CHAPTER 9 – WINE, WOLVES, AND FATE

Gabriel Vermont’s POV

The air in Crescent Moon Pack was thick with forced celebration and the scent of roasted game. Laughter rang out in bursts as wolves mingled, dressed in their finest—though under it all, a current of tension pulsed through the crowd.

The moment I stepped into Crescent Moon Pack’s stronghold, I knew I was not welcome.

The stone walls of the Great Hall were cold despite the golden torchlight. The scent of roasted meats and wine couldn't hide the air of mourning that still lingered like smoke after a fire. Warriors watched me from the corners, suspicious. Elders whispered behind goblets of spiced drink. No one approached.

It didn’t surprise me.

Alpha John had buried his mate only weeks ago. His grief hung thick in the air. And I wasn’t here for celebration.

I was here on orders.

“Deliver the condolences personally,” Alpha Aldric had told me before I left Blood Moon territory. “Be my eyes. Watch how Crescent Moon recovers. And… trust your instincts.”

But I knew him well enough to understand that he didn’t send me here on politics alone. I wasn’t just a warrior. I was his weapon when things started to shift.

So I came.

But from the moment I entered the hall, I felt something off.

There was music, yes—but it was hollow. Forced. Tonight was a mating celebration, a tradition where Crescent Moon’s unmated were formally introduced. Usually, such nights were rich with laughter, flirtation, hope.

But tonight? It felt staged.

A performance masking something broken underneath.

I remained near the edge of the crowd, scanning the room. I was dressed in black—simple, sharp. A deliberate contrast to the silk-draped wolves dancing near the center. I sat tall, regal, even in silence, dark hair, combed back with effortless elegance. A sharp jawline. A scar cut across my left eyebrow like a cruel signature from the gods. My aura exuded lethal control and restrained power.

Alpha John sat at the far end of the long table, face like stone. He hadn’t acknowledged me beyond what was necessary when I arrived. Not that I blamed him. I wasn’t here to be embraced.

Still, my wolf was restless.

Agitated.

It had been stirring for days now—ever since the full moon rose over Blood Moon’s cliffs. Dreams had begun haunting me again. The same faceless girl. The same hollow ache in my chest.

And now, here?

I could feel something watching me.

No—pulling me.

Like fate had sunk its claws into my ribs and was guiding me through the dark.

I didn’t understand it.

Not yet.

---

“Do you care for some wine?” a girl asked, offering me a goblet from a silver tray.

I took it, nodding once. “Thank you.”

She curtsied quickly and moved on.

I sipped the wine, eyes scanning the room for… what?

I didn’t know.

But then—

She appeared.

Not in a flourish.

Not like a prophecy.

Just… slipped into view at the edge of the dancers. Small. Quiet. Wearing a muted sky-blue dress that looked a little too loose on her frame. Her hair fell in pale waves down her back, and her eyes—gods, her eyes—they were the kind that carried storms.

She looked like she didn’t belong here.

And she moved like she believed it.

She kept her head down, weaving through the crowd with the cautious grace of someone trying not to be seen. She clutched a goblet in her hand—too tightly.

I should’ve looked away.

I didn’t.

Because something inside me had already locked on to her.

And then—like fate leaning down to whisper its plans—she collided into me.

The goblet slipped.

Wine spilled across my tunic.

She gasped, stepping back in horror.

“Oh no—” her voice cracked, and her eyes finally met mine.

I—I’m so sorry, Alpha," she stammered, lowering her head.

"Alpha Vermont," someone whispered reverently. "That’s the Warrior Alpha."

Gabriel Vermont.

Her head snapped up , my gaze pinned her where she stood.

And then she had the same look of recognition.

That same heat from my dreams—the same soul-pulling gravity. Her breath caught. Not just nerves. Recognition.

Her eyes widened by a fraction.

"You..." she breathed.

She took a shaky step back.

No. No, no, no.

I’ve fought in wars. I’ve broken enemies with my bare hands. But nothing—not even the first shift of my wolf—prepared me for this.

The air between us snapped.

Heat surged through my veins.

My wolf lunged forward inside me—not howling, not growling… bowing.

There you are.

She blinked, breath shaking, lips parting slightly. Her fingers trembled at her sides.

I didn’t speak.

Couldn’t.

Because for one suspended moment, the crowd blurred.

The music faded.

There was only her.

And then, just as quickly, it shattered.

She took a shaky step back, eyes wide, almost terrified. She opened her mouth, as if to apologize, but no sound came. A flush crept up her neck, and she turned—fast—and vanished into the crowd like a ghost.

“Wait—” I moved after her, but someone blocked my path.

Elias Lockwood.

Smirking. Arms folded.

“She’s clumsy,” he said, tone smooth as ice. “You’ll get used to it around here. The mutts run loose.”

I didn’t answer.

Her face.

Her scent.

Her grief.

That was the wolf he rejected.

The cursed girl.

The rumors had reached even the North. Samantha Morgan. Orphaned. Wolf dormant. Scarred by loss. Fated to Elias… once.

And now—mine.

My fingers tightened around the empty goblet.

Elias stepped closer. “You don’t want that one, Vermont. Trust me.”

I looked at him, voice low.

“I don’t think you know what you gave up.”

His expression faltered.

But I wasn’t looking at him anymore.

My gaze followed the spot where she’d disappeared, heart pounding with something between fury and awe.

I’d crossed mountains and borders to deliver a scroll.

But I knew now—I hadn’t come here for diplomacy.

I came here to meet her.

---

Across the room, hidden behind a stone column, Samantha pressed her back to the cold wall, trying to breathe. Her fingers still tingled where they brushed his tunic.

She didn’t understand what she was feeling.

Only that the air had changed.