Shadows in the Night
As the ball reached its crescendo, Isla and Draven moved to the center of the grand hall, where the pack and their guests turned their full attention to the Alpha and Luna. The music swelled, a hauntingly beautiful melody played by the pack’s most skilled musicians, weaving through the air and carrying the weight of tradition and expectation. Isla’s heart raced as her hand rested lightly in Draven’s, her fingers brushing against his calloused palm. The closeness between them was intoxicating, each step of the dance bringing her acutely aware of his steady presence and the energy crackling between them.
Her breath hitched as she glanced up at Draven. His dark eyes bore into hers, unwavering and calm, but there was an intensity behind them—a promise unspoken but undeniable. The murmurs of the crowd, the shimmering lights, and the grandeur of the hall faded into the background. All that mattered was the Alpha holding her, leading her across the polished floor with effortless grace.
“You’re holding back,” Draven said, his voice low and steady, cutting through the symphony around them like a blade.
“I’m trying not to embarrass myself,” Isla admitted, her tone tinged with self-consciousness. She cast a brief glance at the crowd before focusing back on him, her nerves fluttering like trapped birds.
“You’re doing more than fine,” he said, his lips quirking into the faintest of smiles. The subtle curve of his mouth softened his otherwise commanding features, but it didn’t diminish the challenge in his gaze. “But a Luna doesn’t just try, Isla. She leads.”
The words sent a jolt through her. He had a way of speaking to her that simultaneously unsettled and steadied her, drawing out strength she tried so hard to hide. His belief in her was palpable, and it both thrilled and frightened her. She adjusted her posture, straightening her spine and allowing herself to lean into the rhythm of the dance. The steps, once stiff and hesitant, became fluid and graceful, each movement an unspoken conversation between them.
“That’s better,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she replied, a flicker of humor breaking through her nerves. For a moment, her smile felt lighter, less forced.
The music reached its peak, and the crowd erupted into claps and cheers as the dance concluded. Isla felt the weight of their applause but refused to look away from Draven, whose hand lingered on hers as he led her off the dance floor. His touch was steady, grounding her even as the enormity of the moment threatened to overwhelm her.
The energy between them was electric, buzzing with something unspoken. Draven leaned in slightly, his voice soft yet commanding. “You did well, Isla. Better than you think.”
The praise sent a warmth spreading through her chest, but before she could respond, he turned to greet a council elder approaching them. Isla exhaled softly, trying to steady herself as her heart continued to race.
But the celebration wasn’t as carefree as it seemed.
In the shadows of the grand hall, Seraphine moved unseen, her every step deliberate and silent. Her gown, a replica of Isla’s ceremonial dress, shimmered faintly in the low light, the crescent birthmark painted onto her cheek as flawless as the rest of her disguise. She had watched the dance unfold with a cold smile, her gaze predatory and calculating. The display of unity between Isla and Draven only fueled her determination to bring it all crashing down.
Her timing had to be perfect. One misstep, and the fragile illusion she had crafted would unravel before it even began. But Seraphine wasn’t one to falter. She thrived in the shadows, where manipulation and deception were her sharpest weapons.
She slipped through the edges of the crowd, her movements fluid and precise. She passed groups of wolves lost in conversation, their laughter and chatter masking her presence. Every step brought her closer to the side halls of the packhouse, where the servants bustled about, too busy to notice her arrival.
It was there, in the narrow corridor lined with lanterns, that Kael waited. His posture was tense, his arms crossed over his chest as he glanced toward the grand hall. When he saw her, his expression darkened.
“It’s almost time,” Seraphine said, her voice low but sharp.
Kael’s jaw clenched, his unease evident. “This is madness.”
“It’s necessary,” she snapped, her tone brooking no argument. “If you’re not with me—”
“I’m here,” he interrupted, his voice firm but laced with reluctance. “But you’d better know what you’re doing.”
Seraphine smiled, her lips curving into a sharp line that didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, I do. Now listen…”
She leaned in, her voice dropping further as she outlined the final details of their plan. Kael’s expression remained stormy, his inner conflict clear, but Seraphine didn’t waver. Her mind was a web of calculations, each thread leading toward a singular goal: replacing Isla and claiming what she believed was rightfully hers.
As Seraphine spoke, Kael’s gaze flickered to the direction of the grand hall, where laughter and music spilled out into the night. For a moment, doubt flickered in his eyes. But then he turned back to Seraphine, his shoulders stiffening as he nodded.
“Fine,” he said, his voice tight. “Let’s get this over with.”
Seraphine’s smile widened, cold and triumphant. The stage was set, and the pieces were falling into place. All that remained was for her to step into the spotlight—and for Isla to disappear.
