The few stars that can be seen above Manhattan are glittering in the night sky. A circular platform has been erected in the middle of the wide patio area, with pack wolves standingshoulder to shoulder around it, all facing inward, creating a strange effect where it’s impossible not to meet eyes with the wolves across from you. I wonder if this is supposed to create a sense of community.
Katie and the bro twins—although these days I consider them more like friends—set up behind me and Jasper, holding hands in a cute chain. This past year they’ve come through a lot, figuring out how to make their polycule work in a way that feels best for each of them. They’ve overcome their relationship’s teething problems, dealt with jealous feelings, and figured out how to not make anyone feel like a spare wheel at any point, and now they’re more functional than most two-person pairings I can think of. They don’t even seem stressed about the fact that each of them is going to college in a different part of the country. How they’ve figured out the machinations of that I have no idea.
Jasper puts an arm around me as Finnegan Gealach, the pack’s high priest, steps onto the platform, followed by his son, Marcel. They’re wearing matching robes in this shimmering silver fabric that, I think, is supposed to give holy moon vibes, but is also sort of giving religious-diva-slaying-the-church-down boots.
“Greetings wolves of the Elite Pack,” Finnegan says, opening his arms with his palms raised skyward. “Tonight we gather to bless the young members of our community who will soon gather under a blue moon, looking to find their soul connections. These connections, as divined by Selene, Nannar, Mani, Igaluk, and Tsukuyomi, are the backbone of werewolf life. The finding of a mate and the acceptance of their love is what makes us holy and connects us with the moon gods and the Lunar Plane.”
Moonlight is reflecting in Jasper’s eyes. He’s locked in, listening intently, his jaw set, and his hand firm against my hip bone.
“Finding a mate,” Finnegan continues, “is the pinnacle of our lives as wolves. The mate bond is a sacred connection to be celebrated and held in high esteem.”
All the faces around me mirror Jasper’s reverence, every bowed head or wide eye betraying how deeply the importance of mating is in our culture. A culture that would celebrate Jasper and me marking each other before we’ve even finished college. What would it mean if I said no to receiving his mark?
“Join us now in prayer,” Finnegan says, gesturing for Marcel to step forward, “as we sing in harmony with the Lupine Chorus.”
Marcel, who is only a year older than me, yet has the gravitas of an ancient deity, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before opening his mouth and beginning to sing. His throaty baritone is haunting and rings out through the night air with crisp clarity. He sings in Lupine, the ancient language of our people, so of course I have no idea what he’s saying, but it’s beautiful, nonetheless.
As he sings, I feel a vibration in my mind, as if the threads of the Lunar Plane are being strummed like the strings of guitar. Marcel’s holy song must be reaching into that plane, rippling through it, and I find my blood-wolf senses opening up of their own accord. I close my eyes and let myself experience this strange yet exhilarating sensation.
Over the past year I’ve honed my blood-wolf skills, continued to develop my ability to commune with the Lupine Chorus, to walk the infinite roads of the Lunar Plane, and to connect with wolves across the country. I’ve become so attuned to the Plane I don’t need to perform a full ritual to access it, at least for the most part. The noise of wolves even at this concentration doesn’t pain me anymore, in fact I find it comforting.
Marcel’s voice shivers through me, his pitch rising as the prayer becomes more intense. Without anyone knowing, I send out a ripple connecting my mind with everyone present, feeling the community we share, the wolf-bond, the intention of being here tonight to celebrate and bless those about to embark on their first Mating Run. But as the song reaches a crescendo my eyes snap open.
I’ve sensed something. A shrouded presence, brimming with dangerous intentions.
I cast my eyes across the crowd, which is when I realize, members of the waitstaff are positioned at equal intervals around the perimeter of the circle of wolves. They’ve surrounded us. Each watching Marcel with open eyes and unmoved expressions. Finally, I lock eyes with the waiter from earlier, his brow still dark and heavy, his stare still intense. He catches me looking and lifts an eyebrow, a sadistic grin spreading on his lips.
And in that moment, I realize what was off about this wolf: He’s not a member of the Elite Pack, and he reeks of the same cologne that Walter Bridgers drenches himself in.
“Look out—!” I scream as a premonition rocks my core, but I’m a moment too late. An explosion erupts to my left, shattering the glass walls, blasting the crowd with jagged shards.
Chaos erupts around us as each of the waitstaff shifts into their wolf form. Their uniforms fall away as bones crunch and muscles tear. Screams tear through the chaos, replacing Marcel’s song as the young priest falls, a daggerlike shard of glass protruding from his chest, blood staining his silver robes.
“Run!” Jasper cries as the wolves attack.
WOLVES TAKE MANHATTAN
All hell breaks loose on the balcony of the packhouse. We’re under attack!
It’s chaos. Ten, fifteen, maybe twenty wolves are leaping and tearing at the fabric of dresses, snarling at partygoers, snapping their razor-sharp fangs at us. People don’t know which way to turn. I can’t imagine how the invaders stayed undetected for so long, long enough to pull this off.
Jasper is herding people back inside, away from the edges of the balcony and the hundred-story drop to the streets of Manhattan below. But it’s slow going. The crowd has bottlenecked at the doors, meaning the rest of us are trapped out here.
But we aren’t so ill-prepared that a number of the alpha’s guard haven’t already shifted as well and are battling the invaders fiercely.
To my right I spot Salazar, staring at the dismal scene before him, and for a moment I wonder if he’s too sauced to do anything, but then something shifts, his back straightens, and his expression comes alive. His lips curl into a snarl and in an instant, he’s shifted into his wolf form, a black coat flecked with gray, easily twice the size of most of the attackers, and he jumps with reckless abandon into the battle.
Katie and her mates are still behind me, my ears crackle with the sound of bones breaking and reconnecting as all three of them shift, ready to help defend the packhouse.
As for me, I know I can help if I can reach out and connect with the invaders via the Lunar Plane.
“Jasper,” I say via mind-link.“I think I can stop this but I need a minute.”
He turns, red-faced, his hair falling across his brow, and for a moment I worry he’s too freaked to think clearly. Then he nods.
“Do it, I’ll keep you safe.”
Jasper lowers his head, then suddenly the black spine of his wolf rises behind him, tearing through the back of his suit jacket as he transforms. His hands turn to paws before they hit the floor, landing among the debris of his outfit. He looks up at me with his pitch-black muzzle, his emerald-green eyes.
