Chapter Nine
1298 Words
The morning passed slowly, each hour stretching thinner than the last.
Thalia was given heavier work than usual—hauling baskets twice her weight, scrubbing floors already clean, sent back and forth between rooms without explanation. No one said why. No one met her eyes long enough to explain. They didn’t need to.
She felt it in the air.
The pack house hummed with preparation for the feast tonight, voices overlapping, footsteps echoing, the scent of herbs and fresh bread drifting through the halls. It should have felt alive. Instead, it felt like a stage being built around her.
A young runner approached her near the storage hall, not unkind, but tense.
“The Alpha wants you nearby today,” he said quickly, as if afraid of being overheard.
Not summoned.
Not called.
Just… nearby.
The words hit harder than any order. Thalia’s hands went cold, the cloth she was holding slipping slightly between her fingers. Her breath grew shallow, her vision narrowing as if the walls had crept closer.
Nearby meant visible.
Visible meant watched.
She nodded silently and returned to her work, forcing her body to move even as her chest tightened painfully. Across the courtyard, Alpha Darius stood near the training grounds, speaking with a few warriors.
She didn’t need to look to know
When she did—by accident, by instinct—his eyes were already on her.
Unblinking.
Assessing.
Waiting.
Her stomach twisted violently. She looked away at once, heart slamming against her ribs. She bent lower over her task, focusing on the texture of stone beneath her hands, the scrape of fabric, the sound of her own breathing.
Don’t draw attention.
Don’t react.
A bowl slipped from her grasp, clattering against the floor.
The sound echoed too loudly.
Thalia flinched, instinctively raising her arms as if bracing for impact. Laughter broke out nearby—light, careless, unaware. Someone joked about clumsiness.
The laughter faded quickly, swallowed by the noise of the pack house. Thalia crouched to gather the broken pieces, her fingers trembling as she worked. She could feel it again—that familiar, suffocating awareness.
When she dared to lift her head, Alpha Darius had turned.
He wasn’t speaking anymore. He wasn’t moving.
He was watching her.
Not with anger. Not with desire.
With patience.
The kind that waited.
Her breath caught painfully in her throat. She forced herself to stand, clutching the bowl fragments to her chest, and hurried toward the back hall, her steps small and careful. Every instinct screamed at her to disappear, to fold into the walls, to become invisible again.
But invisibility had been taken from her.
The pack house buzzed louder as the day wore on. Preparations intensified—long tables dragged into place, lanterns cleaned and rehung, rich scents rising from the kitchens. Wolves passed by in clusters, excitement sharp in their voices.
“The feast starts at sundown.”
“Tonight’s going to be big.”
“I hope to find my mate tonight.”
The words landed like blows.
Tonight.
Her chest tightened until it hurt to breathe. Thalia pressed herself into the shadow of a doorway, steadying herself with one hand against the wall. Her pulse thudded painfully in her ears, drowning out the noise around her.
She felt him before she saw him.
Darius crossed the courtyard slowly, deliberately, as if he had all the time in the world. When he stopped near her work station, the space around her seemed to shrink.
“Stay where you are,” he said quietly.
Not a command shouted.
Not a punishment.
A statement.
Her body obeyed before her mind could catch up. She nodded once, stiffly, eyes fixed on the floor. Her hands curled into fists at her sides to keep them from shaking.
“You’ll be staying here tonight,” he continued, voice calm, almost thoughtful. “I don’t want you wandering.”
Her stomach churned. She swallowed hard, forcing out a hoarse, “Yes, Alpha.”
He lingered for a moment longer, his presence heavy and inescapable. Then he turned and walked away, as if he hadn’t just tightened invisible chains around her ribs.
Only when he was gone did she realize she was holding her breath.
Across the courtyard, Kael had seen everything.
He hadn’t heard the words, but he had seen the way Thalia froze, the way her shoulders drew inward as if she were bracing against something unseen. He noticed how she didn’t look up again for a long time.
Later, Kael stopped a senior pack member near the storage hall, keeping his voice casual.
“She’s working a lot today,” he said. “Seems… unnecessary.”
The wolf hesitated, eyes flicking toward the courtyard before answering.
“She’s just following the Alpha’s orders,” he said, dismissive. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
Kael’s jaw tightened. That wasn’t responsibility.
That was power used without mercy.
As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the pack grounds, Thalia felt the weight of the coming night settle into her bones. Lanterns were lit one by one, their glow warm and inviting—meant for celebration.
She pressed her hands together, grounding herself in the familiar ache of her palms.
Just survive tonight.
Tonight.
The word echoed in her head, heavy and layered with meanings she didn’t want to face.
Feasts were supposed to be about joy—about bonds forming, mates finding one another beneath lantern light and music. She had seen it happen before. Wolves laughing, hands brushing, sparks igniting in places meant to be safe.
A small, aching part of her—one she tried very hard to keep buried—wondered what that must feel like.
To be chosen. To be wanted without fear. To feel a bond that didn’t hurt.
She had once hoped—quietly, foolishly—that even someone like her might find a mate someday. Someone who wouldn’t care that she was different. Someone who wouldn’t look at her like a defect that needed correcting.
The thought hurt more than she expected.
Her gaze drifted to the lanterns being hung across the courtyard, their glass catching the light. Somewhere tonight, wolves would find what fate had promised them.
She swallowed.
Alpha Darius still had no mate.
The realization tightened something sharp around her chest.
Maybe… maybe tonight he would find her.
The thought came unbidden, desperate. If he found his mate—his true mate—then his eyes would finally leave her. His attention would shift. His presence would no longer follow her like a shadow she couldn’t outrun.
If he found her, then Thalia could fade back into the background where she belonged.
No more watching. No more waiting. No more hands that lingered too long, grips that hurt, moments she tried not to remember but couldn’t forget.
Her skin crawled at the memory of the last time—his weight, his voice low and calm as if nothing was wrong, as if she hadn’t gone rigid beneath him. As if her silence had been consent.
She wrapped her arms tighter around herself, breath shallow.
Please, she thought—not to the Moon, not to fate, but to whatever might be listening. Let him find her tonight. Let him look at someone else. Let this end.
She didn’t want his bond. Didn’t want his claim. Didn’t want to be seen at all.
She just wanted to survive.
The laughter nearby rose again, sharp and bright, and she forced herself back into motion, into obedience, into invisibility. Hope was dangerous. Wanting was worse.
But still—despite everything—her heart betrayed her with one fragile wish:
That someday, somehow, she might stand beneath lantern light not as something owned or kept…
…but as someone chosen.
- Writer
