The Dual Claim

The chandeliers blazed with hundreds of candles, their flames mirrored in the polished marble until the ballroom looked like the inside of a star. Music drifted from the gallery, bright and full. Perfume, wax, and heat mixed in the air. A bell rang twice and the hall quieted.

Alpha Corren rose from his chair at the head table. He was older than I remembered—hair gone silver, shoulders still straight.

“Welcome, allies and honored guests. As the Moon turns through her twelve faces, each of the Twelve Allies stands in turn to serve as host before the full moon. Tonight, it is Silverpine’s honor to celebrate the banquet of The Luna’s Calling.”

Applause rippled through the room, soft and polite. He lifted his glass in salute, then nodded to the dais.

Elder Galdo stood. His voice carried calm authority. “We thank Luna for her bounty and the strength she gives our hunts. May our alliances hold, our hearths stay full, and our hearts remain ready for her choosing, and our appetites sated from the feast before us. Blessed Be.”

 “Blessed Be,” everyone replied in unison.

Servers moved between the rows, the scent of roasted meat and spiced fruit filling the hall. I copied what the others did—napkin in lap, hands folded, wait until the Alpha lifted his fork.   

Don’t drop anything, she told me with a lopsided grin. I didn’t argue.

I tried to eat slow, careful not to spill on my gown. No one spoke to me, but I caught a few sidelong glances from the next table. I wasn’t sure if they were pity or curiosity.

The servers quietly came in and took our plates then withdrew again.

Once the tables were cleared, the Pack Priestess stepped forward, her ivory robes flowing over the dais steps. Candlelight caught the faint shimmer of silver thread at her sleeves.

Her eyes were bright with love and faith as she lifted her hands toward the open skylight. “We stand in the days of Luna’s swelling light,” she said, “the time between shadow and fullness. When her face is nearly whole, she turns her gaze upon us and marks those she would see run beneath her silver crown. One week from now, when her light completes, the chosen will run as one, and balance will be kept among the Twelve.”

She lowered her hands. “The goddess watches. Let us begin.”

High Elder Selwyn rose next. His robes were plain gray, his expression measured, but his voice carried the weight of habit. “First, the pack daughters of their first year will test the bond with Alpha Corren’s son, Lucien.

If no bond awakens, you will leave the stage and join the unbonded Alphas and other unbonded males. Next, the first-year daughters of our allies. If Luna does not call for their bond, all remaining unbonded may mingle as the Moon allows.”

Chairs scraped. Girls began to line up near the dais, their families whispering. I rose too, already moving toward the end of the line. I knew my place. Wanes always went last.

Wane—the word they used for orphans the pack took in, protected but never quite full pack.

Every eighteen-year-old girl in Silverpine stood in line, waiting for the elders to call them up for their chance to be pack Luna. Mothers tugged at hems, adjusted jewels. Nervous laughter bubbled behind painted lips.

I had no one. No jewels to fuss with. No father to glare at boys staring too long. No mother to calm my nerves with a touch. I just stood alone in a dress that pinched under the arms and sagged at the hem.

My gown was a hand-me-down from some first year long gone, pale silver satin that ran a fraction short at the ankles if I stood straight. I stitched the hem by hand in Wane Hall two nights ago, the fabric finer than anything I’d ever worn.

While trying to look and feel like I fit in with the rest of the pack hoping for an awakening bond, I heard the not-so-subtle whispers around me.

“Look,” someone said, not even trying to keep it soft. “A Wane in a silk dress.”

“She should’ve stayed in the hall where she belongs,” another voice murmured, bright with amusement.

I kept my eyes on the chandeliers. If I stared long enough, I could pretend I wasn’t the girl at the end of the line, and that I belonged here, even if no one else believed it.

On the dais, at the top of the carved stone steps, stood the man who would decide the fate of every unbonded woman in line.

Lucien Veyrac.

Then he stepped forward, and every eye followed. Taller than anyone else on the stage, his shoulders were broad enough to make the space feel smaller. The black jacket fit like a glove, seams stretched over his biceps, every button closed, every line deliberate.

His golden hair caught the light, falling in loose waves to his collar. His eyes were liquid heat.

He didn’t walk; he swaggered.

Lucien’s eyes darted to a table next to the head table. A woman in red sat there, flanked by an older man and two identical younger clones of the older one. All of them bore resemblance to each other.

Her crimson gown was bright, more daring than any of Silverpine’s girls. The tilt of her chin and the calm way she held her shoulders marked her for what she was—Alpha-born.

The men flanking her tried to appear casual, but their every move was protective, from the arm on the back of her chair, to the constant scanning of the room from the other. They were family, protecting their own away from home.

For me, Wane Hall was home, but it never felt like one. Home meant parents who wanted to know your every move, shared meals, questions about your day. Wane Hall was a place to sleep, eat, and shower. Warm enough to live in, but never warm enough to feel loved.

“By law and by bond,” Elder Ansel intoned, “we witness Luna’s Calling. Let those who have come of age this year step forth when called.”

Someone squeezed my hand by mistake and yanked it back when they realized whose fingers they’d grabbed.

I pretended not to notice.

The first name carried easily through the hush. A girl in ivory moved like a trembling candle toward the steps.

Lucien descended one step to meet her. He placed two fingers lightly on her wrist and closed his eyes.

I held my breath along with half the room.

Nothing changed. No invisible thread pulled them together. No air snapped like a struck string. He opened his eyes, the corner of his mouth polite and unmoved, and shook his head.

Lucien’s eyes zeroed in on the lady in red again.

“Rejected,” someone breathed, not unkindly.

The girl turned on a caught sob and stumbled back to her family. Her mother caught her and guided her toward the remaining eligible males.

The elder called the next name.

A girl in sea-glass blue. Then a girl in violet.

They walked away from the dais with faces tight, searching the crowd for their family to offer comfort or for a mate who might be waiting somewhere beyond the line.

Lucien looked away before he touched the next wrist. Another tiny shake of his head. Another ripple through the crowd.

The ritual moved on. One young woman after another.

Each time, he glanced back at the woman in crimson silk…again. Hunger flickered in his eyes.

“Next.”