Chapter Three

1552 Words
"Howdy, b***h!” “Hello yourself, Tadgh.” Me and my best friend, Tadgh, flip each other off after our customary greeting, and he sits down beside me in the grass. He passes me a ham sandwich and bluntly says, “Today’s the one-year anniversary of Sorcha’s death, yeah?” “Yep.” “Damn,” he hisses. Truly, his eloquence and compassion know no bounds. It’s oddly comforting, though. I don’t like being pitied. We met shortly after Sorcha’s funeral. Tadgh’s brother died after meeting the shooting-end of a human rifle, so I stumbled upon him in the cemetery one day. We bonded over our mutual loss, and we each made a silent pact to never pity each other. We were both strong, even with our grief, and our callousness showed our respect to that strength. “Tonight’s your Rite of Passage, right?” I ask, and he nods. I scoff and shake my head. “I don’t know how you’re so composed,” I marvel. “Believe me, come moonrise, I won’t be. I’ll be pissing myself silly.” Though he’s five years older than me, we get along like twins – for better or worse. According to him, I’m “not as dumb as other thirteen-year-olds.” I think it’s a compliment? “I wish I could be there to see you shift for the first time,” I moan jealously. Only adults are allowed to watch such a sacred ceremony. “Yeah, well, at least Darragh won’t be the only one missing out,” he drawls. Darragh – his dead brother. He’s prone to dark humor like that, so I just shrug it off and bite into my salty sandwich. “Kiana,” comes Mom’s voice, “you really shouldn’t be hanging out with an Omega so casually.” I look lazily over my shoulder. “Do I look like I care?” Mom sighs bitterly. “No. You don’t.” She throws up her hands dismissively and marches off. I’ve worn her down over the years, and she’s been less strict with me. Maybe she’s still grieving over Sorcha and Cillian. I know I am. “I’m glad you don’t listen to your parents,” Tadgh sighs. A hint of loneliness crept into his words. Damn our different ranks. We’d both be lonely without each other. “Have the fields been good this summer?” I ask. Tadgh, as a lowly Omega, does menial labor. He tills the fields and harvests crops. His skin is deeply tanned from all the sun, and he’s built like an ox – “farm-strong,” he calls it. His heavy-freckled hands are rough as sandpaper, his dark walnut-hued hair is always disheveled, his eyes are framed with dark bags, and he always smells of sweat, oil, and dirt. “So far so good,” he responds absent-mindedly, watching the clouds overhead as he lounges in the soft field. “How about your studies?” While he farms, I study werewolf and human history. My days are spent in the palace library, pouring over dust-scented books that teach history, politics, etiquette, and inter-pack customs. “Well, ‘our pack earned its name when our first Alpha tore a bloody swath of vengeance on innocents for killing his beloved,’” I parrot robotically, and Tadgh groans. “I see, now shut up,” he huffs. The distant sound of guitar and drums bounces enticingly in my ears, and I look toward the source. The pack square – there must be a band playing today! Maybe I can ask Tadgh— “No,” comes his swift response. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask you!” I pout. “You were gonna ask me to dance with you. Not happening.” I toss my head back in exasperation and finish my sandwich. “Fine, but I’m going to the square to dance. There’s always a small crowd that gathers by these field performers.” “Knock yourself out,” he says with a lazy shrug. “Bring back a couple apples when you’re done chicken-strutting?” “Done,” I promise, and I race off to the square. Sure enough, there’s a band playing. Hand drums, guitars, and tambourines play their lively tune. I reach into my coinpurse and pull out a few cents, dropping them in the clay pot by their bare feet. As predicted, a small crowd has gathered, and they all look at me expectantly. The pack is small enough where everyone knows I belong to a noble family. I stand out amongst the commoners due to my butter-smooth hair, swirling eye shadow, unblemished skin, and courtly dress. While everyone else is in casual jeans and shirts, I spend any public appearance adorned in dresses or suits. More importantly, however, people recognize me not for my noble standing, but for my dancing. I was always the first one to start a dance in the pack square, and people were quick to join in. I don’t know if it’s to give them bragging rights – “I just danced with the noble princess!” – or if it’s out of genuine enthusiasm. Either way, I enjoy their company and cheer. In no time at all, we’re locking arms and twirling around each other and clapping hands – good-natured fun. I dance and stomp around a little girl, who’s holding onto her daddy’s hands as her pudgy legs try to mirror mine. I spin round and round with an elderly gentleman, though we move slowly to be gentle to his aching bones. The tunes alight our feet with fervor and mirth; the drums beat against my chest and stir my heart. It’s rowdy and uncouth, and I love it. “Miss Kiana?” Everyone in the pack knows that authoritative, garbling voice that carries decades of wisdom, pain, and duty. I spin around and avert my eyes respectfully when I see the Celtic-knot robes and silver filigree. Luna Bleeding Heart. “My lady,” I murmur as I curtsy. The musicians cease playing their tunes, but the Luna waves a ringed hand. “No, no, keep playing,” she commands, and they obey. She holds her arm out to me. “Spare me this dance?” No-one is allowed to speak her actual name; when a young wolf is crowned as Alpha or Luna, they take on the name of “Bleeding Heart” – the name of this pack. Their true name is never to be spoken again. I finally meet her gaze; her golden eyes peer over her sharp, hawk-like nose down at me. Her thin lips are turned downward by years of stress, and she shows little kindness – only quiet, inspiring strength. We dance slowly to the tempered music, though the rest of the crowd disperses. They both fear and admire their Luna, and to dance alongside her would be…inappropriate without invitation. “Your parents speak highly of you,” Luna Bleeding Heart muses, her lithe body guiding me in a slow-paced waltz. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m their only living heir; they must speak highly of me, or else be seen as failures. I do my part by studying diligently, but it feels unfair to be awarded with such high praise. I had a hand in Sorcha’s death, and I’ve vowed to never forgive my parents for murdering Cillian. “I’m honored, my lady,” I reply. “You should be,” comes her sharp-tongued response. She wastes little time getting to the point of this dance. “You know of my grandson, Donnacha?” “Of course. He is to be the next Alpha when he’s of age.” Donnacha’s parents, the previous Alpha and Luna of this pack, died quickly to a plague that was short but brutal. They ruled only for a couple years, leaving an orphaned son and no of-age heir to the throne. The widowed Luna Bleeding Heart was the ruler before Donnacha’s parents, and she stepped down when her son turned twenty-three, as is customary. But with her son and daughter-in-law dead, she once again took on the title of Luna, and she’s raised Donnacha ever since. He’s sixteen now, and he’s expected to usurp his grandmother in seven years. “I would like you to meet him sometime,” she commands. I stagger in my dance, and she chuckles – a low, purring noise in the back of her throat. Such an invitation is not to be taken lightly. No one just “meets” the next-in-line, young Alpha. My parents have tried to prepare me for this possibility, but my breath is still stolen from me. She expects me to wed her son when I’m of age. “O-Of course, my lady!” I respond, my voice cracking. Again, she chuckles. “Nothing is decided yet. But I expect you to meet us tomorrow at sunset at the Bleeding Heart palace.” She twirls me slowly out of the dance, and I bow deeply with respect. She turns to leave, gliding across the cobblestone square and up the hill toward her palace home. The musicians quickly disband, and I’m left in utter shock. …I’m going to be the next Luna!
Free reading for new users
Scan code to download app
Facebookexpand_more
  • author-avatar
    Writer
  • chap_listContents
  • likeADD