Chapter 3 Pack Ritual

• Clara
• When I entered through the doors, I could see Prince Griffin, Sisley, and Lord Dover cross the gigantic room our pack called the ballroom. It was meticulously cleaned. Elites were already allowed to ascend to the second floor. The trio ascended up the curving stairs made of black iron. I watched them enter the large balcony that jutted out like a perch – one could see everything that occurred on the floors from that position.
• One lone werewolf stood behind the balcony’s black railing, watching everything. He was a tall older man with features I’ve associated more with a crow than a wolf. Everything about him was sharp: his eyes, his lips, his chin, and well-trimmed beard. He was the only one allowed to not conceal his claws. They were black and elongated. His arms were held behind his back in a pose of graceful savagery.
• Our Alpha. The brutal murderer of my parents. They said that he was the one who struck the killing blow himself. A leader must always finish what he started. That was the way of the pack.
• I saw Lord Dover salute and bow to the Alpha. Even from here, I could smell the oiliness of his flattering tones.
• “Hail, esteemed Lord of the Pack. May Diantha give you keen ears and a full belly!” The standard greeting of blessing.
• The Alpha’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if annoyed by this interruption. He nodded at Lord Dover, but did not speak. He was a werewolf of few words. I could see his lips move to greet his son and daughter-in-law, but the werewolves around me were all speaking at once, jostling each other, and snarling at one another. They could barely contain their excitement.
• I craned my neck to hear the Alpha and Griffin better, but a shrill nauseating voice broke out on the first floor.
• “Welcome, one and all to the mating ball! How lovely to see you all deep in the throes of lust and love! Oh, it reminds me of my own days when the males all chased us like we were rabbits scurrying from our burrows! How droll! How exciting!”
• A woman dressed in electric pink frills, laces, and silk smiled at us with hungry eyes and lips. Her canines were drawn out. Any civilized werewolf, from the prestigious Alpha to the most despised Omega, would never have their canines out for such an event. But civilized behavior never suited Isabelle, the showy Matchmaker of the Moonstone Pack.
• Her eyes were tinged with the tell-tale scarlet hue – she was deep in bloodlust.
• I averted my eyes.
• For the lucky and the blessed, this mating ball would be the culmination of all one’s desires and dreams. For the unlucky like me, I would be paired with some mediocre lout, or worse, be the victim of our pack-sanctioned rape.
• I was considered worse than an Omega, the lowest caste class, and I wouldn’t wish their fates on my worst enemy.
• I could smell the heat and the lust of both males and females around me. They had sprayed sickly-sweet aphrodisiac drugs in the air to get all of us in a frenzy. Damp sweat and barely contained hormones hung thick in the air. The overly sweet scent of drugs mixed with the rankest of smells, and I wanted to retch. I realized I could smell fresh blood as well. Even though the wound in my shoulder was beginning to dry and cake, my nails had dug too deeply into my own palms and dripped with blood.
• Somewhere behind me a male young werewolf bayed with frustration, and it seemed like several others would join him. I felt sweat drip down my back. Did he smell my blood? He seemed like one of those brutes who would abuse a female, then forget about her within the passing of a moon.
• “Now, now!” laughed Isabelle, clearly enjoying the show. “No howling BEFORE the act.”
• Coarse laughter greeted this distasteful woman, and I could feel her red eyes settle on me for half a second. It was enough for her to see my distress.
• “My lovely dears, as is in tradition of the gods and our great Lunar kin, you must show obeisance to our great leaders. They must see that you are fit for mating. Then after that – well, let us say that I will be eagerly awaiting the registration of so many wonderful couples.”
• Isabelle watched me for only a moment, and she smiled again. “Let this blessed event in the name of our Moon Diantha, begin!”
• The werewolves all howled, and the heavy beat of drums thrummed through the darkened hall. We were children of Diantha – our first lover was the Moon that enchanted us and gave us great unnatural strength and clever minds.
• We had no need for lights, though some pale blue fires housed in onyx chandeliers were scattered through the ceilings of the hall. Our finetuned ability to smell was enough to be able to pick out where one wolf began and another ended.
• We shuffled down a line that I could only explain as lambs queueing up for the slaughterhouse.
• Werewolves looked up hopefully at the balcony. Perhaps they would catch the eye of our leader and impress him with their physical prowess. The mating ball wasn’t just for the act of procreation; for some dreamy fools in the lower caste classes, it was their only chance to be able to show the Alpha that they didn’t belong in the lower ranks.
• A ridiculous delusion.
• I lifted my gaze and saw them on the balcony. Prince Griffin with his arms around Sisley’s waist. Sisley looking down in utter condescension. The third was the Alpha, front and center.
• I saw his cold yellow eyes meet mine for just an instant.
• The bravado in me forced me to look back at him.
• My muddy brown eyes clashed with his bright yellow eyes. I could feel it all: his condescension and amusement. He didn’t fear me. I had been broken long enough to satisfy him, but it never was enough. His smile was tight and small, but ruthlessly triumphant.
• My stomach churned, and even though I felt myself on the verge of tearing up, I willed my body to not show a single emotion.
• Barnes Andelle. The perfect Alpha. The one who always seeks out power and thus strengthens the pack with his own indomitable greed and will. He was insidious and intelligent. They told me every day that my parents had dared to kill Barnes in some half-baked plot for power.
• I never believed it for a second, but that’s not how this absurd pack works. The Alpha didn’t become that way by playing the game fairly.
• The werewolves behind me pushed me forward impatiently, eager to get on with it.
• “Now, let’s welcome our Prince and Sisley for the opening dance!” The Matchmaker squealed.
• I bit my lip, unable to avert my eyes from the dancing pool.
• “Observe our beloved future Alpha and Luna! Let your love shine as brightly as theirs!” Isabelle chanted.
• Part of me wanted to turn away, but another part greedily sought out the two intertwined figures dancing on the balcony. I could see Sisley’s perfect form stretching and twisting in perfection. She was always a good dancer – the best in our pack. I hated her guts, but it wouldn’t change the honest truth. She was beautiful. I saw Griffin’s hands curl around her thin waist and naked back. He too was the epitome of grace and perfection.
• I wanted to imagine myself in Sisley’s place, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t see myself in any way in front of a slavering pack of werewolves, put on display like a peacock, and forced to prance around in a ritualistic dance.
• I would never have the chance anyway.
• I suddenly felt the burning pain my palms and my shoulder. The sensation of the wolf running within me tangled within my soul. She crouched low, and her snarls rumbled within me.
• No longer. We would run free.
• In a few hours, the guards posted on the perimeter of the Bragne, the dwelling place of the Moonstone Pack, would be lax during the festivities. We could make our way out of the Moonstone Pack without any attentions.
• Freedom.
• The cool green hills that lightened in hue to stark white. Warm summer breezes transforming into bitter winds that froze your heart. That harsh wasteland of snow and ice that all werewolves simply called the Wilds.
• I promised myself that I would never allow myself to be abused anymore.
• The Wilds was a place where other exiles and recluses decided they would make their stand, rejecting their packs that had rejected them first. When you went to the Wilds, you went there to die.
• But at least I would find a fleeting moment of freedom. It would be worth it to see Diantha hanging low in the darkened blue gray sky with no werewolf to shame or mock me. To feel the snow dancing on my fur. To be able at last to shift to my true werewolf form and to feel the power of the moon coursing through my veins.
• I lost myself in this reverie for only a moment, before someone touched my shoulder.
• I whirled around and snarled without thinking, “Don’t even think about coupling with me, you slime.”