“Like turning into wolves, yes.”
She laughs again, and this time there’s a hint of genuine amusement in it. “God, this is insane. I keep waiting to wake up and realize this was all some kind of fever dream.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
We walk in comfortable silence for a while, the crunch of leaves beneath our feet the only sound. The trail opens up into a small clearing with a wooden bench overlooking a stream. I gesture toward it, and Fern sits down with a sigh.
“Tell me more,” she requests. “About how it works. The pack, the shifting, all of it. I want to understand.”
So I tell her. I explain the hierarchy—Alpha, Luna, Elders, and the rest of the pack. I describe what shifting feels like, the way the wolf is always present beneath the surface, a second consciousness sharing your mind. I talk about pack bonds, about the way we can sense each other’s emotions, about the full moon runs through the forest.
And I tell her about the lottery.
“It’s a tradition that goes back generations,” I explain. “A way of ensuring strong matches within the pack. Names are drawn, and the chosen pair is expected to mate.”
“Expected to mate?” Her eyebrows shoot up. “Like an arranged marriage?”
“Something like that. Though it’s not as archaic as it sounds. The lottery has a kind of magic to it. It doesn’t just pick randomly. It finds compatible matches, people who are meant to be together.”
Fern looks skeptical. “And people just… accept this? Being told who they’re supposed to spend their life with?”
“Most do. The matches usually work out.” I think of Nic and Luna, of Ruby and James. “It’s seen as an honor to be chosen. A service to the pack.”
“But what if you don’t want to be matched with whoever gets picked?”
I shrug, trying to ignore the uncomfortable twist in my stomach. “Then you deal with it. Refusing the lottery is basically refusing the pack itself.”
Fern shakes her head slowly. “That’s… a lot.”
“It is.”
“Have you ever been in the lottery?”
I swallow hard before I respond, “Not yet.”
“But you will be?”
“Eventually.” I keep my voice neutral, not wanting to reveal just how soon “eventually” actually is. “Not every shifter goes through the lottery. Sometimes the Elders call for one, or sometimes a pack member volunteers. It’s usually tied to rank orbloodline, or times when the pack needs strengthening. Plenty of shifters find their own mates without it.”
She nods, though I can tell she has more questions. Instead of asking them, she changes the subject. “What about humans? Can humans be part of the pack?”
“Some are. As I said, we have humans who’ve married in, who’ve become part of the community. They’re protected, same as anyone else.”
“But they can’t be in the lottery.”
“I’m not sure there’s even an official rule on that. It’s never come up.”
We sit by the stream for another hour, talking about everything and nothing. She asks about pack customs, about shifter biology, and about the history of Silvercreek. I answer as honestly as I can, trying to paint a picture of a community that’s strange but not threatening.
And somewhere along the way, she starts asking about me.
“What made you become a security officer?” she inquires, tilting her head.
“Someone had to keep an eye on things. I’m good at reading people, at spotting trouble before it starts. Seemed like a natural fit.”
“And before that?”
“I grew up here. Did all the usual pack stuff—training, schooling, learning to control my shift.” I pick up a pebble and toss it into the stream. “Nothing exciting.”
