Chapter Ten – Before the Pack
1108 Words
The sound of drums shook the very stones beneath Ivy’s feet.
She stood in the antechamber behind the Great Square, heart pounding like a caged bird, while servants fussed with her silver gown and combed her hair until it shone like moonlight. The air was thick with incense and the smell of oiled leather from the guards who stood at the door.
Steady yourself, Selra murmured, her voice a low growl in Ivy’s chest. Tonight, you are a mask. Wear it well.
Ivy swallowed hard, staring at her reflection in a polished steel plate propped against the wall. The woman staring back looked regal, ethereal—like someone who belonged at Arthur’s side. But her eyes betrayed her. They burned with a fire she couldn’t disguise.
The doors groaned open, spilling light and sound into the chamber.
Arthur appeared, tall and terrible in his black ceremonial cloak, his eyes glowing faintly in the torchlight. “It is time,” he said.
He offered his arm. Ivy hesitated only a heartbeat before slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow. His grip tightened instantly, as if he could feel her reluctance through their bond.
Together, they stepped into the night.
---
The Great Square stretched wide, paved in stone, its center marked by a towering wolf statue carved from obsidian. Torches blazed in every corner, casting flickering halos of light over the gathered wolves.
Hundreds had come—elders in ceremonial robes, warriors with gleaming armor, mothers clutching children, young men and women craning their necks for a glimpse of their Alpha and his Luna. The air thrummed with expectation, fear, and something else Ivy couldn’t quite name.
As Arthur led her to the raised dais, the crowd bowed as one. The sight made her skin crawl.
“Rise,” Arthur commanded, his voice deep and resonant.
The wolves obeyed instantly, eyes snapping upward.
“My people,” Arthur began, his tone warm but commanding, “the Moon Goddess has blessed us. She has bound me to Ivy, daughter of a fallen house, chosen by fate to stand as your Luna.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some faces shone with reverence, others with doubt. Ivy felt their stares pierce her—some envious, some suspicious, some oddly curious.
Arthur raised her hand, displaying the mark at her neck like a trophy. “She bears my seal. My blood, my power, flows through her veins now. She is one of us, and she is mine.”
The crowd erupted into a mixture of cheers and howls, though Ivy caught the sharp edge of unease beneath the noise. Not everyone was convinced.
---
“Speak,” Arthur murmured in her ear, his smile sharp. “Let them hear you.”
Ivy’s heart stuttered, but she stepped forward, Selra’s strength rising within her.
“I am honored to stand among you,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm in her chest. “I know trust is not given freely, but I will earn it. I will protect this pack as fiercely as I protect myself. That is my vow as Luna.”
A hush fell. Then a smattering of applause began, growing louder, until the square filled with cheers.
Arthur’s hand squeezed hers approvingly, but Ivy caught something else—flickers in the crowd. A woman with pale hair who did not clap. A young man who turned away, muttering. An older warrior who whispered something to his neighbor with narrowed eyes.
They doubt him, Selra whispered. They doubt us. Use it.
---
The ceremony continued—blessings from the elders, chants from the priestesses, the low rumble of drums that echoed like a heartbeat through the square. Ivy endured each moment, playing the role Arthur demanded.
But then—
“Ivy!”
The faintest whisper, carried through the crowd. She turned her head slightly, eyes scanning.
There—near the edge of the torchlight, Mira stood among the common wolves, her face half-hidden by her cloak. She pressed a hand briefly to her lips, then lowered it to reveal a folded scrap of parchment between her fingers.
The motion was quick, subtle, gone in an instant. But Ivy’s heart leapt. Mira had a message.
Arthur, oblivious, was addressing the crowd again, speaking of loyalty, strength, and the pack’s future. Ivy forced her expression calm, though her pulse thundered.
She would need to reach Mira. Soon.
---
As the chants died down, Arthur pulled her close, his lips brushing her temple as though he were a devoted mate. But his words were for her alone.
“You played your part well,” he murmured. “They will bend to you in time. Together, we are unstoppable.”
Ivy smiled faintly, hiding the revulsion curling in her stomach.
Unstoppable? she thought. No. Breakable. Every wall has a crack.
Selra rumbled in approval. That is the spirit. Let him think he has you. The deeper he believes, the harder he will fall.
---
The crowd began to disperse after the final blessing, but whispers followed Ivy as she descended from the dais. She caught fragments—
“…too sudden…”
“…marking her without the Goddess’s sign…”
“…a prisoner in the dungeons, some say…”
Her steps faltered. Prisoner. The word burned like fire through her veins.
Could it truly be Michael?
Arthur noticed her hesitation, his eyes narrowing. His hand clamped on her arm, guiding her firmly toward the palace gates. “Do not listen to them,” he said softly, though steel edged his tone. “They bark like dogs, but they will obey.”
Ivy lowered her gaze in feigned obedience. “Of course, my Alpha.”
But inside, her resolve sharpened like a blade. The whispers were growing. Doubt spread like wildfire. And somewhere in the shadows of this pack, Michael might still be alive.
---
Later, in the quiet of her chamber, Ivy paced, Mira’s signal replaying in her mind.
She has a message for us, Selra said. Tomorrow, find her. Whatever she knows, it may be the key.
Ivy pressed a hand to the mark at her neck, the place where Arthur’s claim burned like a chain. Her chest tightened, but she lifted her chin.
The mask was heavy. The role unbearable. But tonight had shown her something important—Arthur’s power was not absolute. Cracks existed, no matter how tightly he tried to hold the pack.
And Ivy?
She would slip through those cracks. She would find Mira, she would find Michael, and she would reach the Well of Echoes.
Three nights until the full moon.
Three nights until everything changed.
- Writer
