CHAPTER 4

KHLOE

Words, Khloe had learnt the hard way, were what people hurled at you when they could not palm stones, when they discovered to their utmost displeasure that your continued existence was, in fact, their salvation. And it was common knowledge that the Blood Moon pack, besides being werewolves, were at the end of the day just people.

So they filed their words carefully, honing them until the edges were sharp enough, until they were jagged enough to imitate metal, keen enough to cut through layers of skin and brittle bone, salient enough to pierce through to her beating heart. And when she outgrew the names and the knife like words, when she developed a coat of thick skin, they too evolved. And so did their hate. They learnt new cruelties, adapted new techniques to make her life an unpleasant existence, even if they could snuff it out entirely without destroying their own selves, too.

And at the head of this aggression, Caleb could very often be found—at least when they were younger. He poked her, made jokes about the her paleness of her skin. Even in the heat of summer when the rest of the pack had gone from sun-brown to golden, she remain ghostly white. Set apart. Odd. And when you were set apart by your own body, Khloe realized, you became easy prey, quite easy to single out. To hate. People needed very little reason to hate, it turned out, and they often resented things that did not look like them, things that they did not completely understand.

As they grew older, as Caleb's shoulders widened and her hips flared, he seemed to grow less concerned about making her life a hell of its own, and more concerned with drink and women. He became enamored with Cassie Hoover, and soon Khloe was a long forgotten wisp of memory, an abandoned amusement. She had never been more thankful to be forgotten. Never.

Now, as he gazed right at her, Khloe felt cold. A wintered chill went up her spine and she shivered in sync with the collective gasp of the crowd. Her hidden spot in the shadows was suddenly not sufficiently clandestine, the shadows no longer sufficed. They were all looking, and they could see her.

If their gazes were not so intense, so scrutinizing, Khloe would not have believe that Caleb had called her name, she would not have believed her own ears. But she had heard right. The bewilderment in their eyes made her certain of it. For a moment, there was not a sound in a vast hall. Not a pin-drop. Then Tybald smiled and said, 'And so he has chosen.' And he began to clap, softly. The meeting of his palms were the only sounds. They echoed hollowly. Then the crowd joined in and the applause was deafening. A few hoots. and howls could be heard across the hall, but Khloe knew their hearts were not in it. It was written all over their stunned, suntanned faces.

'Khloe Hamilton,' The king said. 'Step forward.'

Khloe stepped forward, out of her perch, and into the shimmering firelight. Above was white, the ground below a starless black night, and all around her, people decked in the colour crimson. They parted like a river to let her pass. It was a thing Khloe had grown accustomed to. People scurrying to get out of her way, twisting away from her in horror and fear. But this time—this time was different. The fear and resentment was there, but for the first time in her life, there was awe and envy, too. Yet, Khloe would have given it all away in a heartbeat.

What should I do? She wondered. What? Should she refuse the ordination? It was not completely unheard of to do such. It had happened before. Rarely. Once or twice, perhaps. But it was a risky venture. Perhaps even more so than saying yes to the naming. If she said yes, she would be tied to the Alpha's family for life, and if children came she would be fettered by unyielding bounds. If she declined, on the other hand, what would the consequences be? They could not lynch her for it, that was certain, not when she was their salvation. But they could make her life, much, much, much worse than it already was. Declining would be a slight to Caleb, to Tybald, to the entire Alpha family, and by extension, to the Blood Moon pack as a unit.

If only Bian had left her stay. She hated the man now more than ever.

She had reached the base of the dais, were black steps lead upwards to the top. Tybald reached out to her and took her hand. He did not flinch when he did. For all his severity, the man was not cruel, or superstitious, for that matter. He had never, at any point, treated her with outright hate. Perhaps, a union to his son would not be so disastrous. Perhaps, the young man would grow up to be stern like his father, severe but not unkind. Perhaps.

'Sire,' Khloe said as he guided her up.

While Tybald did not seem troubled in the least bit by his son's odd choices, Luna, his wife and Caleb's mother was the opposite. Her eyes were as wide as serving plates, bulging. As hard as she looked to be trying, she did not seem to be able to understand what had just transpired. That made the two of them, Khloe thought, somewhat smugly.

'What is this, Caleb? What have you done?' Cassie was saying, eyes wide. A small band of women unobtrusively ushered her towards the doorway. But before she left, she threw down the goblet in her hand, enraged beyond what words could convey. The cup was hard metal, so it clattered loudly to the floor, and sparkling wine streamed out of it. The liquid was as diaphanous as water on the stones where it had spilled. There was no feeling in Caleb's dark eyes, not even a twitch of his jaw. Nothing for the woman he had been with for years.

Tybald placed her hands in Caleb's, and the people gathered roared as one.