Crimson Fang’s Preparations
Back in Crimson Fang, the pack was abuzz with preparations for the ball. The event was one of the most sacred in their traditions, a celebration of their leadership and a symbol of their strength. For Isla, however, it felt like another looming test.
The ritual wasn’t just about appearances. It was about vulnerability, intimacy, and trust—all things that Isla struggled with. The thought of being so exposed, both physically and emotionally, made her stomach churn.
Draven found her in the packhouse gardens, pacing among the moonlit flowers. He approached quietly, his imposing presence both soothing and intimidating.
“You’re avoiding everyone,” he said, his voice low but steady.
“I’m thinking,” Isla replied, not stopping her pacing.
“Thinking doesn’t get things done,” he said, stepping into her path. She stopped, her eyes meeting his, a flicker of frustration in her gaze.
“I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted. “The pack expects so much from me. And this… this ball, this ritual—it feels like too much.”
Draven’s expression softened, a rare sight. “You’re overthinking it. The pack already respects you, Isla. This isn’t about them. It’s about us.”
The weight of his words settled over her, and for a moment, the vulnerability in his tone disarmed her. “Us?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.
He nodded. “The ball is a tradition, yes. But the consummation rites are about solidifying the bond between Alpha and Luna. If you trust me, we’ll face it together.”
Isla’s heart raced, the intensity in his gaze stirring something unfamiliar in her. She nodded, though her nerves didn’t subside. “Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll try.”
