002
699 Words
How to be a Ghost at Your Own Heartbreak
~VINA HALE~
If you’re going to be an invisible servant at the most important social event of the decade, try not to trip over your own feet.
It’s bad for the "hauntingly tragic" aesthetic.
I was currently navigating the Great Hall with a tray of crystal flutes that probably cost more than my internal organs.
The air in here was… a lot. Imagine a forest fire inside a perfume factory, and you’re halfway to understanding the smell of five hundred high-ranking werewolves in one room.
It was thick with pine, cedar, musk, and a level of testosterone that was honestly a fire hazard.
Up on the dais, Jace was standing next to his father, Alpha Magnus.
If Jace was a god, Magnus was the old, vengeful kind who liked to strike people with lightning for fun. He was currently giving a speech about “Purity, Power, and the Preservation of the Bloodline.”
Translation: If you’re weak, you’re a snack. If you’re an Omega, you’re the dirt under the snack’s feet.
I watched as Magnus leaned over and whispered something to Sarah, who was standing in the front row like she was waiting for a trophy. He smiled at her—a cold, terrifyingly sharp smile.
It was the "You’re going to be my daughter-in-law" look. Everyone knew it. If Jace didn't find his fated mate tonight, he’d be expected to claim Sarah.
It was a power move. A "Preservation of the Bloodline" move.
I felt a pang in my chest so sharp I almost dropped the champagne. Stupid heart. Stop doing that.
I moved through the crowd, a shadow in a gray tunic. I was the girl people handed their empty glasses to without even looking at my face. I was a ghost.
But then, the wind from the open terrace shifted.
And I smelled him.
It wasn’t just the "Alpha smell" I’d grown up with.
This was different. It was sandalwood—deep and earthy—and the crisp, electric scent of rain just before a storm hits. It was so overwhelming that my knees actually buckled for a second.
Deep down in the basement of my soul, my wolf—the one I’d named "Dusty" because she’d been inactive for so long—actually sat up and let out a tiny, high-pitched whimper. Oh no. Dusty, go back to sleep.
This is a very bad time for a wake-up call.
I risked a glance at the dais. Jace wasn't listening to his father anymore.
He looked… hunted. His fingers were gripping the edge of the stone podium so hard I heard the rock groan. He was rejecting every socialite who tried to catch his eye, his gaze restlessly prowling the room like a predator looking for a fight.
He looked agitated. He looked like he was suffocating.
I stayed in the dim light near the pillars, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Just one more hour, I told myself.
One more hour and the moon will set, the ceremony will be over, and you can go back to being nothing.
The clock on the tower began to chime.
One. Two. Three.
The room went deathly silent. Every wolf held their breath.
Outside, the Blood Moon reached its peak, turning the world a deep, bruised crimson. This was the moment. The "Goddess’s Eye," where the masks fall off and the soul recognizes its other half.
I looked at Jace. He was silhouetted against the red moonlight, looking terrifyingly beautiful.
At the final stroke of midnight, he gasped. It was a raw, visceral sound that echoed through the silent hall. His head snapped back, his shoulders bunching under his suit jacket.
And then he turned.
His eyes weren't the stormy sea-blue I’d grown up dreaming about. They had shifted. They were a glowing, supernatural, molten gold—the mark of a True Alpha finding his match.
He looked straight into the crowd. Directly at the pillars.
Directly at me.
When an Alpha’s eyes turn gold and he looks at you like he wants to either eat you or burn the world down for you… run.
- Writer
