Throne Of Betrayal

Wolves weren’t known for watching movies, but I never let that stop me.

Humans say, "Where there's a will, there's a way," and my way involved sneaking over the Third Avenue Bridge from the East Village into Upper East Side. There, I didn’t have to worry about my pack identifying me as the Alpha's spare daughter.

Of course, I had to be careful about the Upper East Side pack discovering me—crossing borough lines was far more forbidden than watching movies. But I never ventured further west than Madison Avenue or further south than 121st Street. I didn’t need to. Everything I wanted was at the Lower East Side on the corner of Lexington Avenue and 123rd.

But only at midnight. For me, anyway.

Regular humans like Thalia, Arian, and Charles could catch a classic film as early as 10 a.m. if they wanted to, and sometimes they did. But not me. I always had to wait until the city that never sleeps took a little nap. Then I'd put on some silly human clothes over my least irritating shiftskin and sneak past my father’s guards. Just like Princess Jasmine in Aladdin, except I wasn’t important enough to have any suitors to escape from.

Yet.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. I tuned out the grumpy voice of my inner white wolf. Usually, she left me alone in the theater, curling up inside me to sleep for both of us. But lately, she’d started talking during romantic movies, reminding me that a love like Buttercup and Westley's wasn't in my future.

Duty calls, Aveline.

But not tonight.

Won't be long...

I rolled my eyes and settled deeper into my usual seat between Thalia and Charles, making the old row of seats creak. Thalia shot me a dirty look, and I mouthed an apology. The theater's ancient cushions had been worn down to thin sheets of rough red fabric long before we ever sat on them, so we tried not to fidget because the speakers weren’t great either. The first time I watched The Princess Bride, I thought Vizzini’s famous line was “Conceivable!”

That was awkward.

Oh, what do you know?

My wolf made a low, contented sound deep inside me, wherever she stayed when she wasn’t in charge. I couldn’t really explain how we were both one person and completely separate at the same time. She definitely thought she was the better version of Aveline, and back home, even my father and sister seemed to agree with her.

At the movies, though, I could be with people who liked the real me: Charles, Arian, and Thalia in person, and also characters like Buttercup and Westley, Marty McFly and Doc Brown, Ferris Bueller and the whole Breakfast Club, Princess Leia and Han Solo, Elliot and E.T., Seymour and Audrey II, Harry and Lloyd, Harry and Sally, Harry and Marv, Baby and Johnny, Bill and Ted, Ripley and her cat.

She fell in love with a cat?

What? No! That’s—

Disgusting.

You wouldn’t understand.

You’re rotting our brain.

I growled quietly in my human throat. Apparently, out loud, because Thalia shot me another annoyed look and nudged my elbow off the armrest and into my lap. Inside, my wolf snarled.

Don’t let her get away with that.

It’s not a big deal. Chill.

Fight for what’s yours.

I quietly folded both arms over my stomach, feeling the buttery popcorn and cherry Jujubes I’d eaten start to disagree with each other. Thalia shook her head at me, and I knew the end credits would bring another lecture about junk food.

Of my three best friends, Thalia had the most in common with my wolf. I loved her, but she could be a real buzzkill. As a pre-med student at Columbia, her ideas about healthy living didn’t always match the film nerd vibe the rest of us had. I’d pretend to listen to her upcoming lecture, though, because like my wolf, Thalia had an intensity that made her hard to ignore.

Honestly, Thalia reminded me of Niobe from The Matrix sequels. The sequels were just okay compared to the original film, but I liked Niobe. And I liked Thalia. Even if she thought we should sneak almonds and sparkling water into the theater. I admired her confidence in ignoring the signs that said no outside snacks. She was a rebel, like the real me.

My wolf pretended to be hurt, but I knew she was faking. She didn’t have feelings—just instincts. Unless we found our fated mate before someone else claimed us, her instincts to stay with the pack would always be strongest. Lone wolves didn’t survive, and rebels stood out. My wolf knew that guilt trips were the best way to get what she wanted when we disagreed.

But recently, I’d been standing up to her more. For example, a few months ago, when the Lower East Sidebroke its rule—no movies released after December 31, 1999—to show all three Matrix movies in one night, my wolf tried everything to get me back to the East Village before we got caught. But I stayed until the end of Revolutions. With my mind almost exploding, I used my wolf’s speed to get back across the Third Avenue Bridge and into bed before my father and sister woke up.

I knew I could never be truly free like Thalia, Arian, and Charles. Whatever my father decided for me after my sister Calista's mateship ceremony, I would always have that brief moment of dawn over the Harlem River to hold onto.

"Do you want the rest of the popcorn?" Charles asked loudly, as if the movie was already over just because Fezzik had shown up with the four white horses. She shoved the bag under my nose, assuming I’d say yes.

Thalia grabbed the bag, crumpled it up, and tossed it over the empty rows in front of us. It landed with a crunch somewhere in the darkness near Inigo, Buttercup, and Westley. Arian laughed loudly from the other side of Charles and slapped her knee.

"Quiet!" an angry voice hissed from the back row.

We all ducked as if someone had fired a gun.

The sudden rush of adrenaline almost made my wolf take control, but my years of pretending to be a normal human with my friends had given me better control. I started to turn around to see who had hushed us, but Thalia and Charles grabbed my wrists and told me to stop.

Confused but trusting their judgment, I settled back down for the last part of the movie. Sometimes it felt like my friends could read each other's minds like I could with other wolves, but I knew that wasn't true. They were just more connected because they spent more time together doing normal human things. They tried to make me feel included, and I pretended it helped, but at the end of every Friday and Saturday night, I had to walk home knowing I’d always be the outsider in their group.

They're not a pack.

The four of us first met on my sixteenth birthday. That was the night I ran away for the first time. After a huge argument with Calista, I needed to clear my head, so I ended up at the corner of Lexington and 123rd Street.

In hindsight, it felt like a movie moment, like when Rose met Jack on the Titanic, except instead of a charming artist, it was an old, rundown theater that saved me.

We're not a person.

Oh, whatever.

Anyway, only three people had come for the midnight showing of Jaws: The Revenge. Thalia, who had practically grown up at the Last Century Cinema; Arian, who had recently moved to New York to become an actor; and Charles, who had come all the way from Iowa because she loved New York after watching You’ve Got Mail. But it was me, the girl who had never seen a movie before, who brought us all together.

Because… well… because I cried.

Like a little pup. Over one of the worst movies ever made.

That was awkward.

True, but in my defense…

I had never seen a mother on screen before, especially not one screaming in pain and spraying blood everywhere as a monster tore her apart. It hit me hard. I started crying uncontrollably—loud and messy. It shook the whole row. I ended up doubled over with my head on the seat in front of me, tears and snot hitting the sticky floor as I tried to catch my breath.

Then, a gentle hand started rubbing circles on my back, and a reassuring voice told me it was just a movie, everything would be okay.

When the credits rolled for The Princess Bride, I looked sideways at the same kind face that had comforted me years before. Now I knew she understood there's more to movies than just fiction, but back then, it was exactly what I needed to hear. I wasn’t stupid; I knew it was all pretend. I knew that woman wasn’t really being eaten by that fake shark. But in that moment, with the film’s music blaring and waves crashing on screen, it all felt so real.

So, you have to understand, I wasn’t thinking clearly when I looked up at the stranger who comforted me and asked, “Do movies always kill your mother?” Charles looked confused at first, but then she smiled and reassured me, “Oh, no, sweetie, of course not.” At the same time, Arian and Thalia, sitting on opposite sides of the theater, jokingly said, “Always.”

Charles, who was already in her twenties and had a mature way about her that I later learned to call being the mom friend, scolded Arian and Thalia like a stern wolf. They both came over to apologize, but Thalia couldn’t help but add that movie moms often have a tough time surviving because writers tend to get rid of them to set up the protagonist’s journey—it’s a tough gig, you know.

And then Arian shared that he once had the chance to be the main character in a story, but to protect his mom, he settled for being a witty gay friend instead. He joked that his mom should have been more grateful, since in most movies, characters like him don’t last long. Thalia and Charles burst into laughter, like they were in on some inside joke with Arian, a guy they’d just met. That's when I realized movies weren’t just stories—they were their own language, connecting people who understood it deeply.

So, I lifted my trembling chin and proudly said, "My mom passed away giving birth to me and my twin." Arian and Thalia gasped, looking to Charles as if she were the leader. I did the same, turning to her. The soft blue light from the old screen flickered across her face as she solemnly nodded once, placing her hands on my shoulders and declaring, "We are in the presence of a Chosen One."

Instinctively, I replied, "Me? Oh, no. That's Calista, my sister."

Everyone burst out laughing, and just like that, I was part of their group. Charles and Thalia sat on either side of me, while Arian sprawled in the aisle seat, his long legs draped over the row in front of him. We’d been sitting like that in those same four seats almost every Friday and Saturday night since. Thankfully, my friends hadn’t realized my innocent mistake that first night, mistaking it for a harmless joke about movie clichés.

Thalia, Arian, and Charles knew me better than anyone back home, but they didn’t know I was the second-born daughter of the East Village Alpha, destined to serve my twin for life. They didn’t know that soon I wouldn’t be able to come to midnight movies anymore. They didn’t know that one day, when they were settled with families of their own, they’d wonder what happened to the quirky girl who cried during Jaws: The Revenge.

Because my wolf was right. Ever since Father announced Calista’s engagement to Upper East Side’s Alpha Heir, all the eligible men in the East Village had been eyeing me like fresh meat. I probably wouldn’t even make it through Calista’s wedding without being claimed myself. If Father agreed, there wouldn’t be courtship—just another ceremony, because I couldn’t have something Calista didn’t. So, unless a miracle happened, I’d be sharing a bed by month’s end.

And that meant no more movies.

No more Buttercup and Westley.

No more Thalia, Arian, and Charles.

No more me.

As it should be.