Triple Divorce

"You don't have to do this, Rhea." Micah's voice was a low growl, the Beta in him aching with her pain.

I shook my head, my hands trembling as I smoothed out the ritual robe. It was a suffocating thing, embroidered with silver thread that seared like delicate, burning wires against my flesh. "Yes, I do. Theon went over it very carefully. An Omega's first heat must be presented to the pack. It's the law."

"The law is not civilized," Micah snarled, his gaze scouring the opulent Ceremonial Grounds of Lunitas. The stands were packed with members of the Silverfang Pack, their faces a sea of expectation and judgment. "It's a spectacle, not a celebration. He's doing this to remind everyone of your... status."

A clear young voice spoke up. "She is a Mooncrest. She is of the pack.". She has duties." Eris Vale, Elder Theon's daughter, stood a little behind us, her features a mix of contempt and smugness. She looked at Micah, then me, her gaze lingering on the pale skin of my neck, where the mark of my first heat was still a little visible. "Besides, it's an honor to present oneself to the pack. It's what our kind is for."

Micah moved forward, his fists clenching. "You watch your mouth, Eris."

"Peace, Brother," I whispered, placing a hand on his arm. I did not want a scene. Not here. Not now. Not until Theon tired of me. My gaze met Eris's. "Some of us believe our value is more than our breeding cycle."

A glimmer of actual anger crossed her face before she masked it with a professional smile. "That's what your mother believed. Look where it got her." She spun and walked away, her footsteps ringing off the stone.

I held my breath. My mother Lira's spirit, and her fierce, dangerous beliefs, always cast a shadow over me. They were the true reason for this public spectacle. Elder Theon wanted to destroy me, to ensure I would never follow in her footsteps.

A horn sounded, a low, tinkling note that quieted the crowd. Elder Theon Vale, a man whose face seemed carved from granite, moved to the forefront of the circular stone stage. He bore a staff topped with a crystal that shone in the dying sun.

"Silverfang Pack!" his voice boomed, amplified by the crystal's magic. "Tonight we honor our traditions. We confirm the strength of our bloodlines and the succession of our pack. Tonight, we present a new Omega to the light of the moon."

My heart was racing in my chest. It was time.

"Rhea Mooncrest," he said, his eyes locking onto mine, a cold, predatory glint in their depths. "Step forward."

My legs were heavy, but I forced myself to walk. I ascended the three steps onto the stage, the stones unbelievably cold under my sandals. The crowd was silent, a hundred pairs of eyes on me, observing each move I made. Theon pointed to the center of the stage, where one area of moonlight was beginning to form as the sun fell below the horizon.

"Step forward here, Rhea," he commanded. "Let the spirit of the moon bless your marriage."

I stepped forward into the middle, the air growing dense with anticipation. The moonlight, a shaft of luminous white, came down from the sky, bathing me in its icy, unearthly glow. It was a palpable thing, a jolt of energy that coursed through my veins, making every nerve ending hum with a strange, intensified awareness.

And then, it hit me. Not pain, but a thunderous connection. A feeling of four separate presences, four souls colliding with mine with the force of a thousand-ton weight. It was a spinning sensation, as though my entire being was being pulled in four different directions all at once. My vision spun, the world rotating on its axis.

What in the name of the Great Wolf...?" Elder Theon's voice was a whisper of complete astonishment.

My eyes, which were still trying to focus, settled on the front row of the observers.

Ash Ryder. The brooding, controlling Alpha who had made my life misery within the walls of the academy. His face, usually a mask of granite detachment, was twisted in a grimace of utter pain. His hand went to his chest, his body swaying dangerously before he crashed to the ground, a low, guttural moan ripping from his throat.