The Wolf's Game

CHAPTER 5: Feast Of Shadows

　　Aria

　　The mirrors breathe. At least, that's what it feels like, the air pulsing soft and slow against my skin, the glass fogging and clearing as if exhaling. This castle is alive, and I don't mean with energy. It is actually alive. I don't know how to explain it, but I can feel it calling to me. I do my best to ignore it, but each shift of my back against the hard wall feels like a forbidden touch. I've been sitting on the cold floor of the hall for what feels like hours when the change comes.

　　A low hum threads through the walls. Then, with a sound like distant thunder, a long table rises from the marble floor. One blink it isn't there, the next it's carved from black wood and set for twelve. Candles spark to life along its length, their flames silver instead of gold. Steaming platters appear filled with roasted meats, fruit glistening like jewels, and goblets filled to the brim.

　　The smell is enough to make my stomach twist in protest and hunger all at once.

　　Someone laughs nervously. The vampire hums with appreciation when a goblet of blood appears before him. "Good, I would hate to feed off of one of you."

　　I swallow as his gaze flickers toward me, but I refuse to show my fear.

　　I stay where I am until the others begin to move. Hunger might kill me before the trials do, but I'm not foolish enough to be first.

　　The one with the golden eyes isn't first either. He strolls toward the far end, drops into a chair, and leans back like he owns the place. He doesn't touch a thing.

　　Figures.

　　I take the seat nearest the wall, close to an escape route and far from him, though that doesn't stop his gaze from finding me. I can feel it without looking, and it makes my skin heat.

　　The witch is already there, across from me. She reaches out a hand, but I don't take it. She pulls it back and gives me a knowing look before she speaks. "My name is Elyra."

　　The name suits her. Her silver hair catches the candlelight, and when she smiles, it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

　　"Aria," I grumble in return.

　　"Eat," she says gently. "The castle doesn't offer second chances."

　　I glance at the meat on my plate. It looks perfect. Too perfect. "Food that appears out of thin air usually comes with strings."

　　Elyra's laugh is quiet. "Everything here does."

　　Around us, conversation begins to rise in uneasy waves. The fae boasts about surviving curses; the mercenaries argue over whose blade is sharper. The vampire toys with his goblet like it's foreplay. Only the golden-eyed man remains silent, swirling wine he never drinks.

　　Elyra studies me instead of her food. Her eyes are pale, nearly white, threaded with silver. "You came for freedom," she says.

　　My fork stops halfway to my mouth. "What?"

　　"That's what I see around you. Chains, half-broken. You want to be free."

　　I force the fork down, the clatter too loud. "You see wrong."

　　"Do I?" She tilts her head. "Freedom has a scent, little wolf. It smells like iron and old pain."

　　The table's chatter fades around me. I can feel the golden-eyed man's attention turn on me, though he still doesn't look directly at us. My pulse spikes. "You should keep your visions to yourself."

　　Elyra smiles faintly. "If I did, I'd choke on them."

　　"Maybe you should try."

　　That earns a small laugh from him, low, amused. The sound slides through me before I can stop it. I glance his way, and sure enough, he's watching now, eyes bright with that same infuriating amusement.

　　"Careful," he says. "Witches bite."

　　Elyra's gaze cuts to him. "And wolves play with their food."

　　He grins. "Only when it's interesting."

　　He looks back at me, his golden eyes boring into my skin. "Name's Kael."

　　I don't answer him. I am not here to make friends. I stab a piece of bread just to have something to do with my hands. The crust flakes perfectly; the inside is warm and soft. Against my better judgment, I take a bite.

　　It's delicious. Too delicious. My body sighs, starving enough not to care that it could be poisoned.

　　Kael notices. Of course he does.

　　"Good?" he asks, tone lazy.

　　I swallow, meeting his eyes. "You'd know if you tried it."

　　He shrugs. "Not hungry."

　　Liar. He looks at the food like it's something foreign, like he's forgotten what hunger feels like. His fingers tap a rhythm against the stem of his untouched goblet.

　　Elyra watches both of us now, curiosity flickering in her gaze. "You two smell of the same storm."

　　I glare. "Meaning?"

　　"Meaning you'll either destroy each other," she murmurs, "or f**k. There is no in between."

　　Kael's smile fades for the first time. Something cold flashes behind his eyes. "Enough, witch."

　　Elyra only arches a brow. "Struck a nerve?"

　　He doesn't answer, just leans back, studying the ceiling. The candlelight glints off the gold in his irises, and for a moment, he looks less like a man and more like the creatures whispered about in old tales. A man too dangerous to be real.

　　The hall quiets again. The others eat cautiously, voices low. The mirrors around us ripple, showing distorted reflections. Our bodies stretch taller, our shadows move slower than we do, and every so often, I see Kael's reflection glance at me even when he isn't.

　　The food starts to taste strange. The sweetness on my tongue dulls to something metallic. I set my fork down. Elyra notices but says nothing.

　　Across the table, one of the mercenaries laughs too loudly, the sound brittle. "Maybe this won't be so bad after all."

　　The vampire smirks, licking his lips. "Famous last words."

　　A breeze snakes through the hall, extinguishing half the candles. The remaining flames burn blue. The mirrors darken, reflecting only the table and its guests, no walls, no ceiling, just endless black behind our images.

　　Violet presses forward inside me; her unease is growing. Something about this feast feels like a test. I glance at Elyra; she's gone still, hand hovering over her glass. Kael's eyes meet mine again, the unspoken message clear: Don't drink.

　　I push the goblet aside.

　　The herald's voice echoes from nowhere. "The first night ends. Rest well, competitors. The Game begins at dawn. Find your rooms."

　　The feast vanishes.

　　One blink, it's there. The next it is gone, leaving only empty plates and the taste of ash in my mouth. The chairs scrape backward on their own, sliding neatly beneath the table as if hands guided them.

　　Someone swears softly. No one laughs this time.

　　Elyra rises gracefully. "Dream lightly," she murmurs to me before drifting away, her silver hair catching what little light remains.

　　I stand slower, stomach knotted. My hunger's gone, replaced by unease. When I glance at Kael, he's still sitting, elbows on the table, watching the last wisp of candle smoke curl toward the ceiling.

　　"Not hungry," I say quietly. "Or not allowed?"

　　He looks up at me then with an unreadable expression. "Both."

　　It's a strange answer, and before I can ask what it means, the midnight bell tolls, one deep note that rattles the mirrors and makes the floor shudder. The sound slides down my spine like ice water.

　　Kael rises finally, stretching like a predator after a long nap. "Get some rest, Moonfire," he says softly. "Tomorrow bites."

　　He leaves me standing there, surrounded by an empty table and fading echoes, trying to decide which unsettles me more: the castle that seems to breathe around us, or the man who doesn't.