Tethered By Fate

Chapter Three

The moon was high, the music was loud and Kayla was bossier than ever.

“Lily, those lanterns need to be hung exactly five inches apart. And for goodness sake, not crooked this time!”

I fought the urge to tie the string of fairy lights around her perfect little throat. Instead, I smiled sweetly and said, “Of course,” before turning back to my ladder and placing the fifth lantern slightly more crooked than the last.

Small rebellions keep the soul alive.

The Harvest Convergence was in full prep mode. All around the arena, wolves bustled, hauling platters, setting up long tables, stringing lights, adjusting seating arrangements. And me? I was the unpaid intern in Kayla’s dream-house circus, guess who played the clown.

She sauntered by with her clipboard, acrylic nails clicking like a ticking time bomb.

Chris trailed behind her, of course, his arm slung casually over her shoulder like she was something he won in a raffle. I didn’t flinch, not visibly, anyway. Laura however gave the smallest of growls but remained in her curled-up mourning ball.

"You're sweating," Kayla announced to me, nose wrinkled. "Try to change up the look tonight, okay? This is a celebration."

“Sure. I’ll try to sweat with more elegance.”

She blinked, unsure if I was being sarcastic. I wasn’t sure either.

—

By sundown, the transformation was stunning.

The entire pack grounds shimmered under strings of golden lanterns. Bonfires flickered at the perimeter, casting dancing shadows over the crowd.Tables overflowed with food–herb-crusted lamb, charred vegetables drizzled in balsamic glaze, bowls of jewel-toned fruit and baskets of artisanal sourdough still steaming from the oven.

The ball area had been cleared in the center, an open floor for dancing under the stars.

I slipped away to go get ready.

Back in my room, I closed the door, leaned against it for a moment and sighed.

Then I looked at the garment bag.

I hadn’t touched it since the day I brought it home. Two months of working odd jobs, saving every extra coin I could, just for this. A dress I hadn’t needed, technically. But I had wanted it. And more than that, I had chosen it myself.

I unzipped the bag slowly.

The dress was a soft, luminous shade of sunlit peridot green. The silk chiffon glowed faintly, like it held its own light. Its off-shoulder neckline curved gracefully, and golden vines stitched across the bodice twisted around tiny crescent moons. A hidden corset was laced beneath the bodice, subtle but firm, cinching my waist just enough to sculpt my figure without stealing my breath. The skirt spilled like liquid light, airy and full of quiet drama.

It looked like something a woodland fae might wear to a royal ball.

I stepped into it carefully, pulled up the zipper, and faced the mirror.

The color made my skin gleam like warm bronze. My red curls, left loose and brushed out, framed my face like fire-kissed petals. My eyes seemed more sharp and alive with something I couldn’t quite name.

I had never looked this much like myself before.

No borrowed dresses. No last-minute alterations from someone else’s closet. Just something that was mine.

The Harvest Convergence had already begun when I arrived with the music shifted between classical and upbeat

When I walked in, I caught Chris looking. He looked away too quickly, like the sight of me burned. Kayla noticed and gripped his hand tighter.

I hovered near the snack table like it was a lifeboat. Half a glass of red wine in hand, trying not to grimace every time someone said “compliments to the new season.”

Somewhere behind the stage, I heard the pack elders shuffling through a list of names.

Alphas. Ahh it was that time again. The yearly parade of posture and testosterone

All alphas were to be introduced like prize stallions at a quiet auction.

“We'll start with welcoming Alpha Rowan of the Red Fern Pack.”

Polite clapping followed. Heads dipped respectfully as Rowan–a broad, aging man with jowls and the calm authority of someone who’d rather be anywhere else,gave a curt nod.

“Alpha Margo of the Storm Pack,” the announcer called.

The applause sharpened, ever so slightly. She stepped forward—tall, all angles and elegance, her black attire severe but stunning. There was nothing soft about her. She looked like the kind of woman who could command an army or a boardroom without blinking. I instinctively straightened my spine.

I sipped my wine and tried not to make eye contact with anyone.

“And now,” the announcer paused, voice lifting just slightly above the rest. “Alpha Tristan Hale of the Dreadmoor Pack.”

The energy shifted.

Clapping slowed. Not from disrespect but because people were suddenly paying closer attention.

I felt it in the air,the ripple of unease, like a storm was about to break. All eyes fell on the tall figure.

Tristan Hale didn’t smile. He didn’t wave. He didn’t nod politely.

He just stood there.

Imposing. Unbothered. Built like a problem no one wanted to solve.

Sharp cheekbones, jaw like carved granite, and eyes—silver, piercing—like the glint of a blade just before it strikes. His dark hair was slicked back with the kind of precision that said he didn’t just command wolves, he hunted with them.

Even my wolf went quiet, for the first time in days. Watching. Waiting.

But for some reason, his gaze was still fixed on me. Steel grey. Focused.

Then Laura… moved.

Not a roar. Not a claim. Just a murmur in my chest, low and unsettling:

Mate.

I stood still.

Wine halfway to my mouth.

Heartbeat doing something erratic and annoying.

No. No, no, absolutely not. We were not doing this again.

My last mate had taken one look at me and said, “sorry.” Like I was a mismatched shoe.

So no,I didn’t trust this feeling. I didn’t want it. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to fall into some breathless moment because a pair of stormy eyes decided to notice me.

Laura growled–not at him, but at me.

“This is a joke right?” I muttered into my wine. “Maybe it's the alcohol, yes it must be messing with my head.

He was still looking. Not moving. Just watching.

I didn’t bolt. That would've been dramatic.

I just turned and walked away slowly, with all the fake confidence of someone who wasn’t internally screaming.

The crowd swallowed me up, voices buzzing, music humming in the background. I could feel my wolf pacing, agitated, restless.

Don’t turn around, I told myself. You imagined it. He’s not—

I glanced over my shoulder.

He was following me.