Page 4 of The Alpha King’s Hidden Mute Mate

My breath stopped.

Just then—

Bells rang.

The Howling Ceremony was starting.

People around us stepped back, shifting into wolves. Magic and fur scented the air, bones cracking and reforming in waves. Within seconds, half the dancers vanished, replaced by wolves of every color.

He released me and stepped back.

Then he began shifting.

I watched—his form expanded, bones crackling, black suit tearing apart to reveal a body covered with silver-gray fur. Within seconds, the handsome man disappeared, replaced by an enormous silver wolf.

That wolf stood there, larger and stronger than any around him. Silver-gray fur gleamed coldly in the moonlight, gray-blue eyes—identical to those human eyes—staring straight at me.

He stepped closer.

I felt every gaze turn toward me. That silver wolf—he was still watching me, eyes full of anticipation, bright and burning like twin flames. He was waiting for me.

He was waiting for me to howl with him.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and let the power inside release.

Bones shifted, muscles stretched and reformed. I felt every bone crack and pop, fine silver-white fur sprouting across my skin. The process wasn't painful—for werewolves, shifting was as natural as breathing. Within seconds, my vision lowered, and I stood on four legs, a fluffy tail extending from my tailbone.

I'd become a wolf.

Not big, not small. Average size. Silver-white fur glowed softly in the moonlight. I looked down at my paws—claws sharp, built for running and hunting.

I tried opening my mouth.

My throat felt the same familiar emptiness.

The potion... hadn't worked at all.

The wolves around us had already begun to howl. Their voices rose and fell in waves—some sharp and piercing, others deep and rumbling—blending into a primal, breathtaking symphony. Moonlight spilled across the ground, silver light flowing like water.

That silver wolf was still watching me.

His gaze was a spotlight pinning me down with nowhere to run. His mouth opened slightly, releasing a low whine—urging me, inviting me.

I opened my mouth.

A hoarse whisper squeezed from my throat, faint as an insect's wings, instantly swallowed by the surrounding howls.

His ears twitched. He heard it.

I tried again, straining until my throat ached and veins bulged. But nothing came. My vocal cords lay dead and silent. That damn potion was a complete fraud!

His expression changed.

In those gray-blue eyes, anticipation shattered bit by bit, replaced by confusion and bewilderment.

He stepped closer again, lowered his head, and nudged my neck with his nose, releasing a low whine.

That sound carried questions and confusion, as if asking: What's wrong? Why won't you make a sound?