Chapter 4 – Touching the Knife
1327 Words
The knife waited between us like a question with only one acceptable answer.
The handle was smooth, worn by generations of hands. Moonlight slid along the blade, catching on the etched sigils. My palm tingled, as if the circle itself were reaching for me.
Behind the officiant, the pack held its breath.
“Lyrix,” my mother called softly. “Love, it’s all right. You can do this.”
Could I? That was the problem. Everyone assumed the only thing stopping me was fear I’d conquer once I stepped over the line. No one seemed prepared for the idea that the line itself might be wrong for me.
My fingers twitched, halfway to the hilt.
Corren’s hand brushed mine, not to guide, but to steady. His eyes never left my face. The bond hummed like a wire pulled too tight.
“Whatever you choose,” he murmured, so low only I could hear, “make sure it’s yours. Not theirs. Not even mine.”
The officiant’s jaw clenched. “Alpha,” he said sharply, “this is not your moment to—”
Corren’s head snapped toward him, eyes flashing amber. “I’m speaking to my mate,” he said. “Not your puppet.”
A ripple moved through the pack—shock, a flicker of approval, a growl of discontent quickly smothered. Selane Tesh’s lips twitched, almost a smile, before her expression smoothed.
“Lyrix.” My father’s voice now, rougher. “We trust you. Your strength. You were born for this.”
I wasn’t sure if he meant being Luna or being under every eye, expected to make the right kind of mess.
Was I born for this?
I thought about every story told around winter fires: brave alphas, gentle Lunas, the unbreakable pair that held the pack together. The Luna always smiled. She always gave. She never…spoke like this.
My throat closed.
“Take the knife,” the officiant said, voice honeyed and heavy. “Let the circle feel your vow.”
The magic pressed harder. Under my skin, my wolf shifted restlessly, caught between bond and instinct.
You’ll be trapped, she warned, restless. You’ll be caged.
We’ll have him, another part whispered, raw and hopeful. We’ll have him.
My hand closed around empty air, hovering inches from the hilt. Heat from the metal bled into my skin without contact. The circle hummed eagerly, like it was already rewriting me into its story.
“Lyrix.” Corren again. There was no order in his tone, no alpha command. Just a plea that scraped me bare. “Talk to me.”
I dragged my gaze to his.
“What if I fail them?” I whispered. “What if I fail you?”
A muscle jumped in his cheek. “You fail us all the time,” he said. “You miss patrol rotations. You break training schedules. You throw knives at my head when I’m being an i***t. We’re still here.”
He stepped closer, close enough that the officiant had to back up a fraction or get stepped on. Close enough for the scent of smoke and cedar to cut through the incense.
“I don’t need a perfect Luna,” Corren said. “I need you. As you are. Even if that means half the elders choke on their wine every time you open your mouth.”
A scattered laugh broke out at that, quickly shushed. My own unwilling smile twitched before I killed it.
“You say that now,” I muttered. “Wait until they start measuring how I pour tea and how I breathe and how I blink in front of visiting alphas. Wait until every mistake is ‘unbecoming of a Luna.’”
“That is not the role I want for you,” he said, fierce now. “If that’s what they try to make it, we change it. I will change it. With you.”
Easier said than done. He’d grown up with those same stories, the same warnings: an alpha without a Luna was weak, incomplete, dangerous. Could he really unlearn that with me at his side and a hundred eyes judging every misstep?
Could I survive being the experiment that failed?
The officiant’s patience snapped. “Enough,” he said, power edging his voice. “This is not a debate hall. The moon waits. The pack waits. Lyrix Venn—”
“Let her breathe,” Nyra called sharply from behind me. “Unless you want your Luna collapsing before you get your pretty blood in a bowl.”
Gasps. Someone growled at her insolence; someone else snorted agreement.
I realized my vision was shimmering at the edges, black creeping in. I forced a slow inhale. Exhale. The world steadied a notch.
“Lyrix.” Selane spoke again, unexpected. Her voice carried without being loud. “Look at me.”
I did.
“I walked into a circle like this once,” she said. “I thought I could grow into the role, even though it felt too big for my skin.” Her gaze flicked to Vakran’s banner in the viewing area, then back. “I did. And I broke myself doing it.”
A murmur rippled outward.
“I am not saying don’t step,” she added. “I am saying: if you do, let it be with open eyes about the price. Not with someone else’s story shoved in your mouth.”
The officiant looked like he’d swallowed a bone. “Selane—”
She lifted a hand, silencing him without magic, just weary authority.
The knife still hovered in front of me.
Open eyes. My gaze dropped to my palm. I could imagine it already: silver bite, blood in the bowl, rope around my wrist, vows said, pack howling approval.
Could we change things from inside, like Corren believed? Maybe. Eventually. After how many years of me smiling through suffocation so no one panicked?
The bond thrummed, waiting.
I reached.
My fingers brushed the hilt. Magic rushed up through the contact, tasting me, hungry and eager. Images slammed into my mind—crowded feasts, blessing circles, babies placed in my arms, elders at my door at dawn, always on, always watched, always giving.
My stomach lurched.
I yanked my hand back as if burned.
A collective gasp.
“Lyrix,” Corren said, voice suddenly hoarse. “What are you doing?”
I stared at my own trembling fingers. They didn’t look like mine anymore, like they belonged to some other girl who could just smile and say the right words and never choke on them later.
“I don’t know how to be what they want,” I whispered, louder than I meant. “And I…don’t want to promise I will.”
The officiant went pale, then flushed scarlet. “You dishonor—”
“I’m trying not to lie in front of the entire pack,” I snapped. “Is that dishonor now?”
The circle’s magic churned, unsettled by my refusal. The bond between me and Corren pulsed harder, reacting to the disturbance.
“Lyrix,” he said again, and there was raw fear in it now. “If you walk away from this—”
“I’m not walking away,” I said, even as my whole body leaned an inch back from the knife. “I’m just not ready to put a title on my throat like a collar.”
The elder’s lips thinned. “Then what are you ready to put there?” he demanded.
I didn’t have an answer.
But I knew, bone‑deep, that if I closed my hand around that knife and spoke their words tonight, whatever courage I had left would drown quietly under the weight of their relief.
“I don’t know,” I said, my voice shaking. “But it has to be mine.”
The magic in the circle shivered like a held breath starting to break.
- Writer
