Page 4 of The Ashpaw: Part One

But Darion would try for more.

The priestess chanted louder, dipping a stalk of hyssop into a bowl of moonwater and sprinkling it over him as she circled.

“Lur shae ta devaris. Porenth va nethra kol vekh, kol drai unorn.”

May the light of the moon cleanse you. Enter this ordination free from the bonds of duty and unfulfilled demands.

“Va koren thae,” he replied, having only memorized the response on the walk to the temple that morning. “Drai tharum-vekh.”

I come to you untethered by earthly obligation.

Karn, his other uncle, finished braiding his hair while his father wrapped a belt around his waist.

A gong sounded from the nave, and the doors opened. His father kissed him on both cheeks, and Darion followed the priestess out in his bare feet to officially begin the grueling sixty-day courtship, involving countless more ceremonies, rites, and observances.

His wolf prowled in the back of his mind, already bored and restless, also wondering why all the pomp was necessary.

Can’t we just breed her and be done with it? he snarled.

Darion kept the smile off his face. His wolf wasn’t exactly a romantic. Not that Darion was much of one, either, but at least he knew a thing or two.

He did, however, agree that the most important thing was to be mated and put some pups in her—the rest was superfluous. A distraction from the real work of protecting his clan.

The threat of the Ironcoats may have been gone after tonight, but the Bloodmoons still gathered strength to the west. And if the latest reports were to be believed, they’d already defeated and absorbed the Verdantbites, a small but old clan he was connected to by distant relatives.

They really didn’t have time for this.

He ducked under an archway not tall enough for his frame into a room filled with candlelight, another priestess leading the Ironcoats from the opposite side.

Kyntha followed in a dress made of silver, the seams tucked and pinched in a way that suggested they’d been taken in and out many, many times over the years, her generous hips swaying as she walked.

He smiled despite himself.

Fecund indeed.

And then he took in the rest of her—hair so light it looked like spun moonlight, eyes bluer than the sky, and skin the color of milk.

His chest tightened, and he no longer saw this union as a heavy onus. He could find pleasure here.

They met before the altar, crowns of juniper berries and flowering Myrtle stems placed atop their heads, hands out and open towards the oculus in the roof so the moon could bear witness and bless this first step towards their mating.

More words were spoken, and more responses were given—oaths to cherish, to respect, to reproduce…

With a mate as lovely as the she-wolf before him, that last one was an easy promise to make.

The gong rang again, and the priestess took her knife, slicing their palms to collect their blood in separate chalices.

Kyntha’s was tested first, mixed with powdered, bitter nightshade. A spark ignited, the white smoke that followed revealing the truth of her soul and intentions.

She came to him untethered.

Her gaze averted him coyly while he watched her and smiled, the priestess testing his blood next. He was so engrossed with imagining what she might sound like when he finally had her in his furs that he did not notice the red smoke that rose from his own chalice.

Only the shocked gasps of those around them.

Darion turned towards the priestess, his brow pinching. “What is it?”

With a heavy sigh, she replied, “You do not come here untethered.”