#1: Poor Thing

The morning sun bounces off the melting winter ice with a blinding, joyful intensity that feels like a personal insult. It is officially Mating Day, and the entire Silvercrest village is acting as if we aren’t about to participate in a glorified, high-stakes cattle market. 

Children are racing through Moonlit Square laughing. Music is drifting faintly from somewhere near the eastern cottages. Couples are clinging to each other nervously while families gossip in tight circles.

And I, personally, would rather launch myself into the ocean.

“Stop looking like you’re walking toward your execution,” my sister, Freya, mutters beside me.

Of course Freya sounds relaxed. She probably shifts in her sleep just to show off.

I love my sister. I really do. But unfortunately, she was also handcrafted by the goddess specifically to make me feel like a potato. Freya Thornwood is petite with dark curls and blue eyes, Beta-ranked, gorgeous without trying, and terrifyingly competent. She’s the kind of woman who can pin a grown wolf twice her size during sparring and still look pretty afterward. 

Meanwhile, I once pulled a muscle reaching for bread.

“I’m just appreciating the ambiance,” I reply, adjusting the collar of my dark coat. “Nothing says romance quite like a cold February morning filled with a bunch of hyper-masculine wolves practically dripping pheromones onto the snow. It’s truly magical.”

“Come on, keep your head up,” she says, though her tone lacks its usual certainty. “You don’t know how today is going to go. Someone might surprise you.”

“Oh, absolutely. Maybe a prince from a hidden royal werewolf dynasty will ride into Moonlit Square and claim the girl who can’t even grow a tail. Let’s be real, Freya. I am essentially the pack leper today. No one is going to choose a liability when the Alpha just spent last night warning me that the Reapers are breathing down our necks. I’m invisible to the eligible ones, and the rest just look at me like I’m a three-legged dog.”

“You’ve never even tried to date anyone here,” Freya points out, frowning. “How do you know you’re invisible? You spend all your time hiding in your room or sneaking off to the mountain.”

“Because when a male wolf looks at a female, he’s looking for a partner who can run the perimeter or survive a skirmish,” I say, nodding toward a group of young warriors who are currently laughing loudly near the pavilion. “When they look at me, they see a girl who gets winded walking up the steeper village trails and whose best defense is a heavy dose of irony. It’s not exactly a mating match made in heaven.”

From behind us, my mother steps forward, placing a gentle hand on my lower back. “Leia, sweetheart, please don’t do this to yourself before we even arrive. You have so many qualities that have absolutely nothing to do with shifting. You’re brilliant, you help Harlan organize the medical logs, and you have a deeper understanding of our history than half the council combined.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I say, offering her a tight, dry smile. “I’m sure when the Reapers breach the northern border, they’ll be completely paralyzed by my extensive knowledge of our third-generation ancestral lineage. It’s a foolproof defense strategy.”

My dad sighs beside my mother. “Your mother is right, Leia. This pack values strength, yes, but survival requires more than just teeth and claws. The Alpha knows your worth, even if the younger fools are too blind to see it yet. Just stand tall today. Don’t let them see you doubt yourself.”

I keep my mouth shut because pointing out the glaring flaws in that logic will only make the walk more miserable. 

We turn the corner into Moonlit Square, and the sheer volume of the crowd hits me. Hundreds of pack members are already packed into the stone tiers, their voices merging into a deafening roar of chatter and laughter.

In the center of the clearing stands Alpha Thorne. As we watch, his body shifts in a fluid, terrifying display of raw power. His bones snap and elongate, his dark leather coat melting into a thick, coarse layer of red fur as he expands into his massive wolf form. He is easily the size of a small vehicle, his eyes gleaming with absolute dominance as his gray eyes sweep over the crowd with frightening intelligence before he throws back his head and howls.

The sound rolls across the mountains, and every wolf in the square responds instinctively. My skin prickles.

God, I can’t imagine what it must feel like to become something that powerful.

Thorne shifts back smoothly moments later, completely unbothered by the fact that he just transformed in front of hundreds of people like some mythical war god.

Show-off.

An elder steps forward quickly with ceremonial clothing while the Alpha steps onto the raised stone dais and addresses the crowd.

“Members of the Silvercrest Pack,” Thorne’s voice echoes through the collective consciousness. “We gather today to fulfill our most sacred responsibility. As the shadow of the northern territories grows longer, and our enemies test our borders, the choices made on this field today will dictate the future of our survival. Choose with purpose. Choose with strength. To those who stand unaligned at the end of this day, remember our law: we do not harbor freeloaders.”

Well, that felt weirdly targeted.

The crowd erupts into a disciplined cheer, and the marshals begin directing the eighteen-year-olds into the center of the square. Freya squeezes my shoulder once more before stepping back into the crowd with my parents. 

We are arranged in a neat row facing the line of eligible males across the cobblestones. By some cruel twist of alphabetical or geographical fate, I am placed at the very end of the line.

Directly to my right stands Selene, who looks absolutely stunning.

Of course she does, with her long dark hair braided elegantly over one shoulder, pale blue dress beneath her winter cloak and delicate silver jewelry catching the sunlight.

Meanwhile, I spent twenty minutes trying to wrestle my curls into submission before finally giving up and accepting that I resemble an emotionally unstable forest creature.

She turns her head slightly and lets out a soft, amused sniff. “Nice coat, Leia. Did you borrow it from your father, or are you just trying to hide the fact that you’re sweating through your shirt?”

“I like to keep room for activities, Selene,” I murmur back, keeping my eyes fixed straight ahead. “Unlike you, I prefer my internal organs uncrushed by my wardrobe. Call me old-fashioned.”

“We’ll see how funny you are when you’re the last one standing here,” she whispers maliciously. “Though I suppose Christopher might take you if he wants a permanent footstool.”

I ignore her, focusing instead on the ritual as it begins.

Thorne calls the first male forward. A tall, broad-shouldered warrior named Marcus steps out of the line and walks down the row of females, before he stops directly in front of a girl named Elena. He extends his hand, she takes it with a flush of color in her cheeks, and the crowd cheers as they step out of the circle together.

“Elias Mercer.”

Elias barely hesitates before choosing a pretty blonde named Kara Whitmore, who nearly bursts into tears from relief as the crowd applauds.

My cheeks are already beginning to burn, the heat creeping up my neck as the space around me empties out. The girls to my right are claimed one after another, leaving the circle larger and my isolation more glaringly obvious to the hundreds of spectators watching from the stone tiers. I can hear the muted murmurs from the crowd and the small tittering laughs from some of the younger scouts in the upper benches.

Eventually, the noise in the square settles into a tense, expectant hum. The numbers have dropped to the absolute single digits. There are only four of us left standing in the clearing: myself, the notoriously beautiful Anastasia Avery, and two males – Sam Mears and Christopher Baldwin.

“Sam Mears. Step forward,” Thorne’s command barks through the square.

Sam steps out of the male line. He doesn’t look at Anastasia, and he certainly doesn’t look at me. Instead, he walks directly to the center of the dais, stopping a few feet from the Alpha’s massive paw. He drops to one knee, his head bowed.

“Alpha,” Sam’s voice rings out across the silent square. “I request a formal exemption from the selection ritual today.”

A collective gasp ripples through the crowd. Abstaining from the mating ceremony is nearly unheard of; it is a direct rejection of the traditional path.

Thorne’s massive ears twitch, his eyes narrowing as he looks down at the kneeling male. “State your reasoning, Mears. The legacy is not a suggestion.”

“I wish to formally dedicate my entire focus to my training under the pack healer, Harlan,” Sam says, his voice remarkably steady despite the pressure radiating from the Alpha. “The medical logs are backed up, our supplies are strained with the current border movements, and I believe my skills are best utilized in the infirmary rather than the breeding lines. I cannot split my focus between a mate and the pack’s survival needs.”

A heavy silence blankets the square. I risk a glance toward the elder benches, where Harlan sits with his old hands resting on his cane. The elderly healer nods slowly, stepping forward to catch Thorne’s eye.

“The boy speaks the truth, Alpha,” Harlan calls out. “He has shown exceptional aptitude with the herbs and the structural logs. He will serve Silvercrest better as a dedicated medicine bearer than an unaligned warrior.”

Thorne lowers his head, a low rumble vibrating in his chest before he gives a single, tight nod. “The exemption is granted by council decree. Sam Mears, you are assigned to the healer’s core. Step down.”

Sam rises, bowing low before quickly retreating toward the side benches. My heart drops straight into my boots. Sam’s departure means there is one less male in the circle, leaving the numbers completely uneven. It leaves me entirely exposed.

“Christopher Baldwin. Step forward,” Thorne commands.

Christopher steps out of the line, a confident, slightly arrogant smile playing on his lips. He doesn’t even look in my direction. His eyes are locked onto Anastasia Avery from the moment his boot hits the cobblestones. He walks with a purpose, stopping directly in front of her and extending his hand.

Anastasia lets out a loud, visible sigh of relief, her shoulders dropping as she eagerly places her small hand in his. The crowd erupts into applause, a cheerful sound that feels like a physical blow to my ears. Christopher pulls her close, and together they turn and walk hand-in-hand into the safety of the cheering crowd, leaving the center of the square entirely empty.

Except for me.

I hear fragments of people’s conversations drifting around me.

“She still hasn’t shifted…”

“Poor thing…”

“…would you risk it?”

“…no future in that…”

I stare straight ahead. If I disassociate hard enough maybe my soul will temporarily leave my body and spare me this experience.

The silence that follows is deafening as hundreds of eyes are fixed on me – some filled with disgust, some with mocking amusement, but most filled with that agonizing, unbearable pity that I loathe more than anything else in this world.

My cheeks burn with a ferocious heat, and a high-pitched ringing starts in my ears, but I clamp my jaw shut, clenching my fists inside my coat pockets until my fingernails bite into my skin. I refuse to cry. I refuse to give Selene or Garrik or any of the others the satisfaction of seeing a single tear fall in front of this entire pack.

Alpha Thorne lowers his head, his slate-gray eyes resting on me for a long, heavy moment.

He steps forward, and with a solemn voice says, “With no objections raised, the Mating Ceremony of Silvercrest Pack is concluded for this year.”

“The blood is pure, the pack endures,” the crowd chants back in a disciplined, practiced unison.

I don’t join in. I stand frozen in the center of the clearing as the crowd begins to disperse around me, leaving me as the only unpaired eighteen-year-old in the entire village – a wolf shifter who cannot shift, and a female with no mate.

And somehow the worst part is that everybody suddenly looks sorry for me.

I would rather they laughed.