As the sun set, the few thin strips of clouds on the horizon turned to shimmering gold. Ivelle Argent grabbed the hems of her black gown and maneuvered her way through the crowded room.
The elders of the pack had hosted a coming-of-age party for the young ones. The auspicious event was meant to reveal their fated mates and strengthen the pack.
Since attendance was mandatory, Ivelle and her friend were reluctantly swept into the celebrations—an ancient tradition in the werewolf community, respected by both the young and old alike.
The ballroom of Alpha Kyair Mortensen's mansion was packed with people, all eager to witness the momentous occasion.
Ivelle retreated further into the back, avoiding the spotlight and the possibility of unwanted attention.
Her shawl slipped from her right shoulder, exposing a crescent-shaped birthmark on her skin. The cool breeze sent a shiver through her.
She wore a black gown with linen lace along the neck and sleeves, paired with a shawl to cover her shoulders. The gown hugged her soft skin, accentuating her figure. Her delicate features glowed softly in the golden light of the setting sun.
Her icy sea-blue eyes scanned the crowd, desperately searching for her friend to keep her company.
She craned her neck, her gaze weaving through the bodies of people, hoping to catch a glimpse of the familiar soft, grassy green eyes of Kimberly.
"Are you looking for your mate?" a soft voice asked behind her. Ivelle turned and was met by Kimberly Baxter's teasing smile. "What do you think he's like?"
Kimberly linked their arms and led her to the snack table. "Tall, dark, and handsome, like a fairytale prince?" she joked, giving Ivelle a wink. "Or maybe a 'she,' considering sexuality is a spectrum and all," she added. "Are you nervous? I am!"
Ivelle gently rubbed Kimberly's arm to ease her nerves. She understood her friend's anxiety. Tonight was meant to define the rest of their lives.
Being blessed with a mate—a gift from the moon goddess—was not something to take lightly. The right mate promised a future filled with happiness, but the wrong one could spell disaster.
The worst possible fate on this special night was having your mate reject you. It was a curse Ivelle desperately hoped wouldn't befall either of them.
Kimberly piled a plate high with snacks and found a quiet table at the back, away from the noise and music of the crowd. They settled down and ate in silence.
"I hope my mate isn't abusive or cruel," Kimberly confessed, her voice tinged with panic as she mulled over the thought.
"I pray he won't be," Ivelle replied, her throat tight with worry. Her own dread loomed—something felt wrong. A sick feeling churned in the pit of her stomach, as if a storm was coming.
"Ivie," Kimberly called. "Do you really believe the moon goddess chooses the right mate for everyone?"
Ivelle looked up, her expression calm and thoughtful. The question caught her off guard, but she quickly masked her surprise.
"I believe she does," she replied softly.
They fell into a long silence, both watching as the elders made their grand entrance into the ballroom. The scene lasted a few moments before they disappeared into one of the rooms, guided by Beta Xavier.
"The goddess should send me a highly attractive mate with plenty of wealth. Someone who can take care of me and help raise my status in the pack," Kimberly mused, biting her bottom lip.
"Anyone will do for me," Ivelle said quietly, her thoughts dark as she gazed ahead, thinking of her uncertain future.
"Of course you'd say that," Kimberly remarked with a teasing edge in her voice. "You're Ivelle Argent. You're beautiful, rich, and hold a strong position in the pack... plus, your grandmother is on the Alpha's council."
Ivelle swallowed hard. Kimberly didn't know the half of it.
What she couldn't bring herself to say was that she was the moon goddess's chosen—the one destined for a great, fateful role in the pack. It was a position that had been unfilled for twenty years, since the last chosen one mysteriously vanished.
Her grandmother had told her just the night before, urging her to keep it a secret. The revelation would elevate her position within the pack and stir the entire werewolf world if anyone found out.
But Ivelle wasn't sure she wanted that kind of attention. The weight of her destiny already felt far too heavy.
"Whoever gets to be your mate won't have any complaints. You're perfect!" Kimberly said with a grin.
Ivelle blinked, taken aback by the compliment. A mixture of disbelief and confusion flickered across her face before she quickly masked it with a neutral expression.
"I'm not perfect, Kim. I'm nor... normal like you or the other girls at this party," she said, her voice trembling, a sudden hardness in her tone.
"I'm sorry," Kimberly apologized quickly, realizing she'd spoken too harshly. "I didn't mean it like that. Of course, you're normal. You're just... well, the most 'normal' person in the room," she added, trying to lighten the mood.
Ivelle smiled, her lips curving slightly as the corner of her eyes lit up under the chandelier's glow.
Kimberly thought Ivelle was utterly captivating—her soft charm, the richness of her personality, and a certain playfulness that easily won people over. It was a quality Kimberly admired.
"I'm scared tonight, Ivie," Kimberly confessed, taking a final bite of her cookie. "The thought of leaving my fate to the moon is... terrifying."
"It'll pass," Ivelle reassured her. "In a few days, everything will calm down and life will return to normal." She said it to comfort her friend, but deep down, she wasn't so sure.
Just then, her phone rang, drawing her attention away from Kimberly. She fished it out of her pocket and saw 'Papa' on the screen.
"I'll be right back," she said, excusing herself as she stepped into the dimly lit hallway to answer the call.
"Yes, Papa," she said, but the call ended abruptly.
Ivelle stared at her phone, confusion furrowing her brow. She tried to call him back, but he was unreachable. Her frustration mounted, and she tucked her phone away, trying to steady her nerves.
She buried her face in her hands, desperate to push the growing unease from her mind.
The hallway was empty, save for the occasional passerby. Ivelle paced quietly, trying to calm her racing thoughts. Something wasn't right.
A chilling presence seemed to linger in the air, making her skin prickle. Her gut told her something was wrong—dangerous. Her breath quickened, heart pounding.
Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from somewhere deeper in the house. Ivelle's heart leapt into her throat, and she clenched her fists, trying to hold the panic at bay.
Her steps quickened, but then, she heard it—footsteps behind her. Cold, deliberate steps.
She froze. A voice, smooth and commanding, drifted from the shadows.
"What is it about you that makes you worthy of being my mate?"
The words sent an electric shiver down her spine.
Before she could react, she felt the strange sensation of blue ink spreading across her wrist, slowly etching out a name.
'My mate,' she thought, holding her breath, waiting for the name to be revealed.
"Ivelle Argent, I reject you as my mate!" The voice rang out, its coldness sharp, final.
Her heart stopped. The ink on her wrist halted, then began to retract—undoing the letters as if they had never existed.
Ivelle stood frozen, the words sinking in.
"Let our paths not cross again in this lifetime."
Trembling, Ivelle gathered herself and turned to face her mate, but to her shock, he was gone. The air around her felt empty, as though he had never been there at all.
Her mate had come and left like a fleeting shadow. She stood, rooted to the spot, heart in her throat.
The sting of rejection burned deep within her. There was no denying what had just happened. 'My mate rejected me,' she screamed inwardly.