Noël’s eyes are wide and focused on the scene before her, completely captivated. Wonder written across her face as the leaf spirits circle closer to her.
“Why don’t you join them?” I ask as the spirits weave playfully through her hair, urging her forward.
She hesitates, then admits quietly, “I... I’ve never danced before.”
Never danced? My mate, who moves with the strength and elegance of a warrior, has never experienced this? It’s wrong, unnatural. “Humans don’t dance?” I ask.
“We do,” she replies. “But my mother never let me join.”
The faint smile on her lips doesn’t reach her eyes. My chest tightens at the thought of her being denied something so simple.
I glance at the leaf spirits and jerk my head toward Noël. They understand, and their glowing forms swirl around her. They tug at her hair and her gown, urging her toward the fire.
Noël looks back at me, unsure.
“Go. The circle will welcome you.”
Finally, she rises and allows the spirits to guide her. As she steps into the circle, her gown flows around her like water, catching the firelight.
The females welcome her with open arms, smiles and laughter on their faces as they pull her into their dance. Noël quickly finds her rhythm, and in that moment, she becomes part of the prayer, an offering to the goddesses.
If I could join her, I would. But this is a sacred dance, a tradition meant for the purest souls. Females. It is their connection to the goddesses, their devotion given form.
So for now, I’ll watch. I’ll hold this sight in my heart. My mate, radiant and free, moving because she belongs to the very spirit of Ávera.
Perhaps it’s a good thing her mother never let her dance. Humans would’ve witnessed her power.
27
DANCING WITH FIRE AND ROSES
“No woman is truly free if her world is built by those who fear her power.”
—Eyleen Ársa
Noël
My heart feels light, and a rare kind of happiness spreads through me. With the warmth of the flames, the laughter of the vólkins, and the energy of the celebration, I feel like I can breathe again. The fire’s heat brushes against my skin, while the cool night air caresses my face. Above, the sky is dark and beautiful, and the young moon shines above us.
My gaze catches on the garlands swaying with the breeze. They remind me of the small trinkets my mother and I used to make, silk fabric tied with red thread, and stuffed with sage roots. She believed sage brought blessings, cleared bad omens, and invited good fortune.
The memory feels like a dream, but seeing these garlands above, I feel the same care here in Ávera. The vólkinshave poured thought and intention into every detail of this celebration.
It’s primal. And it’s beautiful.
During the feast, I couldn’t help but watch the vólkins eat. I’d known they consume raw meat, but seeing it firsthand was something else entirely. They tore into their meals with sharp canines. Juices spilled across the tables as they devoured their food with a ferocity I’d only read about in books. It should have made me uncomfortable, but it didn’t. The meat was clean, no blood or fur left behind. Though I noticed Theron ate in smaller slices than Kaël or the others did. I wonder why.
The little pups were digging into larger chunks, tearing at them from both sides where they lay on the tables.
Theron had explained that vólkins eat at tables to align with human traditions. Even the fires lighting Ávera aren’t for them. They don’t need them. Everything here has been created for the comfort of their future mates. That thought stayed with me throughout the feast: how much they’ve adapted, how much they’ve prepared for this moment. For me.
And now, as I dance, I feel Theron’s gaze on me. It’s as though it anchors me, pulling me to him despite the distance between us. Across the fire, our eyes meet, and the world seems to fade. The drums, the voices, the glow of flames—they all blur into the background, leaving only him. There’s so much I want to ask, so much I don’t understand about this bond that ties us. The memory of last night is a puzzle piece I can’t fit. But for now, I can be patient.
I can enjoy this celebration.
I focus back on the dance. These vólkins have worked so hard to make this day special for me. The least I can do is embrace it fully, to honor their efforts. The female vólkins release their linked paws, their movements becoming freer as they circle thefire. They lift their arms to the sky, their bodies flowing with the rhythm of the drums.
I mimic their movements, allowing myself to let go, to move without thought or worry. I never thought dancing would make me feel so alive.
