The First Crack in His Control

The heavy scented air of the Frosthaven Dominion territory settled thick around the pack lodge as the moon rose higher.

"Have you ever done yourself up, Celandra?"

I blush hard in the vanity mirror at Sylvene as she works the hot iron through my hair. When she first brought the heat close to my wolf's sensitive ears, I was sure it was going to scorch every single strand off my head and leave me looking like a rogue.

Reaching up, I take one of the soft curls between my fingers and examine it, my claws catching slightly on the silk.

"I’m not gonna look like I’m... trying too hard, am I?" I ask, my inner wolf already whimpering to crawl under the bed and hide.

Sylvene laughs, her own wolf purring with amusement. "Despite what the unmated males say about loving the raw pack look, they like hot females, sister! And we’re making you hotter than you’ve ever been."

I barely recognize my reflection. Darkened lashes, highlighted cheeks, tinted lips—all things I never wear around the pack house. Honestly, I wouldn’t even have a clue how to dress for a gathering if it wasn’t for Sylvene.

Can you believe that? Nineteen years old, an adult female of the Frosthaven Dominion, and I don’t know how to prepare for a mating hunt?

But I have to admit, I kind of like the way I look with my scent highlighted and my face all done up. Normally, I just wake up, run through the woods, throw on my tunic, and go about my pack duties. I was actually planning on wearing that tonight, but Sylvene had other plans.

"You can’t go to the XXK Litter in that!" She laughed when she burst into my quarters like a breeze of scented oil. She brought a stack of silks that I never ever would have bought, telling me to pick one for the night.

It then took ten minutes of heavy persuasion to get me into a tiny piece of black fabric that hugs every inch of my curves like a second skin. I’ve always been self-conscious about specific parts of my frame—my hips and breasts especially—but this dress accentuates every line my wolf possesses.

"Are you sure this isn’t... too much?" I ask, trying to tug the hem down a little more on my thighs. "It’s not really hiding... my body..."

"That’s the point!" Sylvene replies, twisting her lips as she shakes her head. "Your legs are thick, girl, and the pack males love ‘em. You gotta show ‘em off!"

I’ve no clue where Sylvene gets her alpha confidence from. She’s the total opposite of me when it comes to males. They terrify my soft wolf, but Sylvene always seems to dominate them. She’s the only reason I’m actually stepping foot into the territory club tonight.

"I dunno," I mutter, looking toward my corner table. "Maybe I’ll just stay in and work on my territorial boundary maps..."

If you look up an anxious pack female in the elders' scrolls, there should be a picture of me. I’d rather be sketching maps or tracking scents than dealing with a crowded den or going out on a hunt.

"No, no, no," she scolds, waving her finger. "We are going out, having barrel-mead, and maybe you’ll even get yourself a fine male..."

She winks, causing my cheeks to flush hot with blood. I’m an untouched virgin. Sylvene knows this. Me getting a male tonight would be in fact... strange, if not downright impossible. I’m saving my heat for a male who has zero interest in me—who is ten years older than me, looks at me like an annoying little pup, and hasn’t spoken to my wolf in months.

My step-brother, Vaelor Thorncrest.

He moved out to the enforcement quarters right after I turned eighteen, after his mother, Sara, bound her life to my father, Fenrik Greycliff. Now the only time I see his lethal frame is at a high-pack feast, but he never spares a word for me. My stomach twists into knots every time his dark eyes avert from mine. Honestly, I don't even know what my wolf did to piss him off.

Maybe if he saw me in this dress, smelling of sweet blossoms and heat, things would change. But then again, he has no shortage of pack females throwing their scent at him. He’s tall, gorgeous, broad-shouldered, and doesn’t give a damn about what anyone in the dominion thinks about him.

From the way he acts, I bet he hates my very wolf—thinks I’m a spoiled little pup. I’ve never worked the hard northern border, but Vaelor was clearing rogue packs since he was fifteen. He’s never said so directly, but I know he thinks my mapping is silly. Just another weak female who thinks she’s going to serve the pack with ink instead of claws.

Sylvene finally finishes with my hair and sets the hot iron aside. I stand up and take a look at myself in the tall glass, my pulse spiking. So much skin exposed.

"Yeah, this isn’t a good idea," I say, my palm slick with sweat. "I’m gonna look like fresh meat to those males—"

"That’s the idea!" Sylvene persists, taking my arm firmly. "And I’ll be there to guard your back."

"And we’re gonna be drinking pack mead? What happens if the Pack Wardens catch us with fake tokens?"

Sylvene gives me that look she always gives me when my inner wolf goes into overdrive—overthinking everything, picturing the rogue attacks instead of the hunt.

"I know, I’m doing it again..." I sigh, lowering my eyes.

She smiles and pulls me in for a fast hug. "The males are gonna lose their minds over you," she laughs, playfully nudging my chest where the low cut barely holds me in.

"Oh my God, stop!" I laugh, reaching for my heavy wool wrap hanging over the chair. But she quickly snatches it away and tosses it into the trunk. "Sylvene, come on, the night wind on the mountain—"

"It’s summer in Frosthaven, Celandra," she replies, taking my hand. "You’re gonna be fine. Now come on. It’s time to go."

I nearly snap an ankle navigating the stone steps in these high leather heels, but I somehow make it out to Sylvene’s transport without falling flat on my face. Once inside, she revs the heavy engine, throwing gravel into the air as she speeds out of the courtyard fast enough to wake Mr. and Mrs. Johnson down the road.

Thankfully, it’s only a short drive down to the lower territory, which means I don’t have time to turn around. According to Sylvene, the XXK Litter just opened its doors and is the newest gathering spot for the younger wolves in the dominion.

When we pull up to the stone building, I see a cluster of broad-chested pack males standing outside under the iron lanterns, drinking heavy ale and laughing. One of them lets out a low wolf-whistle at a female in a pink dress as she walks past. She flashes her claws at them—a move I’d never have the nerve to pull—and they just howl in response.

My eyes scan the crowd, looking for just one safe scent, but all I see are predators. Hungry eyes on the prowl, dripping with aggressive male aura.

"What if Garron Stoneclaw checks the tokens himself..." I plead as Sylvene pushes her door open.

"We’ll be fine," she says, tossing her hair. "Stop worrying!"

I feel like I’m stepping into a rogue camp as we make our way down the cobblestone path and into the crowd of shifting bodies. My father's estate is tucked deep into the upper woods, and the town itself is small, so smelling this many heat-charged wolves at once makes my skin prickle.