Page 66 of Wolf's Reckoning
The flames roared high, their crackle and snap the only voice that seemed to matter tonight.
The bonfire rite wasn’t about pomp or speeches. It was about showing Luna our strength. About proving to the pack—and the land itself—that the bond forged today could withstand both fire and fury. It was an old tradition that I hadn’t seen adhered to in many years. I wasn’t happy it was being resurrected tonight.
I was going to yell at my father so bad.
Wolfe and I stood at the edge of the clearing, the heat from the blaze warming our faces, licking at our skin. All around us, the pack gathered in loose, watchful circles. Some stood with arms crossed, while others sat cross-legged in the dirt, silent as the dead. More weaved through the pack in their wolf form. A few of the younger ones leaned forward like this was a story passed down and they didn’t want to miss a word.
The druid stood beside the fire, hood lowered now, their face shadowed and lined with wisdom and knowing.
“Step forward,” they called.
We did. Together.
Wolfe’s shoulder brushed mine, and I told myself I didn’t feel anything. Not the heat of him. Not the strength of his presence. Not the way my wolf stirred like it remembered him from another life.
The druid extended another carved wooden bowl, smoke curling from its contents—embers, herbs, and a single drop of both our blood. Where the hell they got it from, I would never know.
“Add to the flame,” they instructed.
I reached in first, preparing myself for the burn. Instead, it felt more like powder, and I pinched a bit of the mixture between my fingers and cast it into the fire. Sparks danced upward like a thousand fireflies released all at once.
Wolfe followed.
The fire roared higher, a howl of approval rising with it—not from the druid, but from the pack. I looked around and saw it on their faces. They weren’t just watching. They were accepting.
They wereexcited.
The druid raised their arms. “By flame and fang, the bond is seen.”
Then came the part I’d forgotten about.
Thedance.
Another ancient ritual. The rite demanded movement—some ancient, instinctive rhythm that predated even words. It was intended to demonstrate balance, power, and trust between newly formed pairs.
I turned to Wolfe. I shouldn’t have been surprised that he was already waiting, still shirtless. “Try to keep up, princess,” he murmured as he saw my surprise.
“Just…shut up.”
The smirk he gave me was feral as he moved towards me.
Around the fire, we circled—each step deliberate, each motion mirrored and challenged. Not graceful. Not beautiful. Powerful. I lunged; he parried. He advanced; I twisted. A dance or a fight, I don’t think we cared. Our shadows stretched and merged in the firelight, our bodies caught in some ancient memory that lived in our bones. The pack howled again as we fought each other in the dance.
This was not mating.
This was not affection.
This was war dressed as ritual.
And Goddess help me—I feltalive. When it ended, I was panting, sweat clinging to my spine. Wolfe stood across from me, chest rising and falling like mine.
His eyes held mine. “I thought you said you wouldn’t fight me,” he said.
“I lied,” I whispered.
He laughed outright, and the fire between us crackled, as if Luna herself approved.
Pack came to talk to us, separating us unintentionally, and I seized the opportunity to leave. I didn’t walk away so much as vanish. One second, I was standing with my pack, letting their cheers, their howls, their approval wash over me like smoke—and the next, I was slipping between the trees, the weight of the night too much for even my wolf to carry.
