Chapter 3 I Want Her

(Hilda)

My body still holds the heat of Arlo’s touch when he calls for Soren and his council.

I don’t leave. I need to hear what he has to say.

They file in slowly. Alec looks everywhere but at me. Soren enters last, lips pressed into a grim line, jaw set. No one speaks until the door clicks shut.

Arlo remains seated at the head of the table, perfectly composed, but the force of his presence fills every corner of the room.

“Sit,” he says coldly.

They obey immediately.

“I’ve seen weak packs before,” Arlo begins, voice smooth but laced with venom. “I’ve seen dying ones. Leaderless ones. Packs clawing themselves apart from the inside.”

No one dares move.

“But what I’ve seen here tonight sickens me.” He leans forward, hands clasped before him.

“Hilda is a champion who came within a breath of dying for you. Your Luna. And when she scraped herself back from oblivion, you repay her by attempting to erase her.”

The shame in the room is so thick I could choke on it. Even Cerelia looks away.

“She should have come back to honor. Instead, you treated her like an inconvenience. A threat.” His gaze lands on Soren. “You, especially.”

Soren doesn’t flinch from the truth. “I know. I failed her.”

“You all did.” Arlo doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t have to. “You’ll make it right.”

Soren nods, visibly swallowing the weight of it. “The rejection ceremony will take place tomorrow. Before the coronation. Properly, this time. With the full ritual rites.”

He turns to Arlo. “I would like to invite you, Alpha King, to bear witness.”

Arlo tilts his head. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Soren looks genuinely startled by the acceptance. He nods once and leaves the room without another word.

I’m not sure how I feel about Arlo sticking around, but his words do offer a smidge of validation.

***

Morning arrives far too soon.

A gray mist clings to the ground outside, the forest unusually still. Even the birds seem to know something is coming.

The bond still hums beneath my skin. Hot and heavy and implacable.

I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt his touch on my shoulder. The way the air had shifted, as though the world itself recognized what we were.

Fated.

But fate means nothing when your heart is already broken.

I avoid everyone as long as I can. I dress in black again, same as yesterday.

Not out of mourning, though I have plenty to mourn, but because it feels like armor.

I keep to the edge of the courtyard as the ceremony preparations begin anew. 

Cerelia will be Luna by nightfall and I will officially be relegated to the past.

“Why are you hiding?” Damon’s voice is a lazy drawl at my side.

He’s always hated me for being a better fighter than he is. For taking out huge numbers of his warriors in every battle.

I find it impossible to believe he’s Cerelia’s brother. Her mildness annoys me, but growing up with a prick like Damon must have been hell.

“I’m not hiding.”

“You’re skulking, then.” He grins. “Which is frankly worse.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Go bother someone else.”

He leans in, breath warm against my ear. “You used to bite, Hilda. Did they dull your teeth while you slept, or are you simply too weak now?”

I jerk away before I do something regrettable. “Careful, Damon. I’m not in the mood.”

“It’s a good thing your mood has no bearing on my actions,” he mutters, then strolls off.

By midday, the gathering begins. The courtyard fills with wolves.

I stand alone near one of the columns, half-hidden in shadow. Cerelia is radiant. Soren stands beside her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword like he expects the ceremony to turn violent.

Maybe it will.

Arlo arrives late. I’m sure it’s on purpose.

He strides into the courtyard like he owns the ground beneath his boots, dressed in black, eyes scanning until they land on me. Just for a heartbeat. Then he takes a seat at the edge of the dais, flanked by who I assume is his Beta and two of his warriors.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t interrupt. But his presence alone changes everything. The tension rises like fog, thick and choking.

“I have an announcement,” Soren says, turning to the crowd. “Before the crown is passed, we must first acknowledge the woman who still holds its weight.”

Every eye turns to me and my spine locks.

“Hilda,” he says. “You are still, by our laws, Luna. Before we move forward, you must be officially released.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd and I feel Arlo’s eyes on me. Hot. Unrelenting.

I nod once. “Agreed.”

I stand before Soren in the same place where we once exchanged our bond.

“I, Alpha Soren, reject you, Hilda, as my mate.”

It hurts. Gods, it still hurts. But I manage to lift my chin.

“I, Hilda, accept your rejection.”

Something snaps. The final thread. And then it’s over. I step back, retreating into the shadows once more.

Cerelia recites her vows with soft elegance. Soren does the same, his voice clear but devoid of the fire it once held. She’s crowned to applause and she glows with happiness.

The rest of the day passes in a fog. Night falls quickly. Torches are lit along the trees, casting the clearing in golden firelight.

The celebratory hunt will start soon.

Wolves shift all around me, fur exploding from skin, paws hitting dirt as they vanish into the trees.

I don’t shift. Not yet.

Arlo appears at my side, quiet as the moon.

“You’re free now,” he tells me.

“I don’t feel free.”

His golden eyes search mine. “You will. Give it time.”

He pauses, like he wants to say more. Then he adds, almost tenderly, “You looked like you wanted to commit violence up there.”

“I did.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because I already lost everything. I won’t give them the satisfaction of watching me break.”

His gaze lingers. “That’s not breaking. That’s mourning.”

I stare at him silently, considering his words.

Then he runs, his wolf massive and black and terrifying.

And I, finally, follow.