Chapter 3
The fires burned long into the night. Meat roasted on spits, the fat crackling and spitting into the flames. Children danced in circles, their laughter weaving into the low thrum of drums. Warriors drank from horns of mead, their voices booming in songs of victory and tradition. The Blood Oath was supposed to be a celebration—two packs bound tighter by the promise of a future union.
But Cassie could not join their joy.
She sat close to the fire at first, her white robe smudged with dirt from where she had stumbled after the ritual. Her palm throbbed, still wrapped in the strip of linen her mother had tied around it. Each beat of her heart seemed to echo the burn of the cut. But worse than the sting was the memory of what she had seen.
That vision would not leave her.
Blood. Fire. A crown of flames.
Every time she blinked, it replayed in jagged fragments. Her stomach churned, and she picked at the edge of her sleeve, wishing she could pull herself out of the night and crawl back into the safety of her childhood. But childhood, she knew, had ended with the mingling of her blood with Caleb’s.
The boy in question was nowhere near the feasting circle. She had noticed his absence almost immediately. While the children of Thick Fur and Red Tail ran together in a mock chase, the warriors raised their cups, and Caleb had slipped away. It was no surprise—he never seemed at ease when eyes were upon him.
“Cassie,” a voice murmured.
She turned to see her brother, Leon, crouching beside her. He was two years older, tall already for fifteen, with the same raven-dark hair as their father and mischievous green eyes that always seemed to be hiding some scheme. He grinned, showing the gap between his teeth.
“You’re sitting here like a ghost. Shouldn’t you be dancing with the others?”
Cassie forced a weak smile. “I don’t feel like dancing.”
“You never feel like dancing,” Leon teased, but his grin softened. He nudged her shoulder. “Everyone’s watching you, you know. You’re the star of tonight.”
“I don’t want to be,” she whispered, gaze dropping to the dirt.
Leon studied her for a long moment. He lowered his voice. “You saw something, didn’t you?”
Her head snapped up, eyes wide. “What makes you say that?”
“I know that look,” Leon said simply. “The same one Father gets when the Council sends him visions. The same one Mother had before… before my wolf first stirred.” He shrugged. “You don’t have to tell me. But I know something happened.”
Cassie’s throat tightened. She wanted to tell him everything—that she had seen herself crowned in fire, that she had felt Caleb’s blood sing in her veins, that terror and wonder had crashed over her all at once. But her mother’s warning echoed sharply in her mind. Not a word.
She shook her head. “It was nothing. Just nerves.”
Leon didn’t press, though his eyes said he didn’t believe her. He ruffled her hair before standing. “Fine, keep your secrets. But don’t let them eat you alive, Cass. Secrets bite harder than wolves.”
When he left, Cassie rose too, unable to stand the press of bodies and the thunder of drums any longer. She slipped through the crowd, weaving between laughing warriors and feasting elders until she reached the shadows at the edge of the clearing. No one stopped her. She was the Alpha’s daughter; people assumed she needed her space.
The forest was cool and quiet compared to the heat of the fire. She breathed deeply, letting the damp scent of pine and earth calm her racing heart. Her feet carried her without thought, past the outer ring of guards, deeper into the dark where the moonlight fell in scattered shafts.
It was there she found him.
Caleb sat on a fallen tree, his back to her. His robe had been discarded, leaving him in a simple tunic that clung to his narrow frame. His shoulders were hunched, his head bowed, and in his hands he turned a stone over and over, as though it held the answers to questions too heavy for words.
Cassie hesitated, torn between retreating and stepping forward. But something in the lonely set of his figure drew her. She moved closer, her foot snapping a twig.
Caleb’s head lifted sharply. For a moment, his eyes glowed faint silver—the mark of his wolf spirit straining within him. Then the light faded, and he turned back to the stone.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said. His voice was low, almost rough, but not unkind.
“Neither should you,” Cassie replied softly.
He let out a quiet huff, half amusement, half resignation. “Fair enough.”
She approached slowly, perched on the other end of the log. Silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant hum of music from the feast.
At last, Cassie spoke. “You felt it too, didn’t you? When our blood touched.”
Caleb’s fingers stilled around the stone. He didn’t look at her, but his jaw clenched. “Yes.”
Her chest tightened with both relief and dread. She wasn’t alone in this madness. “What was it?”
“I don’t know,” Caleb admitted. “But it was old. Older than us. Older than our packs.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “It scared me.”
Cassie swallowed hard. “I saw… flames. War. A crown.”
His head turned at that, eyes sharp. “A crown?”
She nodded, shivering despite herself. “On me.”
For a moment, he simply stared, and the silence pressed heavily. Then he set the stone aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “If that’s true… then the Council will never let it happen.”
The name struck her like ice. The Elders’ Council. Seven alphas from the seven regions held dominion over all packs. They claimed to be the keepers of balance, but whispers said they feared anything that threatened their power.
“You think they know?” Cassie asked, her voice barely audible.
Caleb’s gaze darkened. “If they don’t yet, they will. They always do.”
A rustle in the trees made them both tense. Cassie’s heart leapt, but it was only a raven, black wings flashing in the moonlight. It landed on a branch above them, tilting its head as though it listened.
Caleb frowned. “Strange. Ravens don’t usually come this deep.”
Before Cassie could reply, the bird let out a sharp cry and took off, vanishing into the night.
An uneasy silence settled.
“Cassie!” her mother’s voice cut through the trees, urgent. “Cassie, where are you?”
Cassie stood quickly. “I have to go.”
Caleb didn’t stop her. But as she hurried back toward the clearing, she heard him call softly after her.
“Be careful. The crown you saw—it might be heavier than you think.”
Back in the feast circle, her mother caught her arm and pulled her aside, away from prying eyes. Esther’s face was pale, her lips tight.
“Where were you?” she demanded.
“I just needed air,” Cassie said quickly.
Esther searched her daughter’s face, then glanced toward the forest. “You were with him, weren’t you?”
Cassie hesitated, then nodded.
Esther’s hand tightened on her arm. “Cassie, listen to me. You must not grow too close to that boy.”
Cassie’s chest tightened. “But he’s my betrothed. Isn’t that the point?”
Esther’s eyes flickered with pain. “There are truths you don’t understand yet. Things your father and I… cannot protect you from if they come too soon. Promise me you’ll keep your distance.”
Confusion and defiance warred within Cassie, but the fear in her mother’s eyes silenced her. “I promise,” she whispered.
Esther exhaled, relief softening her features. She brushed a strand of hair from Cassie’s face. “Good girl. Now come. The Elders have sent word. They arrive at dawn.”
Cassie froze. “The Elders?”
“Yes,” Esther murmured grimly. “They wish to see you.”
Far away, in a chamber lit by flickering torches, seven figures sat around a stone table. Cloaked in shadows, their eyes gleamed like predators in the dark.
“The girl has been marked,” one rasped.
Another leaned forward, lips curling. “Too soon. The prophecy was not to unfold yet.”
“The prophecy bends to no council,” a third said coldly. “But we can bend the girl.”
A silence followed, heavy and sinister. Then the eldest of them all spoke, his voice like the creak of ancient wood.
“Cassie Elias must not live to claim her crown. Send word to White Fur. Alpha Lious will know what to do.”
