The Soul’s Chorus

Chapter 1

The air in the big hall was cold and old. It smelled of stone, wine, and power. Chloe Vexis stood very still. She was trying to be part of the wall.

All around her, the Pack meeting was in full swing. The important wolves, the Lunarths, moved like water. Their clothes were fine and dark. Their laughs were bright and empty. They looked sure of themselves. Their blood was old and strong, and they knew it.

The other wolves, the pure ones who were not Lunarths, stayed out of their way. They bowed their heads a little as they passed.

And then there was Chloe.

She was the mistake in the room. Her dress was a deep blue. It was a beautiful dress, but it was not her choice. It was the Alpha’s choice. The fabric was soft but heavy. It felt like a hand around her throat.

She was very beautiful. People said it was an unearthly beauty. It was not a comfort. It was just another thing that made her different. Her hair was black as a deep hole. And there, for all to see, was her mark. A single streak of silver, bright like a chip of moon, right at her temple. It was the sign of what she was. A Sunderling. Born from a wrong union. A living shame.

Eyes found the silver streak. They would look, then flick away. It was like watching flies avoid a spiderweb. The room was a dance, and no one would dance with her.

Breathe in, she told herself. Smell the room. Smell the cold. Breathe out. Be empty.

Her mother, Freya, stood a step behind her. This was the rule. A Sunderling must have a guardian. Freya’s face was tight with worry. Her eyes, the same blue as Chloe’s, never stopped moving. She was watching for danger. Every time someone looked at Chloe and turned away, Freya flinched. She felt every cut, even if Chloe did not show it.

A server came by with a tray of drinks. He was a young wolf, pure of blood but low in rank. He offered a glass to a Lunarth lord first. Then he turned to Chloe. His eyes went to her silver streak. He paused. For a second, he looked unsure. Should he offer a drink to the stained one? His eyes shot to Freya, then past her, looking for a rule. He finally held the tray out, but it was a little lower. A small insult. Chloe took a glass without touching his fingers. She did not drink. She just held the cold cup, feeling the chill seep into her skin.

“See how he looks at the river stone carvings?” Freya whispered, her voice a dry leaf rustle. “Lord Halen. Do not look directly, but see. He admires them. His mate collects green stones. A point of favor, perhaps. Remember it.”

Chloe did not look. She knew this game. Her mother spent her life playing it. Noticing what the powerful liked. Storing up tiny bits of knowledge, like coins, to buy small mercies. It was how they survived. But Chloe was tired of survival. She felt a hollow space inside her ribs where hope had once been.

Her eyes, without seeming to, found the center of the room. Where he stood.

Corbin Anderson, the Alpha Primus and High Warden. He was tall and broad, with hair the color of wheat in shadow. He wore dark grey, with bands of polished obsidian on his wrists. He was speaking to an older Lunarth couple, smiling. His smile was a white, even thing. It was like a stone wall—strong, with no way through.

As she watched, he finished his talk with a nod. His gaze swept the room. It was a king looking over his land. The chatter dipped a little. Postures straightened.

Then his eyes found her.

They were a pale, piercing grey, like winter ice over a deep lake. They moved over her blue dress, up to her face, and settled on her silver streak. The smile on his lips did not change. It did not warm. It did not reach his eyes. Those eyes were flat. Calculating. They held her for three heartbeats. Four. It was too long. It was a look that said, I own the thing I am looking at.

A cold finger traced Chloe’s spine. This was her future. This man. This gaze. This cold possession.

He looked away, turning back to his advisors. The moment broke, but the chill stayed in her bones.

The dread that lived in her stomach, always, grew heavier. Her wedding to Corbin was set for the Blood Moon. It was not a love match. It was a political one. He would marry the Sunderling, the stain, and in doing so, he would “cleanse” her line. He would show his power by turning shame into a trophy. She would be his beautiful, silent thing in a gilded cage. A ornament on his shelf.

A woman’s laugh, sharp as a knife, cut the air nearby. Lady Celine, a prominent Lunarth, was talking with her friends. She did not look at Chloe, but her voice was loud enough to carry.

“...of course, the ceremonies must be traditional,” Lady Celine said. “Especially for... unique unions. One must reinforce the old ways. It is the only thing that gives certain situations a sense of... order.”

Her friends made soft sounds of agreement. One of them glanced toward Chloe, then away, a faint smile on her lips.

The insult was plain. Chloe’s marriage was a “unique union.” A “certain situation.” It needed the heavy weight of tradition to make it seem right. She was not a bride. She was a problem to be solved.

Chloe’s fingers tightened on her glass. She wanted to fade into the stone. She wanted the floor to open and swallow her. But most of all, a small, fierce part buried deep inside wanted to walk over and spill her drink on Lady Celine’s perfect silver shoes.

She did none of these things. She stood. She breathed. She was a Sunderling. She was used to it.

Just then, a group of young Lunarths passed between her and the high table. One of them, a man with dark red hair and a sharp face, was Kaelen. She knew his name. Everyone did. He was of the highest blood, a true Lunarth, a guardian of the borders. He moved with a quiet grace, different from the others. He was not laughing. He was watching, his expression serious.

As he passed, his shoulder almost brushed hers. He did not look at her. But as he moved by, his eyes, a deep, stormy green, flicked down. Not to her face, but to her hand. To the glass she held so tightly her knuckles were white.

For a fraction of a second, their eyes met. His held no scorn. No pity. Just a quick, clear look of recognition. He saw the tight grip. He saw the strain. It was just a glance, and then he was gone, lost in the crowd.

That one look, so different from all the others, was like a single drop of water in a desert. It startled her. It made the hollow space inside her ache.

The noise of the room seemed to grow louder then. The clink of glasses, the hum of talk, the sound of a society that had a place for everyone but her. She felt the weight of the stones above her. She felt the eyes, always the eyes, touching her silver streak and jumping away.

She felt the future coming for her, wearing Corbin’s cold smile. And she felt more alone than ever in her life.

The night stretched on. An endless performance. Chloe played her part. She was a shadow in a beautiful dress. A ghost with a silver streak. And all the while, her mind was screaming inside a cage of bone, a cage of rules, a cage she could not escape.