Ch. 11 The Preparations
782 Words
They lit a bonfire for him, a continuation of the night before.
Not as formal—this was softer. Music played. Plates passed from hand to hand. Wolves gathered in coats and cloaks, circling warmth, laughter floating into the snow-heavy trees.
Xochi sat near the edge of the group, close enough to feel the heat, far enough to avoid the pull of the crowd. Her boots were wet. Her sleeves smelled like smoke. She didn't want to be here. At least not as the future Luna.
The oldest Miller boy, Joel, tried handing her a plate of food. She smiled but shook her head. She hadn't had an appetite all day, not since the morning time, when Amber told her she would be adding Luna training to her daily chores.
It involved spending time with Amber, unfortunately.
Xochi sighed and stared off into the fire.
Meanwhile, Brandon worked the circle like he’d been born for it—smiling, joking, clapping hands on shoulders. He laughed when others did. Always looking. Always performing.
Amber sat nearby, wrapped in thick silver wool, sipping from a cup of something steaming. She didn’t say much. Just watched him, sharp-eyed and proud.
And then Brandon’s gaze found Xochi.
He crossed to her, too casually.
“You should be grateful,” he said quietly. “Most wolves would kill to stand where you’re standing.” Xochi didn’t look up.
“I didn’t ask to stand anywhere near you.”
“You’re making me look bad.” He crouched slightly, voice still smooth.
“That’s not my problem.”
“All you have to do is smile. Show them what they expect to see.” His smile tightened. It didn’t reach his eyes. He then straightened and said loud enough for those around to hear, “Dance with me.”
She turned toward him, slowly.
“Then go find someone who knows how to lie like you.”
His jaw ticked. He stood up straighter.
Around them, the music shifted—something slower now. Pairs forming in the open space beyond the fire.
Brandon extended a hand, voice louder than before, loud enough for the whole pack to hear, “Dance with me.” The words were a test. Not an invitation. He was daring her to refuse him in front of everyone.
A few nearby heads turned. The air quieted.
Xochi looked at his hand, then at his face. Anger billowing off of her.
“No.” Simple. Clear. Final. “Not tonight. Not ever.”
The silence stretched. Brandon didn’t move. His breath was heavy and she could see he was working hard to school his features.
Across the fire, Xochi could feel Amber's eyes on her—sharp and cold, like the kiss of a blade.
Then, suddenly, with a stiff nod, Brandon turned and walked away, slipping back into the crowd like it hadn’t happened at all.
Byron sat near the fire, a book in his lap he hadn’t touched in ten minutes. The book lay open, forgotten. He watched her, like always, from just far enough to remain unnoticed.
He watched the exchange unfold across the clearing—watched Brandon lean in too close, saw the way Xochi's jaw tightened.
When Brandon offered his hand, Byron’s heart kicked once, sharp and low. Please don’t, it seemed to beg.
Then came her voice.
“No. Not tonight. Not ever.”
It was quiet, but it rang like a bell. Brandon didn’t flinch. Didn’t shout. Just turned away like none of it mattered. But Byron knew better.
He stared into the fire, fingers curled tight around the spine of his book.
She’s going to pay for that.
And he’s going to smile while he does it.
The next morning, her routine changed.
No more inventory checks. No more repair work.
She was assigned to scrub the kennels. Wash the training gear. Pull a mountain of dead roots until her knuckles ached.
“It’s good for young wolves to build discipline,” Amber said over breakfast, voice all silk. “You’ve had far too much freedom.”
At least Luna training is canceled, Xochi said to herself as she was on fours, yanking at roots.
No one protested.
Not even Byron.
But when she stood by the firewood pile that night, after stacking it high, blistered and stiff, she found a cloth-wrapped bundle next to her sketchbook —her favorite salve, a warm roll, and a pencil she’d thought she’d lost weeks ago.
She didn’t have to read a name to know who had left it. Just like she didn’t need a fire to feel warm. That understanding—it was enough to keep going. For now.
- Writer
