Bloom

Freed

McKenna — The Evening of the Ceremony of Strength

By sunset, our pack grounds had become a world of their own.

Banners hung between the trees and unfamiliar wolves moved through territory that would ordinarily be closed to them. Packs from across the region gathered once a year for the Ceremony of Strength. The host pack changed annually, this year the responsibility had fallen to ours.

Earlier that day, each young wolf had been assessed for ability, strength and potential. Visiting packs used the results to recruit those who impressed them, offering better training, resources, opportunities to develop their gifts.

For someone like me, the ceremony was a public announcement that no one wanted them.

No offer.

Our elders had very little patience for wolves they believed could not contribute.

“McKenna?”

Dad's voice pulled me from my thoughts. He stood near the table, holding a small wooden box. The tiredness in his face had little to do with hosting duties.

“Come and sit down,” he said.

Something in his voice made my stomach tighten.

“Is this another speech about how my score doesn't define me?”

“No.”

“Good. I've already memorised that one.”

He didn't smile.

“Your mother and I have been worried about this day,” he began.

“Because of my rating?”

“Yes.”

I looked down at my hands. Everyone said my score didn't define me, yet it seemed to decide whether I was worth keeping.

“To the elders, your rating is evidence that you may not contribute enough to justify the resources the pack spends on you,” Dad said. “They expect every wolf to offer something—healing, strength, tracking, protection. When they believe someone has nothing to offer, they may remove them from the pack.”

“Exile,” I said. “You can say it.”

His jaw tightened. “Yes.”

“I haven't done anything wrong. I've followed every rule. How can they justify this?”

“They believe a wolf who brings no value is a burden.”

The cruelty of it settled like a bruise beneath my skin.

“Have they decided?” I asked.

“They've made their position clear. I can't promise when they'll act, but I believe they intend to exile you.”

“Then stop them.”

“If I openly challenge the elders, they'll see it as a threat to their authority,” he said. “They may punish your mother, McKayla and you. They could decide our entire family is a problem.”

“You think they'd kill us?”

“I think they're capable of it.” His voice remained quiet. “I won't pretend defying them is brave if it gives them a reason to destroy all of us.”

I wanted him to march outside and tell the elders to go to hell. But I understood what he was saying: he wasn't choosing them over me. He was trapped in a system where challenging those in power could cost him everyone he loved.

That didn't make it fair. It didn't make me feel less abandoned.

“So what happens to me?”

“We prepare for what may happen.”

He opened the wooden box. Inside lay two necklaces: one with a deep red ruby, the other with a sapphire-blue stone.

“An old friend made these for us years ago,” he explained. “She was a witch who understood the magic surrounding bonds. I asked her to make something that could help preserve the connection between you and McKayla if you were separated.”

“You were planning for this?”

“We hoped we'd never need them.”

He lifted the ruby pendant. The necklaces would survive our shifts, and their stones were stronger than steel. Once worn, they couldn't be removed or tampered with without unbearable pain.

“Nothing says unconditional love like jewellery with a built-in punishment,” I muttered.

I fastened the ruby around my neck. It felt cool against my skin, then slowly warmed.

A thin ribbon of red light curled around my fingers, edged in gold.

My breath caught. It was just like the light I'd seen the night before.

I hadn't told anyone. Not McKayla. Not Mum or Dad. I didn't understand what had happened, and I was terrified that if I spoke about it, the elders would find another reason to examine me, judge me or fear me.

I closed my hand around the ruby.

“Does it hurt?” Dad asked.

I looked up. “No.”

He studied my face. I wasn't ready to tell him the rest.

“Dad?” I asked. “If they exile me, will I still be allowed to see you?”

His expression faltered. “I'll do everything I can to keep you safe.”

It wasn't the answer I wanted. It was the only one he could honestly give.

“You are my daughter, McKenna,” he said, taking my hand. “No assessment, elder or pack can change that. Your rating tells us what they measured on one day. It doesn't tell us everything you might become.”

I wanted to believe him.

McKayla was waiting downstairs.

She glanced at the ruby around my neck and the box in my hands. “Should I be worried?”

“Depends. How attached are you to your current jewellery collection?”

“Kenna.”

I handed her the box. Dad explained the necklaces and why he'd arranged them, without pretending the magic could solve everything.

“They're really going to do it?” she asked when he finished.

I nodded.

“Then we won't let them.”

I gave a short laugh.

“I'm serious.”

“I know.”

“If there were a safe way, I would have found it,” Dad told her. “We prepare and protect one another.”

McKayla lifted the sapphire from the box. “What happens if we're separated?”

“The necklaces are meant to preserve your connection,” Dad said. “I can't promise exactly how. Don't rely on the magic to solve everything.”

“We've always been able to feel when something is wrong with the other one,” McKayla said.

“Usually at the most inconvenient times,” I replied. “Remember when you woke me because you thought I had a headache?”

“You did have a headache.”

“Because you kept telling me about yours.”

“You were being dramatic.”

“I was being telepathically bullied.”

Dad shook his head, and for a moment our home felt familiar again.

Then McKayla fastened the sapphire around her neck.

The ruby warmed. Red light flickered around my fingers; blue answered from hers. The colours twisted together between us for one heartbeat, then vanished.

“Did you see that?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“Was it supposed to happen?”

Dad studied the stones. “I don't know.”

For once, I was grateful he didn't pretend otherwise. The light had appeared when I'd put on the ruby, too. Something was responding to us, but neither of us understood what it meant.

McKayla took my hand. “Whatever happens, you're still my sister.”

“Unfortunately for you.”

“They can take your place in the pack. They can't make me stop loving you.”

I swallowed against the tightness in my throat.

She leaned against my shoulder. Neither of us wanted to let go first.

Then Dad reminded us that the ceremony was about to begin.

Lanterns illuminated the central clearing. Visiting packs stood beneath their banners, and the young wolves who had received offers were already discussing their futures with the representatives who wanted them.

Then the atmosphere shifted. Conversations faltered, wolves straightened, and an elder beside us lowered his voice.

“Azeo.”

Everyone had heard the name. He was the Alpha of the Black Mountain Pack, whose reputation travelled far beyond its territory. Stories of its strength and its leader were repeated with a mixture of fascination and fear. Some were undoubtedly exaggerated, but nobody seemed eager to discover which parts were true.

Azeo entered with several members of his pack behind him. He didn't demand attention; people simply moved aside.

He was tall, broad-shouldered and composed, dressed in dark clothes that seemed to absorb the lantern light. He looked like a man who had never needed to raise his voice to be obeyed.

His gaze travelled across the crowd and settled on me.

I looked away first—not because I was frightened, but because I refused to become another person who forgot how to behave just because a powerful Alpha was watching.

A voice entered my thoughts.

You look disappointed.

I went still. The voice was unfamiliar, masculine, and it hadn't come from anyone standing beside me.

I turned. Azeo watched me from several paces away.

Get out of my head, I thought.

One corner of his mouth lifted.

Control is an illusion, McKenna Rochester.

I stared at him, then decided that if I was going to embarrass myself in front of a gathering of powerful wolves, I might as well do it properly.

“Then perhaps you should practise controlling yourself.”

The nearest conversations faltered. Azeo didn't look offended. His attention sharpened, as if my answer had confirmed something he was considering.

He stepped closer. The lantern light caught his eyes.

Green. Almost black. Then blue flickered through them, followed by red.

My fingers closed around the ruby.

For a split second, I was back in my room, staring at my reflection: red eyes edged with gold, light curling beneath my skin. Azeo's eyes weren't the same as mine, but the shifting colours stirred the same cold certainty in my chest.

“Do you always enter people's thoughts without permission?” I asked.

“Only when they make it difficult to speak to them any other way.”

“Have you considered that some people don't want to speak to you?”

“I have.”

“And?”

“And here we are.”

He was either infuriating or accustomed to getting away with it. Possibly both.

His gaze dropped to the necklace at my throat.

“Keep that close.”

“Why?”

“Not everything that connects people can be seen.”

I waited for an explanation. He gave me none.

“Tonight is only the beginning,” he said.

“Of what?”

“You'll find out.”

“I'd prefer to find out without strangers speaking inside my head.”

“Then you have a great deal to learn.”

“And you have a great deal to learn about boundaries.”

His expression changed—not anger or amusement, but scrutiny. I turned away before he could decide he'd learned enough.

McKayla hurried closer. “What did he say?”

“That he has no understanding of personal boundaries.”

“Kenna.”

“What? It's true.”

She glanced at Azeo, then back at me. “Be careful.”

I looked across the clearing.

I touched the ruby at my throat. Dad had given it to me because he feared what the elders might do.

McKayla wore its twin because he wanted us to remain connected if the pack cast me out. The light that had passed between us was something neither of us could explain.

And now the most feared Alpha at the gathering had taken an interest in me for reasons he refused to reveal.

But I knew what my score meant to the people who held power over my life.

They had measured me, decided I was worth nothing, and prepared to discard me. They had mistaken a lack of recognised ability for a lack of worth.

Whatever happened next, I would find a way forward.