond the line.

Lucien looked away before he touched the next wrist. Another tiny shake of his head. Another ripple through the crowd.

The ritual moved on. One young woman after another.

Each time, he glanced back at the woman in crimson silk...again. Hunger flickered in his eyes.

"Next."

The girl ahead of me whispered a prayer into her fist and stumbled into motion. She was all nerves and pearls, nearly tripping on the third step before catching herself.

He touched her wrist. Waited. Shook his head.

She made it all the way back to her mother before she cried.

"Next."

My mouth tasted like metal and wax.

The room went quieter than it had been all night.

I moved because stopping wasn't allowed. Just five steps. I could do it.

I kept my focus on the lowest step and lifted my foot.

Lucien Veyrac looked at me, and for a fraction of a second, everything else disappeared. Not because he was beautiful, but because the weight of his attention felt like a hand wrapped around my ribcage.

He didn't smile. He didn't frown. He watched.

I reached the top step. The dress suddenly felt tight and ugly. I stopped an arm's length from him.

The elder shifted closer, the ritual book open, lips pressed thin.

Lucien didn't meet me half way, he waited until I stood right in front of him and raised his hand to lay two fingers against my left wrist.

Skin to skin.

If the bond had a sound, it would have been the gong sound going off in my brain.

Something in my chest tightened, snapped, flared. My wolf surged, clawing to reach him, certain this was ours. And in his gray eyes, for a heartbeat, I saw his wolf answer-wild, unhidden, undeniable.

It was too much. I tore my gaze away before I fell to my knees, staring instead, at the hollow of his throat-his pulse. Suddenly wanting to lean in and take a long sniff.

Instead, I stood frozen, waiting to be told what to do.

The future Alpha took a step back, shaking his head.

"Lucien," Elder Ansel whispered, voice cutting across the stillness. "You feel it. She is your mate."

The words swallowed a hundred whispers whole. The air shifted as people leaned forward. Somewhere in the crowd, someone said, "No."

Someone else laughed once, then stopped when no one joined them.

I looked up into Lucien's eyes because I couldn't not.

A muscle jumped in his jaw. His lip curled.

He blinked, slow, without surprise or joy. This was not a male celebrating finding his mate. His gaze slid past me as if pulled on a string and caught on the crimson silk waiting at the edge of the head table.

When he spoke, his voice carried to every corner. No one could pretend they hadn't heard.

"I, Lucien Veyrac of the Silverpine Pack, heir to the Alpha Corren, reject you, Soraya Wane, as my mate."

The last word cracked across the marble like a whip.

For one fleeting instant, my wolf had felt his-raw and fierce, reaching for me. Then the bond snapped under his words. My wolf cried out, a soundless keening inside my chest, before recoiling as if struck. The burn twisted into something crueler, not just denial but rejection, a beating-down in front of the entire pack and every other pack in the area.

I gasped, and pulled my hand away from his.

Laughter burst and overlapped, bright, sharp, delighted. Not everyone laughed. Some people sucked in breath and held it, as if struck too. Some of the older men looked away.

The woman in crimson silk didn't smile because the smile never left her lips in the first place. Regardless of the ceremony, she knew he would choose her. It was obvious to me now.

Elder Ansel stepped forward as if to protest, then stopped with his mouth open, eyes moving between Lucien and the rest of the council, and me.

The bond didn't snap back. It didn't shatter like glass. It just... burned.

I stood there silent, in front of everyone I would have to see tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after.

There was only one way for me to save face. Orielle jumped and snarled once she knew my intent. I threw up walls to block her from taking control.

"I, Soraya Wane, accept your rejection." The words tore out of me. "I, Soraya Wane, Wane of the Silverpine pack, reject you Lucien Veyric as my mate."

When the bond seared him in turn, I saw it-the faintest wince he couldn't hide-and I clung to that sliver of satisfaction.

I didn't want to cry in front of them, but the tears welled anyway.

I didn't want to give them that, but I didn't have a choice.

Tears spilled and rolled down my cheeks, hot and mortifying.

I felt the weight of a hundred eyes waiting. Waiting for the entertainment of it.

I lifted my chin because it was the only thing I could lift.

And then I turned before anyone could see anything else break.

My shoes struck the floor. In a mirror, I caught my reflection-eyes wide and wet, mouth pressed into a miserable line-and looked away just in time to avoid colliding with a server carrying a tray full of bubbly.

At the far side of the ballroom, between two pillars, an archway stood empty. Staff used it to move from kitchens to the great hall. I'd used it too, carrying platters like most Wanes and Omegas.

I slipped inside without a word. I leaned back, letting the sturdiness of the wall hold me up.

The noise of the ballroom halved the instant stone closed around me. Far ahead, a scuff of footsteps echoed and then faded. I crept along the hallway, doors lined the passage, one ajar with steam curling out and someone swearing softly over a spilled sauce for the decadent dessert.

I pressed a palm flat against my chest and told my heart to be quiet.

It thudded harder, as if it didn't know how.

The next sobs hurt worse than the rejection.

I clapped my hand over my mouth to stop the next, but it still came, shaking my shoulders, clawing at my throat. Tears spilled fast and faster, staining the bodice.

From the hall, laughter rose again. Muted by stone now, but still sharp enough to find me.

And then Lucien's voice carried through the open doors, clear and certain:

"I claim her as my mate."

A roar of cheers shook the walls.

Against my will, I glanced through the arch at the very end of the ballroom. Through the crack in the door, crimson silk shimmered in the candlelight-already at his side.

The crowd cheered again. I swallowed hard and ran toward the last door between me and the outside.

The door stuck. I put a shoulder into it, and it gave with a groan.

The courtyard beyond lay dark except for the moon's soft glow. Thankfully, the music didn't reach me here, only the sounds of frogs and crickets.

I stepped outside and breathed in a huge gulp of the night air.

The fountain in the center of the courtyard sprayed water as the droplets hit the pool at its base. Around me the pack lands spread for miles and miles.

Orielle!

His wolf. Reaching.

Orielle surged up inside me, ears pricked, tail high, ready to run back. Mine! Let me go to him.

My chest lurched with her.

"We can't," I whispered out loud, clutching the fountain's edge until my knuckles ached. "He doesn't want us Ori."

His wolf wants me. Ori's voice rang fierce with certainty. He called my name.

My tears blurred the fountain's shimmer. "But his human mouth rejected us,"

I choked. "There's nothing we can do."

Orielle whined, the sound so full of longing, before she curled small again. Tears cooled on my cheeks and left my skin tight.

When I could finally breathe, my hands were shaking. I flattened them against the stone.

The door to the ballroom opened, and music spilled into the night, voices raised in laughter. I turned my head toward the festivities that already forgot about me.

Footsteps followed. Hard, confident steps. Another set, light and quick, keeping pace. Murmurs drifted between them: joy, relief, the sound of two who had found each other.

I stayed very still. They didn't even glance my way as they passed into the night, too wrapped up in their own happiness.

When their voices faded, I pushed myself up on unsteady legs.

Orielle sulked silent in the corner of my chest, and I didn't try to rouse her.

Wane Hall, the only place that had ever taken me in. The benches out front were worn smooth by years of bodies seeking rest, and I sank onto one, pulling my arms tight around myself.

The door beside me opened softly.

I scrubbed the last of the tears from my cheeks with the heel of my hand and pressed my mouth flat.

"Sori? Are you-do you need water?"

It was only another Wane. A girl about ten, hair pinned in a practical knot, flour dusted on her sleeve. She held a cup as if to offer it, then hesitated and hugged it closer to her apron. The effort in her eyes said she wanted to help, even if all she had was a glass of water.

"I'm fine," I said. The words came out thin and wrong.

She nodded.

"Thank you," I managed, trying to acknowledge her kindness.

Her gaze flicked to my hair, my face, my bodice, then politely away. I must have looked as run over as I felt.

"The night air's colder than it feels," she said rubbing her arm with her free hand, and left before I had to find anything else to say.

I stood until my legs steadied.

I slipped through the door behind her and tiptoed into the hallway that led to the stairs. It smelled of soap, old pine, and the stew the matron made.

A lamp burned low on the table by the front door because she always left one lit when anyone was out late. A basket of mending sat beside it, the topmost shirt pinned neatly where a cuff had torn.

From the far room came the murmuring of voices. A chair creaked. I stepped carefully, avoiding the boards that creaked under my feet.

In the narrow mirror by the stairs, a girl in a silver dress looked back. Her eyes were swollen at the corners. Her lips pursed. The bodice was blotched where tears had dried. The hem was marked where dirt scraped it.

"You're back early," the matron said softly from the end of the hall, as if she had been there the whole time and I'd simply been too full of my own misery to see her.

"Yeah," I said.

She squinted. She didn't ask anything else. She just opened her arms, the way she had for every child who needed someone.

I went, because I could. Because I had to.

Her shoulder smelled of flour, wool, and the cinnamon she hid in the top cupboard for special baking. I didn't cry again. I had used that up. The emptiness after wasn't better, but it was quieter.

"Kitchen," she said after a minute, patting my back once, brisk again. "You'll eat. Then you'll sleep. In the morning you won't go to work; I'll tell Gamma Rellan you've a fever. In two days, you'll decide whether to be angry or sad. You may do both if you can manage the time."

I huffed something that might have been a laugh if anything in me could lift.

"I have time," I replied.

She kissed my hair, then turned me toward the kitchen as if I were a lost little pup. The little stove glowed low. A bowl and spoon waited on the table as if she'd set them before I left.

Food tasted like nothing, but it filled a void.

When I climbed the narrow stairs to the dormitories, my eyes got heavy. Maybe sleep would be kind to me and pull me under so I couldn't think anymore.

Something burned under my ribs. It felt like it would for a while, I had no idea how long it took for a bond to go away. My wolf lay there too, bruised and beaten down, silent. I didn't know what I would do with either tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that.

I lay on my side and stared at the slice of moon that fit between the sill and the eave and tried to picture the ballroom now, with the lights and smiles. I couldn't; only laughter and humiliation were etched in my brain.

My throat ached. My eyes burned for one more second and then calmed, and sleep finally pulled my lids closed.

But then memories haunted my dreams:

"I, Lucien Veyrac of the Silverpine Pack, heir to the Alpha's line, reject you, Soraya Wane, as my mate."

Laughter followed.

I ran and ran, then ran again.

Over and over.