2. The Wolf

A year later.

Sixteen.

The age when a wolf answers.

The clearing was filled once again. Torches circled the altar. Warriors lined the perimeter. Children were lifted onto shoulders.

My father’s voice carried across the gathering.

“Tonight, our future steps fully into her power.”

Cheers erupted.

The moon climbed higher, silver light washing over the clearing. I closed my eyes and waited.

Heat should have followed. Then pressure. Then the first whisper of another presence inside my mind. I knew it all.

The silence stretched.

Nothing.

The wind brushed through the trees.

I reached inward. Nothing reached back.

Silence.

Emptiness.

My mother stepped forward before doubt could spread.

“Arria is powerful,” she said steadily. “And powerful wolves do not rush.”

Relief rippled outward. Whispers of confirmation followed.

“Of course.”

“Sure.”

“She will shift at eighteen then”

“Yes,” I told myself. I opened my eyes and lifted my chin. “Yes. Eighteen.”

My father placed a firm hand on my shoulder.

“The moon has not denied her,” he declared. “It has merely chosen patience.”

Torches lowered. Conversations resumed—softer now.

I remained beneath the fading silver light.

“Strong wolves come later.” I held onto that.

---

The next morning, I was on the training field before dawn.

Cold air burned my lungs as I ran the perimeter twice before most warriors had even risen. By the time the others arrived, I was already sparring.

Harder.

Faster.

Relentless.

Darius no longer smirked when we fought. He attacked seriously now and so did I.

Bruises bloomed across my ribs. My knuckles split open more than once. I did not stop.

If my wolf was reluctant to answer, then I would become strong enough to force it out.

I knew in my heart that my pack did not doubt me. But they would start questioning the future if they noticed a weakness. And in a pack, the future is everything.

---

My parents began traveling.

At first, they called them diplomatic visits, strengthening alliances. Consulting elders. Studying rare bloodlines.

But late at night I saw maps of all realms spread across my father’s desk.

Old texts lay open beside them. Symbols and notes written in my mother’s careful hand filled the margins.

That made me believe they were not searching for a late wolf. They were searching for a reason. An explanation. Something no one else knew about or had found.

I tried asking about it, but the answers were always subtle. “We are just researching different options” or “We will know when we find it” and so on.

---

With my parents gone more often, the Beta family had to step forward and secure the stability of the pack.

The Beta’s son returned from his studies abroad that same season.

He was twenty. Tall. Controlled. Observant. He did not smile easily.

During training sessions, he stood near the edge of the ring, watching every movement with quiet focus.

When our eyes met once, he did not look away. He simply studied me as if measuring something no one else could see.

---

Two years passed like that.

On my eighteenth birthday, the clearing filled again.

Not as loud or certain but still hopeful.

Eighteen was the true threshold, some believed. The age when power matured.

The moon rose and I stood beneath it again. 

Older. 

Stronger. 

And this time I did not wait quietly. 

I reached inward with everything I had built over the past two years. 

Strength. 

Discipline. 

Resolve.

“Come.” I demanded.

The wind answered with a sudden gust that blew my hair in my face.

Thunder rolled across the sky, sharp and close.

Heat spread through my chest, so sudden that I gasped.

For a moment, I heard a wolf howling back.

Then the world went still.

I stood inside myself and heard only silence. No second heartbeat. No presence.

No wolf.

Around me, the clearing had gone too quiet.

Everyone looked unsure what had happened. But in the end, one thing was crystal clear – my wolf had not awakened.

What happened? I asked myself. I was sure I had felt my wolf. I felt its power. But then it just.. What? Retreated?

When I looked around, everyone avoided my eyes.

Except him. My father. Across the clearing, he met my gaze.

Not disappointment.

Not pity.

Decision.

And somehow that broke me more. He was not giving up on me. But was I worth the fight?

Doubt had started to crawl into my mind. 

What if it wasn’t the Goddess who had denied me a wolf? 

What if the wolf itself had found me unworthy and turned away from the bond meant for us? 

Maybe I had been searching for excuses everywhere but within myself, refusing to accept the truth.

Was it me? Had I failed?

---

That night I locked myself in my bedroom and let myself cry for the first time in my life. Alone. Into my pillow.

For the future I had memorized. For the role I had been born into. For the version of myself that would never exist. And for the mate I would never have.

---

My parents left two weeks later.

This time they did not call it diplomacy. They called it a necessity.

“There is one more place,” my father said.

His voice was steady.

Resolute.

He looked like a man preparing to challenge the gods themselves.

“Don’t go. Please. There is nothing you can do.” I tried to convince them to stay. With us. With the pack. To stop chasing something that might not exist.

“It is not you, sweetheart.” My mother cupped my face gently. “Believe me. You are perfect. Your father and I will make this right.”

----

That evening we shared dinner together.

No one spoke of the journey.

My mother refilled my glass twice without noticing it was still full.

My father cut his food into careful pieces, though he barely ate.

My brother watched them both, trying to look braver than he felt.

When the meal ended, my mother took my hands in hers.

“Strong wolves come later,” she whispered again.

I nodded.

We both pretended to believe it.

That night we hugged longer than usual. We made promises we were no longer sure we could keep. Hope was spoken loudly, as if saying the words might force the future to listen.

The next morning, they were gone before I even woke up.