“What was that about!” I ask Theia sharply once I have left Agatha’s quarters. “I will not have my strength questioned like that.” She retorts. “What an ego!” I chide. “It’s not an ego if it is fact!” She growls. “I don’t have many friends. Don’t go alienating the few I DO have!” I growl back with equal ferocity. I can feel the tension and anger between us. I take some calming breaths. “Try and be nice to Mari, or just don’t say anything.” I warn. “I can only bite my tongue for so long before it begins to bleed.” Theia retorts. “She literally said one thing. Asked one question. She asked out of love and worry for me. You barely bit your tongue at all!” I correct. “I will not be questioned by an Omega!” Theia thunders. “Newsflash! I am basically a slave. My friends are slaves and omegas. So you better get used to it.” I reply tersely. “We are not an omega and we are not destined to be a slave.” “Tell me, what is my destiny? Am I powerless to change the course? If so, why do
“We will be together again soon. I promise.” I say to Dmitry, not only to convince him but also myself. “I don’t understand why you have to be away for so long!” He sobbed. We haven’t been apart for longer than a few days since the day he was born. I pull him into my arms and hug him firmly. I rub his back in small circles and I feel his body slowly relax and melt into my embrace. “Nothing will keep me from you. I will move mountains if I have to.” I mean every single word. A promise to him. A promise to myself. “I know.” He whispers so quietly I can barely register it. “I will be going to Kingdom of the Moon with the Luna, then I will travel to the Moon Ceremony. Tell me, what should I know about it? Any animals or birds I should look out for?” It calms Dmitry to talk about facts and science. “Let me go get my map, so we can look at the path of your journey!” He suggests. “Yes, please!” I call to him, as he races to his little library of books. He stretches the map across a s
I have to pack thoughtfully. We are only taking a single carriage and the Luna’s elaborate wardrobe took up a lot of the space. What her belongings did not take had to be shared between myself and the two carriage drivers. Alpha Warriors accompanied us on horseback, packing their belongings on their own horse. Occasionally, one would request that the Luna haul a box or two on the carriage. “The Luna is not a terrible traveling companion.” Mari muses. “She prefers a quiet journey. When Horus travels along it can be difficult, he’s rambunctious.” She confides. “Rambunctious seems too kind of a word to describe him.” I snark. “You needn’t worry. He will not be traveling with you.” She says. “Oh? I just assumed he would be joining.” I say. I had assumed that Horus would be joining. I was pleasantly surprised to hear he would not. “He is needed to help prepare for the hunt with the Alpha.”“I had forgotten about the hunt.” I say more to myself than Mari. The hunt takes place in the d
“May Selene bless this journey. May the moon guide you on a safe and righteous path. May Selene gain favorable passage for you from her siblings.” The priestess recites her prayers over the carriage and horses. The sun has only just begun to peek from the horizon. The dew blankets the ground, sparkling like an iridescent web over the grass. A blanket so delicate I imagine only the garden fairies of my girlhood dreams could craft a gown from it. The fields are obscured by the morning mists. It’s as if I am looking through the end of a glass mug, the trees in the distance are blurred and dreamy. The horses are restless to begin the day’s journey, the sounds of their throaty breaths and stomping hooves punctuate each verse of the priestess’s prayer. “May Selene guide your path. Bless Luna Osiris on her righteous path. May Selene protect you.” The priestess’s robes are made of lush silver velvet. The dew clings to it in small glittering droplets like diamonds reflecting in the sun. A si
The carriage is built for comfort. The interior is lined with green silk and dark woods. The seats are plush, upholstered in supple chocolate brown calves leather. I settle into the cabin, focused on taking as little space as possible. “It’s a long ride, so best get comfortable.” The Luna says flatly. “Yes, ma’am.” I quietly mutter in return. I feel the jerk of the horses starting down the road. A guard on either side of the coach, one behind it, one immediately in front of it, and Captain Keegan leading the way. The Luna opens a book and begins to quietly read it. A bored expression on her face as she slowly flips the pages. A comfortable silence settles between us. I look out of the small carriage window at the passing landscape. The fields and gardens. The homes dotting the landscape. The children playing. The cows and sheep in the fields eating. Wildflowers and winter wheat waving in the wind. I feel a profound sadness wash over me. Smothering any joy I just felt at look
“For hundreds of years she ruled, her children sitting on the throne of every kingdom far and wide. Yet, Selene’s children were gaining more power in the realm as the strength of each pack grew.” The Luna took a drink of water. “Thirsty?” She asks. “Don’t you dare drink from someone while they tell a tale of witches!” Theia spits. “No, thank you.” I say blandly. “Suit yourself.” She says as she drinks another glass. “One day, she saw a young Malakai bathing in a pond within the Black Woods.” She takes a long drink for dramatic effect. “She was struck by his handsomeness and youth. She revealed herself as a young maiden. A deadly spider beckoning her prey into her web.” I stared wide-eyed at the Luna. I have never heard this story before. I thought I had heard every story of Malakai. “He did not spare her a glance. He had only just been mated. He had not even had the wedding or anointing of his mate as Luna. Yet, his eyes were for his mate only. His mate had his full devot
“Love is dangerous, it’s a weakness. Betrayal is inevitable.” The Luna muses. I wish I could say her coldness was surprising. Her bitterness, a confession. Her true nature is revealed by her cynicism. “Malakai was driven by a desire for power. Circe aided him in that. Helping him to build an army. Creating the ability for him to build his throne. All this so she could be his Queen beside him.” My body begins to feel tired. The soft leather of the seats begging me to rest my weary body upon them. “The Coven did not want to bow to a werewolf King. They viewed Circe’s actions to be a great betrayal. They had tolerated her affairs for centuries. They believed that even if the blood was diluted, having witch blood on the thrones throughout the realm ensured their continued dominance. That never meant bowing to a mutt King.” She sneers. Mutt King? What a strange term to use as a werewolf. “Seraphina, a young witch of high blood, plotted against Circe. She went to Malakai and told
My belly feels full and warm. The lamb was rich and fatty. The meal is over and the Luna is ready to retire to her room for a nap. Captain Keegan and another guard accompany us to the room. “Turn down the bed and help me unbutton this gown.” The Luna commands as I close the door to the room behind us. The guards standing watch just outside. I diligently follow her instructions. I help her shimmy out of her dress until she is only in her chemise. She lies on the bed as I tuck her in. I walk over to the small sofa in the corner of the room and attempt to make myself comfortable. “It isn’t safe to fall asleep.” Theia warns. “I’m exhausted. What would you have me do?” I ask, annoyed. “If it was up to me we wouldn’t be on this trip!” Theia says exasperated. “Same!” I curl up to fit my body on the sofa and attempt to get comfortable. I feel myself being swallowed by darkness. By body feels weighed down, like I’m being drug into the depths of the ocean. Drowning. I’m being p
It was as if Asteria’s memory played out on a screen in front of me. I’m a captive audience, cordoned off in a far off corner of my mind. Separated from my body but still aware of what is happening. The scene from Theia’s point of view also playing out, oddly disconnected from me, padded feet to forest floor the smell of earth and water. The dirt flecked in her fur and her nose pressed to the earth inhaling its aroma. Asteria’s trauma unfolds before me, almost happening to me, although the screams are not my own. The hunger in his eyes. The manic rage. His whip. My feelings are not entirely my own, it is as if I am Asteria in this experience. “Prince Aares.” I say in a voice that is not my own. A memory of an event I never experienced, yet vividly recall. This isn’t real, yet, I can feel his whip biting and tearing my skin. I can feel the blood snaking down the back of my thighs. The warm ooze somehow soothing the stinging pain. My back flayed open. His scent coats my skin like an
“May the Goddess anoint you with her love and bless you with your dreams.” “We give our devotion to the Goddess!” My mate and I reply. The priestesses are all around us. Their voices echoing off the walls of the cave, it’s impossible to tell how many are speaking as the voices echo around us. Our naked bodies only inches away from one another as we stand in the pool, his intoxicating scent masked by the abundance of minerals in the spring. “We ask our Goddess to cleanse you of all your impurities. Remove any malice from your hearts.” The priestesses chant around us. My body feels drawn to him. The urge I have to touch him is overwhelming, to just feel his skin pressed against mine. Any doubts I have floating away the second I am near him. I look ahead to the priestesses. I do not dare look at him in all his glory. One glance at him may be what breaks the dam holding back my urges, my last vestige of control. “Tonight, you are to shift into your true nature. The greatest trea
“The Mountain stands, unmoving— never wavering, rooted deeply into the soil.” The Queen begins, seated behind me on a small chair, her gown spilling out of the narrow seat displaying the sheer volume of fabric she seems to carry so effortlessly. Monica is plaiting my hair for the first ceremony. An intricate pattern of different braids joined together and fastened with a plain rag tie matching my temple dress. “The Wind with her sons raging across the lands, charge right at the Great Mountain, but it still stands. The nymphs of the waters try to claw through it, but still it stands. Rigid. Strong. Proud.” Her hands move with the story, in a way it was more akin to a fireside chat rather than dressing room gossip. It reminds me of my father’s stories around the fire. I listen to her tale, knowing little of her people, attentively watching her through the mirrors reflection. “The Goddess herself blessed the Great Mountain, and appointed the Shadow Mountain pack to be the Guardians
“Waltz of the Mountains.” The King sneers. “Let’s see how well you keep up.” He casts a glare at Edward. “You know how your Grandmother adores the dance of her homeland, grandson. Do not disappoint her for the sake of your mate.” The warning is clear. “Yes, my King. I would not dream of disappointing.” He bows deeply, his hand on his heart pledging his allegiance. I remember our first meeting. “You play a dangerous game, girl.” He said with his hand around my throat. I suppose I am still that dangerous silly girl, too headstrong to fully submit. Incapable of bending to a tyrant. Incapable of silence. I am who I create. I feel Theia and Asteria in the front of my mind. Any overt display of power would be disastrous, so they lurk, careful not to allow their presence shimmer in my eyes. I deeply curtsy holding my hand to my heart as well, averting my eyes to the floor, not uttering a word. Silence and obedience. That is what the King demands. My stubbornness to blame for not b
Silence. I dare not speak or move. “I have heard you can dance.” The King says in my direction. A small smile creeped on his lips. A sneer. “Yes, your majesty.” I say meekly. “You shall dance for us.” Edward looks at me with sadness in his eyes. A shimmer of anger rippling in his fields of green, at my faux pas. The weight of the King’s displeasure not only hitting me, but crushing him as well. Collateral damage. “I would love to see the waltz.” The Queen hums. “Edward can lead her if she does not know it. Besides, she will be expected to dance at their wedding celebrations.” I hope he indulges his wife. It is a far better option than being forced to gyrate in front of the King. His expression leads me to believe he wishes to not only remind me of my place but humiliate me in the process. The Queen’s suggestion is only her tossing a rope to her grandson to save him from the front row seat to my humiliation. The King looks to his Queen. “Very well.” He replies. “L
Fairytales have a modicum of truth to them. Just enough truth that the reader can absorb the message, learn whatever moral imperative is being taught. The tricky part is discerning what little bit is rooted in truth, and what is an outright lie, a fantasy embellishment to keep you reading. I prefer the stories with happy endings, lessons are still learned, but the main character in the end is well and fine. Perhaps that’s my first mistake, assuming my placement in the tale is the main character, rather than the abused maid or gullible villager, or otherwise nameless background character. A person in the crowd as the King strolls down the street naked. A lady’s maid to the wicked queen or damsel in distress. A nameless cousin to the main character, who tried on the shoe but it did not fit. Perhaps I am the main character, in one of those tales where she tragically dies. Her choices and bad decisions leading her to death, rather than the happiness she was seeking. The Queen seem
“Beauty is pain.” Monica consoles. “You cannot achieve divinity without sacrifice. We want ethereal. We want glamor.” “We want to be able to have dinner.” I squeak, the corset of the gown so tight I can barely breathe. “Or maybe just be able to breathe.” I have been trying on gowns for hours. I tire of looking at my reflection. “Long deep breaths from the lungs, not the belly.” She demonstrates, her body rod straight, long measured breaths expanding her ribcage. My wedding gown, gowns for tea and dinner, dresses for travel and leisure, for breakfast or prayer— the stacks of fabric seem endless. I was nothing more than a doll. Monica has the same persistence as Agatha. I remember her wrapping me in endless fabrics for my Moon Ceremony gown. “You will be elegant! Ravishing! Demure!” She shouted as she wrapped me in satins and tulle. “Posture is key. Beyond that, relax. High anxiety breathing isn’t very effective or attractive.” Monica concludes. I smile, my mind wander
Something in my soul longs for the sunshine. The rays on my skin make me come alive. My internal battery dependent upon feeling the sun against my skin. I do not recall the last time I was outside in the sun. It seems a lifetime ago that I was able to truly enjoy it. My gown manifesting what I need the most, time to bask in the sun. I can feel the whispers of winter on the autumn wind. A small chill dancing in the breeze, winter days soon to come. I stare upwards to the sky. The sun’s rays like golden spires piercing through the clouds, a magnificent sight. The sun coyly peeks from behind the clouds to bathe me in its rays. Today, I am the sun, and I will absorb the warmth and joy it brings me. Monica stops in front of a small gate created between two apple trees. The trees already bare from harvest, the priestesses and acolytes have started the pruning process, preparing the orchard for winter. The branches and stems are neatly stacked in piles along the treeline. My ow
The material is a diaphanous gauzy gold, a Grecian peplos, the fabric expertly draped on the body. A hint of silhouette peeking through the multiple layers and folds of fabric, my feminine form exposed through gauzy golden haze. I am the sun incarnate. Even my tiny golden bracelet glints in the light, highlighted by the gown's golden glow. My ring proudly displayed on my finger. Monica has dusted my eyelids with a golden shimmer and painted my lips a soft pink. I look upon myself in the mirror. The long elegant gown perfectly compliments my shape. Long gone is the young girl dreaming of her escape, replaced in the mirror with an elegant woman, soon to be a married woman. A princess. A future Queen. The gown strikes me as familiar but I am unable to place it. I feel an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. “You look divine!” Monica squeals. “You are the artist, I’m just the canvas.” I respond softly. I stare into the mirror in awe of her art. I don’t even recognize myself in the reflectio