Willowfang: The Moonlit Treaty

Chapter 4 - Traps and Moonlight

Harlan -

I’ve been dreading this day.

The moment I’d see her again—when the tight control I held over every word, every expression, would be tested with every comment she threw at me. When I’d be forced to face how hopeless my situation truly was.

The banquet hall shimmered with soft golden light, the chandeliers strung with crystals that caught every flicker of the candle flames. Laughter mingled with the clinking of glasses and the gentle strands of music, but it all grated against my nerves.

I sat at the long table, shoulders tight, sprawled in my chair as my finger tapped on the table's hard surface as I watched her.

Anika.

She floated through the crowd like she owned it. Her hair was pinned up with a few artfully loose dark chocolate curls framing her jaw, her amber dress catching the light like a flame.

All poise and elegance—laughing lightly with one of my pack's elders, issuing soft, seamless commands to the waitstaff. Her control over the room was effortless, infuriating. I hated how easy she made it look—how good she was at this.

I hated the smirk she wore when she had delivered the marriage proposal like it was some generous blessing. I hated the way my father agreed before I could even open my mouth to protest. I hated that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the memory of the way her eyes lit up when she was pushing me to my limit.

Now, she invited me here to rub it in my face. I wanted to destroy her carefully crafted night, smash a few glasses, maybe throw one of her stupid cellists into the fountain out front. But this wasn’t a typical banquet. This was a Full Moon Ceremony.

Most packs held them privately, an intimate gathering to honor their connection to the Moon Goddess—a time to seek guidance, reaffirm their oaths to one another, and reconnect with the wild magic that ran in our veins. To invite another pack to witness such a rite was no small gesture. It was a declaration. An offering of alliance.

Or a trap.

The tension thrummed in my chest as I sat there. But it wasn’t just Anika who had unsettled me tonight. Earlier, Silvia had intercepted me as I entered the banquet hall. Another unsavory addition to my night—meeting my bride-to-be.

She was polite. Almost shy, though her extravagantly beaded gown and perfectly styled hair contrasted the innocence she was eager to portray. When I thanked her for inviting Willowclaw to their pack house, her cheeks flushed prettily as she dropped into a graceful curtsy.

“My Alpha insisted on making our alliance official with this gathering,” she’d said, her voice smooth and demure, her fingertips lightly brushing my arm as she batted her eyelashes. I was instantly reminded of Anika at the final negotiation meeting when she had mockingly done the same thing.

I nodded, offering the kind of polite smile expected at these events, and turned to address her father. Alpha Magnus, however, barely spared me a glance. When I broached the subject of finalizing the treaty, he brushed me off with a muttered excuse about “enjoying the festivities first.”

The encounter had left a bitter taste in my mouth. Silvia’s perfect manners, her carefully constructed sweetness—it all felt like a mask. A show meant to charm me. And not a very good one at that.

As I turned away, my father’s voice cut through the hum of the crowd, sharp with mockery. He stood close to Alpha Magnus, gesturing expansively at the room.

“A fine display,” my father said, his words slick with false admiration. “The decor has a... timeless quality. Quite the feat to maintain such antique charm.”

Alpha Magnus beamed at the comment, his chest puffing out with pride. “Ah, yes, all original craftsmanship by the renowned Ivan Shawqul,” he declared, his voice loud enough to turn a few heads nearby. His whiskey sloshed in his glass as he gestured to the walls with an exaggerated flourish, a smug smile playing on his lips. “My late mate had it imported all the way from Paris before her passing. Quite the collector, she was.”

Never mind that Ivan Shawqul was hardly renowned—his fame resting on a single series of paintings, none of which adorned the hall tonight. Magnus’s tone suggested he considered himself an expert on fine art, though his ignorance hung as heavily as the gaudy chandeliers.

The hall reeked of extravagance, every corner screaming wealth so loudly it felt as though it were being forced down my throat. I felt my lip curl involuntarily. How could this man—so dense, so insufferably pleased with himself—possibly be the Alpha to someone like Anika?

If she shared even a fraction of his incompetence, we would’ve walked away from the negotiation with more than half of Hollowfang’s territory. The memory of our first meeting twisted in my gut, a sharp reminder of just how wrong our assumptions of her were—leaving us blindsided. Anika had fought us tooth and claw and had walked away with more resources than any part of Hollowfang's territory was worth.

Now, sitting here, I noticed how some people seemed to treat the gathering as a stage to flaunt their wealth and prestige, basking in compliments while shooting back handed ones of their own. But across the room, she moved with purpose, every gesture calculated, every exchange deliberate. Anika wasn’t here to enjoy the evening; she was campaigning, weaving through the crowd like a predator circling its prey.

She moved from the Willowclaw Elder, snatching a glass of wine from a passing tray and brought it to her lips. I watched the slope of her neck as she tilted her head back, the glass drained in a single swallow. Too fast for pleasure. It must be to take the edge off. So she wasn’t as calm as she seemed. Good.

I rarely witnessed a flash of weakness from her. It made me wonder all the more what she was hiding. I slowly rose to my feet, ready to sniff out whatever ploy she was concocting.

Then, the moment came.

The full moon crested above the glass dome overhead, bathing the hall in its silver glow. Time seemed to slow, as it always did beneath the moon’s light, amplifying my power. I tilted my head back, welcoming its cool light. And then, the clicking of glasses, soft murmurs, the scent of the ballroom all faded. The only thing I felt was her presence, burning like a wildfire in my veins.

Something inside me snapped—no, clicked into place. A sharp, primal tether that yanked tight, as though the moon itself had reached down and lashed my soul to hers.

I froze.

Across the room, Anika stilled. Her wineglass slipped from her fingers and shattered against the floor.

Her eyes locked with mine.

Wide. Shocked. And then—burning with a kind of fury that was unknown to me. She didn’t want this any more than I did. But that didn’t stop the bond from roaring to life between us. Undeniable. Unforgiving. The kind of magic that didn’t ask for consent.

My breath caught. The air felt too thick, like I was breathing through a heavy smog. My wolf surged upward, howling, intoxicated on her scent. I shoved him back, locking my jaw so hard it ached. This wasn’t happening.

She was my mate.

She stumbled out of the hall, colliding with people as she desperately tried to get away from me.

How stupid of her. My wolf loved a chase…