Dylan elbows me lightly, like he’s sensing the shift in my mood. “You okay?” he says, not even bothering to hide the smirk. “You already got your eye on someone, you’d better speak up. Alora’s mom, maybe?”
I glance at him, side-eyeing the suggestion. I know it’s hard for most to believe that her mom really doesn’t want anything to do with her, but I genuinely don’t think she’s coming back. Fern helped me put out some feelers and try to track her down, but she’s long gone. We found the diner she used to work at, and they said no one’s seen her since the day after she dropped Alora on my porch.
I shake my head, “nah, there’s no one.”
Dylan rolls his eyes, but I can see him watching me, calculating and amused. “Yeah, sure. Well, maybe you’ll get lucky and pull someone who’ll keep you in line.”
I almost say, I wouldn’t mind that, but the words catch in my throat. Not everyone will get drawn in this lottery, and not everyone will want a Cheslem reject, but I don’t say that. I focus on Alora instead; she’s still dead asleep, mouth open, and completely content. I can’t imagine anyone playing the role of mom to her. Least of all, someone forced into it by a lottery. My wolf bristles at the thought, pacing and snarling at the bars of this new cage.
Amelia’s wrapping up now. “Names will be drawn in three days. There will be time for you to meet your pairing, and for the pack and family to weigh in if there are objections. But know this, laws were changed, softened, but the magic still takes the measure of you. It will not bind what cannot be bound.”
People are already starting to drift out; the meeting is dismissed in all but name. I catch Thomas at the door, quietly starting to herd people toward the exit. He glances my way and gives a nod, the kind that means he’s gauging someone’s mood even if he doesn’t ask. I nod back and gather up the car seat, cradling it close. Alora snuffles, then settles, never waking. I half wonder if she just checked out of this meeting on purpose.
At the threshold, I catch sight of Dina again. She’s making her way through the crowd, not pushing, just drifting between people like she was born to evade notice. She’s almost to the door when Ruby materializes in front of her, grabbing her arm and saying something urgent and low. I strain to listen, but the crowd is still loud, and whatever they’re saying is lost in the shuffle.
Dylan is right behind me out on the porch, lighting a cigarette with a practiced flick. He blows smoke into the cold and leans against the rail. “You going to the social after this?”
I shake my head. “Not my scene. I’ve got to run perimeter later, and the kid’s out cold.”
He grins, baring teeth. “Suit yourself. If you change your mind, I’ll be at the bar, betting on who gets matched with who.” He stubs out the cigarette, then adds, “Nothing’s set until the magic says so. But if you want something, you should make your move before then.”
I’m not sure if he still means to needle me or if he’s genuinely giving advice. Hard to say with Dylan.
I load Alora into the truck and drive home with the radio off. The cabin is dark and cold when I get there, but I don’t turn on the lights right away. Instead, I fire up the new heating I installed a few weeks back, leave the car seat by the couch, pop open a beer, and stand on the porch, letting the news settle.
My mind runs the loop again and again. Three days until the draw. Three days until some of the unattached shifters in Silvercreek’s fates get rerouted by magic and the will of the pack. Part of me wants to laugh at how little control I have over any of it recently—the job, becoming a single dad, how other people perceive me…and now even potentially my mate.
I know Nick and Luna have made a lot of changes. Pack lotteries used to be binding, and all that has been softened. I also know that the magic rarely gets it wrong; it doesn’t bind people for the sake of it. But if Dina’s name gets called, I already know my wolf doesn’t like it. Hell, I’m probably just feeling protective because of how Alora’s bonded to her. I can only imagine how little she wants my opinion or care on the subject. At least there’s no way the magic would bond her with someone from Cheslem.
Someone she hates as much as me.
I don’t get to dwell on why that thought cuts so deep because Alora begins to stir, so I discard the beer and head back inside to get her ready for Dina to come take over in a couple of hours. I consider raising the subject of the lottery, but I know I won’t. Things may have thawed slightly between us recently, but I doubt she wants to hear my thoughts on it. I doubt I’d say anything useful anyway, not when my wolf gets so angry whenever I think about it.
Chapter 8 - Dina
I regret the dress. It’s not that I don’t think it looks nice; I do. It’s just that it’s bringing too much attention. People smile at me and nod in greeting. Suddenly, I prefer the anonymity of my normal functional clothes.
I only bought the damn thing because Alora had managed to puke through three layers of my clothes in the space of a single afternoon, and I’d ducked into Carin’s shop looking for another black t-shirt, something utilitarian and stain-proof. Instead, Carin clocked me looking at the wrap dress, navy blue, soft as water, and longer than I’d normally wear with boots, and she bullied me into the changing room with the kind of cheerful aggression that’s contagious.
"You've got the shoulders for it," she said through the curtain, "and the hips. This is made for you, and you need something smart for the lottery." I know she’s right, I don’t want to stand out for looking scruffy. When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t see the girl who ran ten miles to forget; I saw a woman who might actually survive the next few years. I bought it before I could change my mind.
Now I’m wearing it, with boots and my leather jacket, because I refuse to be completely transformed, and I’m walking through Silvercreek’s square while the whole pack gets ready to watch the universe play matchmaker.
The elders have gone all-out with the decorations: strings of white lights, bunting in every shade of blue and silver, folding chairs lined up in concentric rings like the world’s friendliest coliseum. At the far end, a stage has been built from rough planks, and a ceremonial bowl sits dead center, flanked by two beautiful flower arrangements of early spring blooms.
I keep my eyes forward, pretending not to notice the stares. Some people nod. Some avoid my gaze. A few, mostly older wolves, give me the once-over with a look that says, "Will this one be called in the lottery?” I fight the urge to bare my teeth. I know they’re not really looking at me; they’re just here for the pack gossip. I know how these things go. From what I gather, Nick and Luna have done a lot to modernize the lottery, but it still magically pairs supposedly fated mates, and that makes me nervous. I’ve avoided dating since I arrived in Silvercreek. I’m not sure I’m ready to explore that.
And this isn’t exactly dating, is it?
I’m halfway to the stage when I hear my name. I turn, expecting to see Ruby or Skylar, but instead I see Luna. She’s radiant, as usual, her magic curling behind her like an extra shadow. She moves through the crowd with the easy authority of someone who knows she can bend the world if she really needs to.
"Dina," she says, low and warm, and steers me gently out of the path of a knot of running children. "You look…" She pauses, searching for the word, "…absolutely beautiful."
I glance down at myself; the deep blue wrap that clings in all the places I’m used to hiding, a V-neckline that is threatening to be too low if I move quickly. In the window this morning, I’d almost convinced myself it looked dignified, but now, boots clomping on wet pavement, I’m aware of every sidelong glance, every flicker of surprise on the face of someone who’s only ever seen me in jeans and my old tactical jacket.
“Thank you,” I say, tugging lightly at the fabric of the dress. Luna falls into step beside me, and for a moment, we walk together, silent, our pace matched like we’ve done it for years. She doesn’t make small talk. She never does. She just waitsuntil the energy of the moment collects around us until there’s enough of it for her words to land properly.
“How are you doing, Dina?” she asks, and it’s not a throwaway line. She means it.
