“Never?” I gasp. Glancing back to him, he’s not ugly. On the contrary, he’s handsome in that rugged sort of way. His scars make him appear dangerous and also makes my stomach flip. How has he not taken a mate? I can’t imagine that he hasn’t had an opportunity.
“Oh, he’s an Alpha, I’m sure he’s had pleasure companions, but never a mate during mating season. Cullen’s been saying he needs to secure his line, or Alpha may be taken from him.”
“Challenged?” I gasp.
She nods.
I’ve only experienced one Challenge in my lifetime, and it took everything from me. Challenges can technically happen for any reason of deeming an Alpha unworthy. The challenger(s) and the Alpha fight to the death. The survivor is declared the new Alpha. If there’s gossip of a Challenge, I’d hate to be part of Aurora pack right about now.
“How does he make it through the trials without choosing a mate?” Hope blooms in my chest, maybe I can do that too.
“He’s Alpha,” she shrugs, “He wins the Chase.”
“The Chase?” Any hope I had falls, crashes down, and ignites on fire.
Honi nods, “To win you need to be the first to the Sacred Tree. Then you get to pick any mate you wish. But if you can make it through the Chase and all the way to the Sacred Tree unmated, you’re welcome to try for a mate next year.”
“So I just have to make it to the Sacred Tree?—”
“Attention.” A tall, older, red-robed figure calls for everyone to be seated before continuing, “Welcome to the 100thannual Mating Trials. These traditions exist to foster strong pairings and ensure the continuation of powerful bloodlines. There are many new faces on this monumental year, so I will run through the rules, and the two specially added trials for this monumental anniversary. Every year the eligible, unmated northern packs journey north…”
“I still can’t see his face,” Roman whispers.
“Maybe he has three eyes?” I whisper back.
“Or a receding hairline.”
A few males glance our way, frowning. I’ve tried to ignore the sidelong glances all day. This place is not the sort of tradition for a child. But the rules state families are allowed to join in public festivities. Since I have no family to watch him back home, Cullen made an exception. Cullen has always given me and Roman certain liberties throughout the years. It’s mainly due to his guilt. Our parents both died in his Challenge for Alpha five years back.
“The trials are based on a wolf’s natural mating instincts: Howl a wolf’s song to the moon gods. Scent and taste are important for every animal, but for wolves it’s essential. For fated mates especially, all the senses can be aphrodisiacs.
This year, we introduce Touch and Trust. Two more strong and necessary staples in a good mating relationship. On the second-to-last night, we host the ceremonial ball. This is where you can show off your creativity and ingenuity, crafting an outfit of your choice for females to attract your mate, and males to prove your prowess.
Then, of course, this all culminates in the Chase. Where you follow your instincts developed in the previous trials, find your mate in the dark forest, and claimthem under the full moon, the Sacred Tree, and the gods above. May the gods bless the unions on this 100th?—”
I swallow hard. I don’t like any of those trials.
“Taste?” Roman whispers, “Like a feast.”
“Shh,” I scold, but I have a feeling food is the one thingnoton the menu.
“It’s a feast of sorts,” a male voice snickers.
I turn red, then my blush turns to anger. A white-robed male with wavy dark hair from Aurora pack leers at us from across the table. Beside him, a male who looks exactly like him, narrows his eyes at us as well.
I bare my fangs. “Is there anything else you’d like to explain to an eight-year-old? The birds and the bees, perhaps?”
“In my defense, this is no place for children.”
“Is that what your mate said to you? Is that why you’re still here?” My voice is sugar-coated venom.
His claws extend as he rises from his seat. A threat. One which I meet, also standing. My hands bracing the sides of my plate preparing to leap at any moment. He wants a fight, he’s about to get one. Weakness is not a virtue wolves admire, and I’d tear down the world for Roman.
“Enough!” a deep resounding voice cuts through the air like a blade. It reverberates through my bones, an Alpha. The click of claws retracting echoes in the silence that follows. My head turns to see Thorn’s ice-blue eyes scolding his subordinate, before my combatant stills. Then those piercing eyes fall on me. I shiver under his stare; even though I should — I don’t — lower my gaze. “You will respect the temple.”
I nod. My opponent sits and I go to do the same, but when I lift my hand, a fork is embedded in it. In my haste to defend myself, I’ve stabbed my hand instead. I pluck it out. Blood blooms from the four little pin pricks. It heals quickly scabbing over with my werewolf superior healing, but the damage is already done.
The priest gasps at the head of the table. A few other males sniff in my direction, scenting blood.