The Sylvan Mate

The Dance

A knock resounded on the door, drawing our attention as the last finishing touches were applied including a gentle marigold and cinnamon perfume. Aileen trailed toward the door and opened it, revealing my father on the other side. Her had on traditional clan finery consisting of a Feileadh-mhor (great kilt) in the clan colors, the tartan was pulled and draped over a fine coat, pinned over his right shoulder, a boineid on his head, and his sable beard had been groomed and trimmed to his collar, shiny with oil. He was a strong man, his muscles protesting against the well fitted jacket beneath his tartan. Muscular legs were displayed beneath the knee of his kilt and despite the wolf mask he wore, his strong jawline was visible.

The MacCormaigh tartan was based in dark blue and set over with black translucent squares and occasional red stripes. Other members of the pack would also be wearing the same tartans. While the females dressed in spectacular dresses, the men would all look just about the same aside from what coat they wore beneath the sash of their tartan. 

“My little pup,” my father cooed as he strode forward, pushing up his masquerade mask so that he could drink me in fully. “I can barely believe you’re a woman grown now.”

A calloused hand touched my face and I took note that he was wearing his sword belt. There were few times that he displayed his weapon, since wolves fought another with tooth and claw. We only used weapons against humans or other steel bearing races. 

“Are there other guests here?” I asked, gesturing to the longsword. 

“Aye, we are also visited by the Wood Elves tonight. It’s been a few years since they’ve attended one of our balls, but they took up our invitation this year,” father told me, thumbing my cheek for just a moment longer before he removed his hand. 

He was right, the Wood Elves sometimes joined us for festivities. While the elves were not close to the humans (if not disinterested and disdainful in the race) they were friends of the lycans. Our own land bordered part of their ancient forest and we often crossed paths with their rangers. Legend had it that lycans and the Elven druids were of the same cloth, somewhere our lineages had diverged, but the Goddess had fashioned us both as shapeshifters. We had an innate connection to the wilderness just as the elves did and that drew us together. However, the elves were tempered and patient, whereas lycans often let their emotions rule them. I always thought it had to deal with the fact that lycans rarely lived to an old age, as elves did. Even though we could live for hundreds of years, lycans typically fell in battle long before that. 

“Wonderful, it’s always so refreshing to see people other than humans and the pack,” I smiled, taking his arm as he lowered his mask and led me out of my chambers.

“You’re one of few to think that,” my father snorted. “Many wolves don’t really like the elves.”

“They are good allies of ours and it is a good thing such wolves are not the Alphas. From what I know, the Alphas all have good relations with the Elven King, no?”

“Yes. King Haleth is an esteemed ally that none of the Alphas would make the mistake of crossing,” he nodded. “I think some of the other wolves just feel inferior, which stirs their emotions as you very well know. Elves are a powerful race, but… that is why they rarely participate in wars.”

“I had believed it was because they were pacifistic by nature,” I admitted honestly.

“Pacifistic? Oh no, the elves are patient and show much restraint, but they are not pacifistic. You have just never seen them crossed, but they kill humans who enter their domain without permission. Additionally, elves kill the most foes on the battlefield. They might not join the field often, but when they do it’s a m******e and they rarely forget or forgive. For a race as eternal as theirs… well, they remember every slight.”

A shiver trailed down my spine at the thought of seeing the beautiful and ethereal elves slick in their light, glinting armor and covered in blood. I had only ever exchanged simple pleasantries with them, but if I was to become Alpha I knew that my role in politics and formality with them would become even more important. 

“Some of the elves will also be partaking in the dancing,” my father informed me.

“The mating dances?” I echoed, confused by the idea.

“Yes, you may not remember since it has been a handful of years since they last came, but the Elven druids are allowed to partake in the dances. It is rare, but sometimes the elves mate with a lycan… which is why the elves attend the ball occasionally, it’s not just as a formality.”

“Druids can bond with lycans? When was the last time that happened?” I asked curiously.

“Not for a very long time. I think I was just a wee lad when I saw it last happen… But the elves age differently, which is why a handful of years to them is like a week passing. Just do not be startled if you find yourself not with a lycan while on the floor,” my father explained, pushing his chest out as we stepped out into one of the main hallways where patrons and attendees were beginning to congregate and slowly enter the large oaken doors that led into the ballroom.

“Whatever happens tonight, the Goddess fated it,” father said as we milled among the mass of folks getting drinks and catching up. The crowd was a wash of different tartans, each marking the clans despite the fact that their faces were covered. Only the women were difficult to discern as they were adorned in dresses that suited them. 

A female’s clan was not important because she would move wherever her mate belonged. I wondered why I hadn’t worn a tartan of my own, seeing that my mate would be coming to my pack. Perhaps it was to prevent animosity, as many wolves didn’t think a woman should be in charge, but I had no doubt many recognized me simply by my ivory hair. For a wannabe Beta or Omega, I was a way to trade up in society. To another Alpha, I was an embarrassment they would eventually have to deal with.

I detached from my father and floated into the crowd, unable to discern who I was looking at by the masks that covered their faces. What I was able to tell was who was elven and who was lycan. The elves were poised in their own silken finery rather than tartans. Lacking the plaid and kilts, I could pick them out easily. They were tall, lean, elegant, and beautiful. Despite the fact that their faces were hidden, their long hair billowed behind them and their ethereal dresses and robes entransed me. I wondered how soft the elven fabric was, it looked as smooth as butter.

My curiosity was ended when the music began and the crowd immediately began to segregate. The available females began walking toward the floor and the eligible males followed. My lips parted slightly, trying to get a scent of those around me, but between the hundreds of various perfumes that girls were wearing, I found that my senses were blurred.

A man in a red and green tartan bowed in front of me before extending a hand. This was the beginning of the dances. I curtsied deeply, as was custom, and accepted his hand as the string quartet began with a medium lilting tune. Round and round we went, each phrase of each song meant that partners would be rotated. I was swapped between prospective suitors and noticed when mates found one another. Their dancing became sloppy and the male’s head would crane down to drink in the female’s scent. The couple would soon escort themselves off the dance floor and there would be two less participants. 

“Elizabeth,” I had barely been paying attention to who I was dancing with. You would know right away if they were your mate. Glancing up, I noticed the MacCormaigh colors and familiar eyes beneath a black wolf mask. Fergus smiled at me, but I could see the trepidation clear on the visible part of his face.

It had been six months since I had last seen him and I knew at that moment that he had been hoping I would be his mate. Rather, we both danced without effect. “Fergus,” I managed a small smile, but also shared his disappointment. Us being mates would have made things so much easier. However, the Goddess had not willed it and thus we danced arm in arm, our emotions weighing us down.

Fergus was a handsome man with sun kissed skin and sandy brown hair. Soon to take over his father’s position as Beta, I knew that there were many she-wolves that were in heat over him. I also knew that Fergus had dutifully waited until I turned 18 to see if I was his mate before sleeping with anyone. He was three years my senior and had waited all those years for me only to discover that I wasn’t the one. 

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, discomfort leeching into my tired limbs. 

Do not lose your composure. Step out for a moment, Brighde warned.

The song ended, giving me enough time to dart between dancers and into the crowd of onlookers. No one really spared me much of a glance, it wasn’t abnormal for women to take breaks before getting back on the floor. After all there were hundreds of dancers and sometimes you wouldn’t find your mate until the very end of the night.

A scent caught my nose, the fresh aroma of pine needles and sage penetrating my nostrils. Glancing around, I saw nothing but masks. If he’s out there, I’ll find him later. I need to calm down. Seeing him like this my emotions might get the better of me. 

Brighde agreed and we exited the ballroom through the glass garden doors. Aileen had forewarned me that there might be couples going for a romp in the hedge labyrinth and she was right. Couple had been unable to wait for much privacy and I stumbled across a few of them on my pursuit of silence to clear my head. Finally, I found a spot away from the labyrinth in the herb gardens the kitchens utilized. I leaned against the maple tree that overshadowed part of the garden and sighed, pushing my mask up so that I could rub my temples. 

We knew it might not be him, Brighde reminded me. 

I know, but I had been hoping so much that it would be him. It’s not fair. What if I bring someone from an outside clan or an Omega as my partner? Father would be so disappointed.

Our conversation wasn’t continued with my wolf. My head lifted at the sound of footsteps in the grass and I expected a couple to come lurching in my direction. Instead, a man swaggered into view and the stench of alcohol rolled toward me like a tsunami. Frowning, I gave him a scathing look. “Can I help you…” I observed the colors of his tartan which was red hashed with gold and black. “MacDougal?”

“Mate,” he declared, jabbing a finger in my direction.

Confusion furrowed my brows. “Pardon me?” We were not mates. I smelled only the reek of alcohol and felt nothing. I could feel Brighde’s hackles rising as the man approached. 

“You’re Elizabeth MacCormaigh, next Alpha of the clan. I claim you as my mate,” he had stumbled forward a few more steps.

“That’s not how it works,” I told him sternly.

“Isn’t it?” he tapped the hilt of his sword, daring me to do anything. “I take you and you’re mine, whether or not our wolves agree with it.”

Can he do that? Can he just take us?

Brighde was silent and her silence terrified me. 

Brighde? Brighde what do I do?

The man was on me before my wolf answered, pinning me to the tree. His fingers were rough and harsh, pulling at the deep neckline of my dress. “Tiny breasts,” he snorted. “Doesn’t matter. You still have a cunt between your legs and an Alpha status.”

“Unhand me or else!” I snapped, glaring at him haughtily.

I wasn’t an Alpha yet and Brighde’s silence shattered my confidence. “Or else what? Once I claim you no one can do anything. Then I’ll become Alpha too.”

He bent down toward my neck and sniffed loudly, I knew he was preparing to Mark me. That didn’t quite seal the deal, but it would deter any others from trying to claim me.

I’ll be ruined. Even if father does punish him, our lineage will die out because no one will mate with me. I scented him. I scented my mate in there.

I closed my eyes, preparing for the unpleasantness Mark of this man. What was I to do? He was twice my size, had me back against a tree, and would take me here and now. I wanted to throw up, my body quaking in fear. 

A welcome scent washed over me, the confir and sage lulling me into relaxation. They said that your mate’s scent would immediately arouse you, but for some strange reason I felt a startling calm and clarity. Fear no longer existed. I was safe.

The MacDougal was torn off of me and sent blundering down to the ground. He landed with a thud and a figure loomed over him in silver finery. 

It took the wolf a moment to register what had happened. “f*****g elf!” he cursed, spitting at the feet of my savior. “Don’t you understand our customs? You don’t interrupt our mating-”

“I have seen enough Mating Masquerades to know that you were forcing yourself on this young lady,” the elf said calmly, but beneath the smoothness of his voice I could hear the thin lining of fury. “Aldir, tul- hon na i hir.”

Another elf materialized from around the bend of the garden. “Get up,” the elf told the MacDougal with disdain. He had a hand tightened around the hilt of his weapon and glared at the lycan, ushering him before him.

The second elf departed with the MacDougal forced in front of him. The other elf turned toward me, his face hidden beneath the mask. However, I could see his fine silken obsidian hair, which rolled down his back in a curtain tucked behind his long pointed ears. His skin was tanned and he was tall and lean. He wore silver armor that was made of tiny leaves. A wing-like cloak fluttered behind him and he smiled kindly at me. 

“He did not do anything, did he?” the elf asked me.

“No, you stopped him before he had the chance, ser,” I shook my head, entransed by his pearly smile. “You are a druid,” I observed, noting the brooch that pinned the wing cloak. While his attire was all silver, the brooch was in the shape of a bear’s paw print.

“Yes, I am. My name is Athalos,” he came forward to give me a look over once, making certain that I was unharmed. The name rung a bell, but I couldn’t remember at the moment. Rather, his rich amber eyes had ensnared me like a rabbit in a trap. 

“I am Elizabeth,” I finally managed. 

“Well, Elizabeth, I do not believe that I have gotten the chance to dance with you just yet,” Athalos remarked.

“Ah… I doubt many have gotten that chance yet. I stepped outside for some fresh air.”

“Was the air as fresh as you had hoped?”

I chuckled. “Not as I had hoped.”

He offered me a smooth hand, which I accepted. There was something odd about this all. His touch was firm, but gentle, a tingling spreading up my arm where his skin touched mine. What was this? 

He is the one, Brighde told me.

But this isn’t like the others. It’s not as primal. 

He’s not a lycan. There is a lust, but it does not counteract your personalities. You are both composed, just as I am and his inner animals are.

Father had told me it had been a very long time since a lycan had mated with an elf. What did this mean? But the worry melted away and I felt as if I could face anything with Athalos’ company. Each moment beside him I felt as if I was breathing chill, refreshing winter air. I wondered what he felt. Did elves understand the mating system and what it meant for lycans? Athalos had admitted that he had been to enough Masquerade Balls, but the elves only attended every handful of years. How old was he?

I glanced up at him, catching his gaze immediately.

“A moment,” he paused, turning toward me, reaching up to delicately grasp my mask. He lowered it kindly so that it covered my face again. “Your hair… They say that those with hair of starlight were kissed by the Goddess herself. And your eyes… The Goddess has violet eyes.”

“Thank you,” I muttered, feeling my fair cheeks flushing at his touch. “Is ivory hair rare among elves?”

“Of this exact hue, yes, and in tandem with your eyes,” his gaze set on mine and for a moment we stood there, unable to move or speak. His eyes were gold like amber, flecks of orange reminding me of flames. I could hear the cry of an eagle, the gruff roar of a bear, the snuffing of a fox, the brushing of a large feline passing by me- “The dance-” Athalos suggested, breaking into the strange visions I’d just had looking into his eyes. Druids were said to take many forms, had I just seen some of what Athalos had?

I wanted him, there was no doubting it. My heart was fluttering and my legs quivered. I didn’t want to dance, I wanted to join the couples in the gardens and become one of the many. Yet, I found I had the will to keep my composure just as Athalos seemed to possess the same. We mingled among the crowd and when we came to the dance floor, I noticed that there were so much fewer dancers on the floor. In fact, there appeared to be more elves than wolves and I realized that the actual mating dances had all but ended. 

Athalos led me onto the floor, his palm on mine. The music was different, not the lilting and easily predictable tune for swapping partners. Rather, an underlying beat allowed for swifter tempo and dancers spun and moved with passion and ferocity. I noticed immediately that the elves were particularly enjoying the beauty of such a swift dance and felt outclasses.

“Follow my lead,” Athalos told me, interlacing his fingers with mine and taking his other hand, placing it on my waist. We flew the moment we were in position and my mind was lost to the dance. Again our eyes caught with one another and I lost vision of the world around me. I was running in the woods, my paws hitting the undergrowth, scatting pine needles. I darted between ferns and bramble before breaking out to a small clearing, a glade with tall grass and wildflowers.

I was free. Freer than I had ever been within these castle walls. The cry of an eagle caught my attention, my muzzle pointing upward as I saw the brown feathers of a golden eagle against the glinting sun. The eagle dove and before hitting the ground a startling transition from eagle to panther startled me. I was thrown backwards as the panther tumbled with me, rolling in the grass, black fur rippling in the light as I tried to get back on my paws. I snapped at the panther, but not close enough to land a bite as he was not using his claws to gouge me. 

The play fighting ended abruptly when the panther became Athalos. He was laughing, grabbing hold of my muzzle with a strong hand. 

I blinked my eyes, my chest heaving with effort as Athalos had bowed me deeply over the dance floor. The song had ended and he was gazing at me in a manner that I’d never experienced. His look made me flustered, blush creeping up my neck and face. What did this all mean? Why did I keep having visions of us? 

He brought me back to my feet and there was some clapping around us. I didn’t even remember dancing.