“Let us pray,” my mother says.
We bow our heads as she leads us in hymns.
And I pray Jay will forgive me.
Chapter FIFTY-SEVEN
Jay
Torches illuminate the path to the medieval stone castle. It rises, dark and strong at the bottom of the grassy field.
I was told to join any pack’s group of females that enters. There isn’t a lack to choose from, so I pick one at random and hop in line. When I do, no one says anything.
Everyone is too enthralled with the witch with silver hair and matching eyes. Her fingers dance and silver sparkles shimmer in the air in its wake as she plays the air like a piano. You would’ve thought she was sprinkling glitter.
The group I joined is instructed to line up single-file. Only one group at a time can go in, as it would be too much of a ruckus to have all the women paraded at the same time. As the group ahead steps through, snarling rises and alphas inside shout for their men to calm down, fall back and control themselves.
I swear I hear one alpha call for the backup of another as two wolves fight over a she-wolf. Cages rattle as the women make through the castle to the royal courtyard.
A few minutes later, it’s our turn. One by one, we file in.
This is a bad idea. Why did I do this?
To move on from Mate.
Right.
But I don’t want to move on. I knew that all along, although I tried to convince myself otherwise. The decision to join the Hunt was logical, not emotional. Caleb won’t fight for us. I have to move on. It’s only been a week, but I’d rather be alone than settlefor a unfated mate, now that I’ve felt what one feels like. Maybe Jemma has the right idea. And she seems happy, right?
Maybe I should turn back.
The moment I consider chickening out someone from behind bumps into me, and I cross the threshold. I stumble but catch myself before I fall, and I scan the castle around me. Gone are the intricate details, the grand staircase, the dark academia vibes.
The witch cast a mirage, altering this home completely and stripping any sense to smell our mate. Instead of a grand castle, it resembles a penitentiary. Two stories of caged wolves line either side of the wall. Their alphas stand guard outside the cage.
Except for one alpha in particular.
Wolves roar louder than I’ve ever heard, reminding me of the arena before a big fight. Some wolves pace some whimper, while others literally throw themselves at the bars, pining for our attention.
I don’t like this. It’s triggering all the wrong things for me. And there’s no way to know what they’re thinking—it appears they’re seeking a fight. This isn’t true, but I can’t seem to convince my racing mind otherwise.
I breathe deeply and evenly and let a claw leave indents in my skin but not enough to break flesh. I can see them, but it’s the wolves I can’t see that I worry about.
They want us,my wolf warns.
I know. But why?
I don’t know. But I’m thinking it has to do with our aura.
Once the last group has made it into the royal courtyard, a howl goes off, and the other she-wolves take off running. They disappear as they dive into the forest. Except for a few stragglers who have alpha energy. All of their faces are covered in paint and glitter of their pack’s colors, creating war paint and tribal lines.They stay behind like I do. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but they look relaxed.
Why did they stay behind? Why did the rest run? Why didn’t I ask more questions?
They all carry strong auras, reminding me of what my wolf said during the parade. The only thing I can conclude is the more dominant she-wolves aren’t in a rush to run. One smirks at me—she knows something I don’t.
I scan her and find she has ink on the side of her ribcage in a pretty vine design.
“I like your tattoo,” I say.
