Then he lifts both hands.
“Welcome,” he booms, his voice echoing through the trees. “To all who live on this mountain. To those joined by blood. And those who find their way to us.”
He looks at Maya again, and his lips twitch into something that might be a frown or something darker.
I feel Maya’s breath catchbeside me.
And I know.
The moon sees her.
The pack sees her.
And whatever happens next, we can’t go back.
Chapter 7
Maya
The bonfire crackles in front of us. Sparks slither up into the indigo sky and vanish, like fireflies that forgot where they were going. Behind us, kids from school do what they do best, pretend they’re too cool to know what’s really going on here.
And me? I’m standing in the middle of it, just wishing it would be over already. Every second out here stretches too long, like the world’s holding its breath and waiting for something.
From somewhere behind the flames, a rhythmic drumbeat slows. Conversation fades. Heads turn.
A tall man steps forward, the fire painting his face in flickering gold. He moves with quiet authority, like someone who doesn’t have to raise his voice to be heard.
“This gathering is a tradition,” he says, voice deep and controlled. “Since before any of us were born, we’ve come together under the full moon to honor the ties that hold this community together. Tonight is no different.”
Whispers spiral through the crowd—some bored, some reverent. The man doesn’t seem to mind. His eyes scan the circle, pausing briefly on me.
I lean toward Bolton. “Who is that?”
Bolton keeps his eyes on the man. “My dad,” he murmurs. “He’s...kind of the leader. Tonight, he’s running the ceremony. People here call him Alpha.”
I nod slowly. Makes sense. There's something about the guy—like if someone handed him a crown, it’d look like it belonged.
“Will you both step forward?” he says next. Not a question. Not even a suggestion. It’s the kind of voice that doesn’t get disobeyed.
Bolton nudges me. Gentle, but I feel the strength behind it. I move, legs stiff, every step feeling heavier than it should. The crowd parts. Some of them look at me like they’ve already decided who I am. Others? Like they’re waiting for me to explode.
I spot Cassie across the circle. She doesn’t say a word, but the look she gives me could strip paint. If I didn’t already feel like an alien, that glare would’ve done it.
“Name,” the man says, his stare cemented to my face.
My throat’s dry, but my voice doesn’t shake. “Maya Ortiz.”
There’s a hiss across the fire. Whispered words, but I catch one: “Ortiz?”
Nice. Already a hit with the locals.
His gaze sharpens. “Daughter of Elena?”
I pause, then nod. “Yes.”
How does he know my mom?
That gets a bigger reaction—looks passing between strangers like I just confessed to being a serial killer. Or worse: not one of them.
