The entire ride back to pack land, I sit ramrod straight, with a white-knuckled grip on my bag. Seamus says nothing, and I don’t either. Despite being overheard, I meant every word of what I said, and not one of my pack members in the car can deny that I’m right.

The females talk quietly amongst themselves in the back of the van, all the previous enthusiasm deflated out of them like an old forgotten balloon. With practiced ease, Seamus cuts through the town and into the forest area that separates the human territory from ours. A dirt road through the woods leads past the rushing twin rivers our pack is named after.

White rapids cut a path, each river at least fourteen feet across with a wide strip of land separating them. They’re two sisters who refuse to see their similarities and get along enough to become one. Their water is tumultuous and punishing while also nurturing the land and our people since we first settled here.

In no time, we’re pulling up to the main pack house where hundreds of shifters are already gathered. My stomach threatens to lodge itself in my throat, but I know better than to risk an elevated heart rate in front of Burke. So I take a fortifying breath, forcing myself to go numb before I step out and close the door behind me.

The other females stream toward the huge circle that the pack has formed. I glance around surreptitiously for a place to stow my bag, but there are too many people around. I consider stuffing it under the van, but when I make a move to do that, my eyes snag on Seamus, who’s staring right at me.

Fuck.

I jerk my attention away and turn back to the pack, falling into the crowd. Letting myself get swallowed into the tightly packed bodies, I shove and squeeze my way forward. I need to bide my time, and curiosity has its hook in me too, pack mentality taking over the second I’m in its midst.

When I work my way to the front, I find Alpha Burke there with the person who must be the Spirit Weaver. The male has tan skin and white hair strung with wolves’ teeth and rawhide ties. His lined face is pulled into a friendly smile, but the bright orange paisley shirt he’s wearing mismatched with the pea-green corduroys really sets him apart.

This isn’t the same Spirit Weaver who came last year to perform the Flux, but since they’re so rare, even more so than healers, I’m not surprised. They’re not always available to help. Apparently, this one dresses like he’s ready to watch reruns of That ’70s Show.

“Ah, I sense our hosts have arrived,” the male says.

Burke raises two fingers to his mouth and releases a shrill whistle. Immediately, the crowd parts, letting the rest of the females through. They all gather to the front together while the rest of the pack backs away to give us a respectful distance, but I’m the only one to stand alone. How fitting.

“Spirit Weaver Yaromir, these are the members of my pack who will be taking part in the ceremony,” Burke announces, standing straight and tall, and behaving every bit like the proud and prudent alpha he pretends to be. I have to control my lips so they don’t draw up into a sneer.

Bright, wise eyes take all of the females in as the Spirit Weaver nods at them, and then his gaze lands on me. For a second, I’m frozen beneath his scrutiny, worried that he’s looking right through me and seeing my spirit inside. Will it show him the truth of what I have planned? Does he know my wolf is going to be doomed to walk the spirit world alone forever?

Just as nervous sweat begins to bead at the base of my neck, he looks away and offers the crowd a genial smile. “I am honored to perform the Flux with Twin Rivers pack. Should we get started?”

Burke nods, and like the pack has practiced this, they all turn and begin walking to the ceremony setup that’s located behind the large home that houses the alpha and other higher up members of our people. I take advantage of the busy moment, eyes flicking left and right, but Seamus is nowhere to be found, and Burke is walking the Spirit Weaver the opposite way, their heads tilted toward each other like they’re in deep discussion.

Making sure that no other betas are watching me, I spin on my heel and race to the trees just behind me that nestle against the side of the pack house. As soon as I’m beneath the shadows of their cover, I stop at the first full bush I see and then shove my bag between its thick branches.

I rip off pine needles from the tree above it, stripping the branch bare and dumping them on top. That will help disguise my black bag, but also help to cover up my smell. I check my handiwork, bending back some of the bush’s leaves and branches to better cover it, and then wipe my hands on my jeans. It’s the best I can do.

Hurrying back to join the others still moseying toward the ceremony grounds, I walk as fast as I dare, knowing that if I were to run, it would just draw attention. Luckily, there are a few stragglers, but I quickly pass them by with a nervous smile, catching up to where everybody else is now gathered. There are picnic tables on one side of a massive bonfire that’s already being lit beneath the pre-dusk sky. The base of the converging rivers sparkles in the waning light, and just behind us is the place where the spirit ceremony will take place after the feast.

Every second is going to count.

I waste no time filling up a plate and picking a seat away from the commotion and as close to the trees as I can get without being conspicuous. I eat my mountain of food, barely even tasting it as I wolf it down, my eyes on my pack and my mind on how the hell to get away from them. I go over what I know is going to go down tonight. I’ve attended these every year since I can remember, but it all feels so different now. Maybe it’s because there’s so much riding on my getting away, or maybe my wolf spirit is close and that’s what I’m reacting to, but I feel off, anxious, and desperate.

I focus on something else and tell myself I have time, that I’ll figure this out. First, the Spirit Weaver will invite the spirits to dine with us, and the pack will bring all of the sacred and specially prepared dishes and set them out on a special table for them. Then all the Flux participants will be excused to go dress in their ceremonial robes and return here for the blooding, but if I’m still here by then, I’m screwed.

My best bet is to sneak off when we’re supposed to get dressed. By then, a good portion of the pack will be drunk, full, and relaxed. I’ll grab my robe and then slip out of a window or something. I’ll only have maybe a forty-minute head start, but I’ll have to make it work.

The feasting pack starts to quiet down, and I glance around from my spot on the picnic table to see Burke and the Spirit Weaver walk into the gathering. They greet a few people as they make their way toward the front, Yaromir carrying a leather pack with him.

Part of me is saying I should run now while this man sets up and everyone is busy watching him, eagerly anticipating what’s going to happen. But I worry they’ll notice too quickly that I’m not here when they call all the participants together to get changed. There’s also another part of me that desperately wants to see him call the spirits down.

I’ve never felt or seen anything at any of the other Fluxes I’ve attended, but I wonder if this time it will be different. Will I feel her? Will I know she’s nearby? Will she understand why I can’t take her on?

An ache starts in my chest, but I do my best to ignore it. One look at Burke as he fawns all over the Spirit Weaver is enough to remind me that I don’t really have a choice. This is about survival, and if my wolf doesn’t get that, how compatible would we have been in the first place?

Weaver Yaromir unrolls his leather pack to reveal tufts of fur, oils, and all sorts of other things he’ll need for tonight’s ceremony. Then he walks over to the large bonfire, stopping just in front of it, and sets down his sacred haul. Meticulously, he spreads out several small pots filled with dried herbs, powders, and other mysterious things that those with magic know about, while those that don’t never question.

As quick as a stalked hare, the Weaver pulls an arm-length log from the burning fire, not even flinching as it sparks and sputters in protest. A hush further blankets the pack as he lowers the burning wood to the things he gathered and sets the contents of the pots aflame. Immediately, large plumes of white musky smoke pour out from the bowls, and the Weaver hands the torch off to Seamus.

I watch the beta, wondering if he’s had a chance to tattle on me yet. When I look away from him, my gaze accidentally lands on Burke, but to my dismay, he’s already watching me. I try to read what’s swimming in those inky, conniving depths, but it’s impossible to know the inner workings of such a tainted mind. If he knows what I was saying about him, he doesn’t let on, and even though I know I should drop my gaze and not provoke him, something in me refuses to do it.

Just this once, I don’t want to feign submission. I stare at him for what I hope is the last time. Soon, I’ll no longer be forced to cater to his ego for the sake of flying under the radar. For whatever reason, tonight, I want him to feel the weight of my judgment and scorn, to know that I don’t bow down to him and never will. I want him to see the girl I’ve been forced to hide, the one I decided deserves to be free.

Our eyes stay locked on each other for a long moment. I can tell he’s waiting for me to avert my gaze like I always do, but it’s not going to happen this time. Whether I make it out of this pack alive or dead, I’m done pretending to have any respect for this wolf and the wolves that follow him.

Weaver Yaromir starts to chant the magical words of the wolf spirits, and Burke is forced to break my gaze when he’s handed something. I quickly get to my feet while his back is turned and slip amidst the group of people who have already gotten up from their tables to gather around. As soon as his attention comes back, he’ll be searching me out instead of paying attention to the ceremony. Good. Maybe then the Spirit Weaver will start to see the cracks in the perfect alpha facade.

Several older members of the pack start to hum in harmony, lending their voices to the steady chant spilling from Yaromir’s mouth. The eerie wolfish music mixes with the magic smoke that carries the smell of bay leaves, angelica, and calendula. The Weaver picks up an apparatus that looks very similar to a priest’s aspergillum, but instead of sprinkling holy water, he whirls it around his head, spilling blessed and secretly curated oil out in arced circles around him. Then he raises a small ball and chain and whips it expertly around his head, creating an unearthly whistle to aid the call of the spirits. If I listen closely, it’s almost as though I can hear the lonely note of a single wolf calling to the moon.

The melodic words of shifter magic take on a more urgent note, and chills crawl up my arms as a wind whips around the pack playfully, like the spirits are here to cavort. People hoot and children laugh while they start to chase the unseen and howl into the darkening night, dreaming of the day it will be their turn.

Excitement ripples through the crowd in a wave, and awe fills the faces of so many in the pack as Weaver Yaromir’s piercing voice starts to call out the invitation to the spirits that belong to those of us participating tonight.

He’s speaking in a language I don’t know, one I’m not even sure is really used anymore other than for the spirits. But regardless of my inability to understand what’s being said word for word, it’s impossible not to see the beauty and raw power in what’s happening. The Spirit Weaver then starts to do exactly what his title suggests and lifts his hands as he begins to weave two planes together for the night. His fingers move like he’s plaiting invisible strands together that represent our world and the world of the spirit wolves we’re meant to harbor and protect.

I can’t say that I feel any different right now than from previous Fluxes during the spirit calling, but I have a deeper appreciation for the Totemic shifter culture and the beliefs of my people tonight, because it was supposed to be my night. The night I finally inherited my wolf.

I close my eyes and sway to the gentle beat of the Weaver’s feet as they start to dance across the hard-packed dirt. I invite his song to move through me and tilt my head back, feeling the blessing of the rising moon. Everyone else sways with the chanting and the rhythm of heavy footfall, bodies moving with the wind.

I rock back and forth in place, wishing that my mom were here and that everything hadn’t gone to shit. I feel the loss of her so deeply in this moment that it tightens my lungs and makes it hard to breathe. She always loved nights like this. The magic always renewed her in a way that nothing else could. Right now, she should be dancing alongside me in the moonlight, beautiful and strong, everything I’ve always wanted to be.

I think of my dad, of my parents slow dancing in the kitchen late at night and sneaking kisses and winks whenever they got the chance. I think of his hugs and the way he always saw me, all of me, all the parts I tried to tuck deep and hide. He always understood and nurtured those bits, and I was lucky for that. This place holds so many beautiful memories and yet so much tragedy all at the same time. I can feel the love here, but I can also smell the blood. Too much blood. It’s old and stale and stains the grounds of this pack like a warning.

I tear my eyes open, ripping myself from the moment. The Weaver is calling to the sky, arms outstretched, and a stream of omega females file past the congregation in a line. They’re wearing revealing dresses as a mark of their fertility, and a line of blood is drawn down their foreheads. They all carry heavy platters of food together, at least two omegas per tray. The kappas were obviously hard at work this year, because the offering is impressive. Fresh kills still bloody from the woods have been prepared in true Twin Rivers custom, the scent of the slain prey permeating the air.

There are skinned rabbits and muskrats delicately arranged on a platter topped with fresh sage. Then a deer, its removed antlers set above its butchered meat like a cake topper. But then more omega females stream past with the meat of an entire elk. All of it is placed around the bonfire in a perfect circle, arranged accordingly, the raw meat an offering to the wolf spirits.

With their hands now free, the omegas start to dance. Sheer dresses sway with their movements, their bodies undulating in a practiced performance of sensual virility. While they twirl around the bonfire, the Weaver sprinkles some sort of powder over the food, grunting and growling and chanting too low beneath his breath for me to hear.

Pack members begin to line up, eager to lay the gifts they’ve brought at the base of the spirits’ feast. I can almost smell the competition in the air as wrapped packages are set down, the givers wearing smug looks as they go, certain that they’ve brought the best prize. I try not to roll my eyes at the display. As if this crap will make the spirits look more favorably down on this pack. Not with an alpha like Burke, he just claims every single present for himself.

The growls, yips, and barks of wolf-speak grow louder, Weaver Yaromir’s sounds so steady they’re almost a thrum, one that feels like it’s controlling the beat of my heart. The omegas dance like they feel the frenzied pull of music, and the crowd feels it too. There’s a vibration in the air, and I’m all too aware of how my feet are planted on the ground, of the press of my pack members’ bodies around me. So much smoke rises into the darkening sky that it consumes my senses. The Weaver pulls at the air, hands moving through the smoke like he’s arranging the wisps, intertwining some invisible force with the work of his bony fingers.

I don’t know if it’s just the intensity of the moment, but when he shouts out a wordless noise of supplication, eyes on the rising moon, I feel…something.

Gasps ring out through the crowd when the bonfire hisses, sparks flying, charred pieces landing on the meat and making it sizzle. The omegas still dance, not hitching a step, and everything seems to come to a head before it all just…stops.

While the pack collectively holds its breath, the flames flare, so bright I have to squeeze my eyes tightly shut. Exclamations sound off throughout the pack, and then everything falls silent, and a stillness slams around us so loud it seems to crack the air, making bumps rise along my skin.

They’re here.

It’s the only coherent thought that blasts through my mind, and I know I’m right. I can feel it with every inch of my essence. The hairs on the back of my neck lift, and I find myself searching around desperately as if I’ll be able to see my wolf even though the spirits are invisible to the eye. But I have my other senses, and they confirm that she’s near. Just knowing that, just feeling it, makes joy unlike any other surge through my chest. The ceremony has always been impactful, but this is different.

A howling wind cuts through the stillness, blowing through the bonfire and kicking up dirt like the race of dozens of paws. The crowd cheers, clapping and crying out, and I feel so charged with the energy that I’m practically shaking.

But just as quickly as the happiness comes, it gets cut off at the knees with devastating loss. Because…I’m abandoning her. I’m leaving my wolf behind.

“The wolf spirits have blessed us with their presence!” Weaver Yaromir cries out, earning even more celebratory noises from the pack. “They are pleased with Twin Rivers’ offering!”

The crowd surges, forcing me to stand on my tiptoes and peer over shoulders. I see Burke’s smug face as he nods respectfully to the Weaver. “Time for the hosts to prepare!” he calls out, and my stomach twists. “Everyone else, continue to celebrate with our fellow spirits.”

The pack cheers, everyone going back for more food and drink, pack males wasting no time in grabbing the dancing omegas, dragging them onto laps. I turn around numbly, following the other hosts as we all head for the pack house. Just before I enter through the back door, I look behind me at the wolf spirit I can feel is watching me, and at the alpha just behind her.

I wonder which of them will hate me more when they realize I’ve fled.