The Heir Ceremony

Calla

The illuminated screen of my cell phone glows like a beacon against the dark wood of the vanity. My heart plummets directly into my stomach, bypassing my lungs and leaving me breathless. I stare at the glowing display, my hands hovering over the device. A relentless barrage of notifications piles up on the glass. Six missed calls. Ten aggressive texts. All from my mate, Vane.

I swallow the bitter taste of dread pooling in my mouth. My stomach twists into a painful, tight knot. I know exactly what kind of mood he is in, and the physical distance between us right now is the only thing keeping my hands from shaking worse than they already are. I do not have time to appease him right now. My bedroom is silent, but the chaos of the pack compound buzzes just beyond my door. I unlock the screen, my fingers trembling slightly. I scroll past the demands for my attention, my eyes landing on the very last message in the thread. It is utterly chilling in its brevity.

*You were warned there would be consequences.*

A cold sweat breaks out along my spine. I desperately suppress the rising panic threatening to claw its way up my throat. I have to maintain my composed exterior. I cannot afford to be mentally distracted, and I certainly cannot show any signs of fear in front of the visiting packs. I force my shaking thumbs over the digital keyboard, frantically firing back a highly apologetic message, pasting on a mental mask of submission.

*Hey! I am so sorry I missed your calls and texts again. You know how things get around here when events happen. We are about to head down to the stage right now. I swear I will call you right before I go to bed. Love you.*

I hit send and immediately toss the phone away, letting it fall into the depths of my day bag. I push the image of Vane's anger out of my mind. Today is my brother Wyatt’s highly anticipated Heir Ceremony. It is a defining moment for our family, and I must remain perfectly focused on my familial duties.

Following strict pack etiquette, the ruling women must proceed in order of age. I step out into the hallway, joining the procession. My stepmother, Luna Sabine, takes the lead. I fall into step behind her, and my sister Nia follows at my back. Flanked by elite guards in tailored black suits, we make our way down the long, echoing corridors. My uncle, Beta Darius, waits at the heavy oak doors to formally escort us out. He offers me a quick, subtle wink. I manage to pull my lips into a slight smile, returning the gesture.

The cool evening air hits my face as we step onto the grand outdoor stage. The atmosphere is incredibly tense and reverent. Hundreds of pack members and visiting dignitaries watch from the grass in total silence. We gracefully take our designated seats on the right side of the platform. Directly beside us sits a ceremonial stone basin filled with collected rainwater. Fresh sprigs of sacred herbs—sage, thyme, and St. John's Wort—rest neatly on a wooden stand next to the water.

Beta Darius steps to the center of the stage. His booming voice echoes over the massive crowd, officially announcing the visiting leaders. Alpha Torin of the Iron Wolf Pack ascends the stairs first, taking his place on the left side of the platform. Then, Darius announces Alpha Kaelen of the Valerius Guard.

As Alpha Kaelen steps out from the shadows and onto the wooden stage, an undeniable, deeply comforting invisible pull strikes my chest. It yanks at my core, nearly pulling me out of my chair. At the exact same moment, the faint, crisp scent of eucalyptus drifts across the platform. It is the identical scent I smelled earlier in the hallway. It floods my senses, wrapping around me and soothing my frayed nerves.

He turns his head. For a fleeting second, our eyes lock. His irises are a brilliant, striking shade of morning-glory green. The sheer intensity in his gaze pins me to my seat.

Following the ancient traditions of the sacred rite, both visiting Alphas are shirtless. I know I should look away, but my gaze involuntarily drifts across Kaelen's intensely muscular chest. My eyes map the intricate, permanent pack marks etched into his skin. His sandy blond hair is pulled half up into a ponytail, leaving his broad shoulders completely unobscured. I trace his official Alpha crest sitting proudly on his left shoulder blade. Beside it rests the sturdy oak tree, the symbol of the Valerius Guard, marking them as the guardians of knowledge.

A complex connecting pattern of swirling clouds and leaves winds across his torso, framing the other symbols. I notice the vivid, colorful marks of two distinct flowers sitting upon his chest—a white rose and a red poppy. I accurately assume they represent his daughters. He must be a father. But as my eyes follow the swirling storm clouds across his collarbone, they pause critically on the space over his heart. That is where a Luna's mate mark should be resting. Instead, the skin is bare, save for a stark, jagged, faded scar.

*It looks like his mate passed,* my inner wolf, Rhea, notes. Her voice echoes in my mind, carrying a profound, empathetic sadness that mirrors the sudden ache in my own chest.

An incredibly unexplainable, entirely inappropriate urge washes powerfully over me. My hands twitch in my lap. I want to stand up in front of this entire crowd, close the distance between us, and physically hold this strange Alpha. I want to softly assure him that everything will be okay. The strength of the instinct is blinding. Shocked by my own ridiculous impulses toward an unmated male, I forcefully tear my gaze away. I lock my attention rigidly back onto the ceremonial basin, refusing to look at him again.

My father, Alpha Garret, and Wyatt finally ascend to the center of the stage. Both wear simple waist wraps, their chests bare to the evening wind. My father's face radiates raw pride as he steps up to the wooden podium to begin the proceedings.

"Thank you all for coming today," my father announces, his voice commanding absolute authority. "We will start with the Moon Goddess blessing."

He turns toward us. Sabine, Nia, and I step forward in unison to physically represent the divine presence of the Moon Goddess. We approach the basin. Sabine goes first, picking up the sprig of sage.

"I, Luna Sabine, bless you with the wisdom of the ages," she projects to the silent crowd. "May you lead your pack wisely and justly." She places the sage into the rainwater.

I step up next, picking up the thyme. I steady my voice, channeling the strength required of my bloodline. "I, Calla Brierwood, bless you with the strength of a thousand wolves. May you lead your pack with a strong will." I drop the thyme into the basin, watching it float on the surface.

Nia moves forward, holding the St. John's Wort. "I, Nia Brierwood, bless you with focus as clear as a summer day. May you lead your pack with clarity." She drops the final herb into the water.

Wyatt steps toward the basin and bows his head. With deliberate grace, the three of us dip our fingers into the blessed, herbal water. We gently sprinkle the cool drops directly over Wyatt's bowed head, loudly gifting him the ancient virtues. The cold rainwater drips down Wyatt's face, mixing with the herbal essence. He doesn't blink, accepting the blessing with absolute stillness.

Wyatt steps back, and my father takes over to begin the intense blood rite. My father pulls a ceremonial gold blade from his belt. He steps forward, bringing the sharp edge to his right palm, and slices the skin open. Blood instantly wells to the surface. He dips his fingers into the crimson pool and drags his bleeding hand across Wyatt’s bare chest, painting a thick line of blood.

"Never forget your duty to your family and pack," my father commands. "You are their father and provider."

He hands the gold blade to Alpha Torin. Torin steps up, slicing his own palm without a flinch. He drags his hand across Wyatt's chest, painting a second thick line of blood directly beneath my father's.

"Never forget your allies and friends," Torin says. "As packs, we are stronger together. We are invincible."

Torin hands the blade to Kaelen. Kaelen steps forward, the muscles in his back shifting with the movement. He slices his palm, the metallic scent of his blood mixing with the eucalyptus. He paints a third line across my brother's chest to formally instill the final duty.

"Never forget you are a warrior," Kaelen states, his voice a low rumble. "You fight so your pack can survive."

Kaelen hands the gold blade back to Wyatt. My brother takes a deep breath, gripping the hilt. He slices his own palm, staring at the blood welling in his hand. This signifies his acceptance of their ancient guidance. Wyatt reaches out and firmly shakes each Alpha's bleeding hand—first Kaelen, then Torin, and finally our father.

With the blood exchange complete, Wyatt turns his back to present himself to the cheering crowd. I hold my breath as his divine heir mark physically manifests on his skin in real-time. The ink seems to bleed up from beneath his flesh. A stunning lunar eclipse etches itself across his shoulder blade. Dark, thick branches grow outward from the eclipse, moving across his skin to seamlessly connect with his deep purple Brierwood pack mark.

Wyatt lifts his head. His bright blue eyes darken, turning pitch black as his inner wolf violently surfaces to accept the heavy mantle. The raw power radiating from him sends a shiver down my spine.

With the ritual officially complete, the four men drop to the stage. In seamless, fluid motions, they shift into their massive wolf forms. The sound of cracking bones and tearing fabric is swallowed by the roars of the crowd. Four giant wolves hit the ground running, bolting off the stage and vanishing into the dark woods to complete their traditional perimeter run.

The tension on the stage breaks. Sabine claps her hands together, emotionally corralling Nia and me toward the grand ballroom. She wipes a stray tear from her cheek.

"All my babies are growing up," Sabine sniffles, getting incredibly sentimental over the display. "I just want you all to stay my little babies forever."

"Mom, you're squishing me," Nia complains, wiggling out of Sabine's tight embrace. "Let's just go to the party before all the good food is gone."

Nia grabs our hands and leads us into the massive ballroom. The space is filled with music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. While Sabine and Nia head straight for the head family table, I expertly slip away into the service corridor.

I push through the swinging doors into the chaotic heat of the kitchen. I spot the head chef near the plating station. I march over to do a rigorous check-in.

"Giles," I call out over the noise of sizzling pans. "How are we doing? Have there been any issues since I left?"

Giles pops his head up, wiping his hands on his apron. "No, Miss Calla. Everything is going perfectly smoothly."

I survey the massive trays of roasted meats and heavy sides. I meticulously ensure the catering team is fully prepared for the ravenous appetites of the Valerius Guard elite unit. They are known for their brutal training, and they will eat through our stores if we are not careful.

"Listen to me closely," I say, explicitly issuing a strict command to Giles. "If there are any logistical issues, any shortages, or any problems with the guests, they are to be brought directly to me. I utterly forbid you from disturbing the Luna on this important night."

"You got it, Miss Calla," Giles nods firmly.

Satisfied that the kitchen is holding steady, I leave the heat of the ovens behind and return to the ballroom. The music swells in the background, a slow, melodic tune played by a live string quartet, but all I can hear is the rushing of blood in my ears. I weave through the dancing couples and reach my seat at the head family table. Just as I pull my chair out, the grand doors swing open.

The men have returned from their perimeter run. They stride into the room, having quickly changed into crisp, tailored suits. Wyatt and my father wear deep purple button-ups, matching the pack colors. Alpha Torin wears a dark red shirt.

But it is Kaelen who immediately commands my eye.

He walks with a lethal, effortless grace. His suit jacket is slung casually over his broad shoulder. He wears a deep forest green dress shirt, the top buttons left undone to expose the hollow of his throat. The sleeves are rolled up securely to his elbows, putting his thick forearms on full display. The fabric stretches tight across his chest, straining against his muscle.

My heart inexplicably flutters hard against my ribs. My breath catches in my throat. I am deeply flustered and entirely confused by my immediate, intense physical reaction to an unmated Alpha. Panic flares in my chest. I quickly snap my head away, deliberately trying to hide my face behind the loose curls of my hair. I stare down at the pristine white tablecloth, desperate to avoid catching his intense gaze again. I focus on my breathing, willing my racing pulse to slow down.

But mere moments later, the air around me changes. The scent of eucalyptus wraps around me, thick and intoxicating. I sense a towering, radiating warm presence standing directly in front of my chair.

I slowly look up.

Kaelen is standing there. His large, calloused hand is extended toward me. A brilliant, breath-taking smile lights up his handsome face, making his green eyes shine even brighter under the ballroom chandeliers.

"Calla, right?" he asks, his voice smooth and deep, carrying a vibration that settles right into my bones. "Would you care to dance?"