Chapter 2. The Procession

Lora’s bare feet met the cool stone of the plaza in soft, tentative taps, the surface still glistening with droplets that had trickled from the basin moments before. Each step felt like walking across a polished mirror of pale granite, damp enough to pick up the faint scent of spring rain mingled with a hint of moss. The silk draped over her shoulders clung so closely to her skin that every subtle shift of her body—every twist at the waist, every tilt of her hip—seemed painted in liquid moonlight, as though she had been sculpted from water rather than flesh.

Ahead of her, the other girls formed small, trembling clusters beneath the twin moons’ gentle glow. Their faces, washed in silver light, were hushed and pale, some forcing tentative smiles as they leaned in to whisper—only to falter and press their lips tight, as though tasting defeat already. Others simply stared into the distance, eyes vacant, posture rigid, as if trying to brace themselves against the invisible currents of fear swirling through the night air.

Ayrella slipped up behind Lora, her long dark cloak swaying like a shadow detached from any single shape. The older woman’s hand pressed firmly to the small of Lora’s spine, a reminder that now was no time to linger in hesitation. “Do not linger. Do not stumble,” Ayrella murmured, her voice calm but insistent. “Let them see your defiance, not your terror.”

As Ayrella’s slender fingers adjusted the drape of silk across Lora’s left shoulder, her touch paused just a heartbeat too long. Leaning close enough that Lora could feel the warmth of her breath—and perhaps something softer, almost hesitant—Ayrella lowered her voice even further, so that only Lora could hear the next words. “Remember this, child: when an Alpha marks you, it does not only brand your skin. It stirs your body. You will feel a heat—a hunger you cannot quiet on your own. Do not let them see it consume you.”

Lora forced a crooked, knowing smile, though her spine tingled with the chill of confession. “Sounds like a sickness,” she whispered back, thinking, If it comes with free side effects, maybe I should ask for the brochure.

Ayrella’s gaze sharpened, but behind the steel there flickered something almost like pity. “It is not sickness,” she said softly, pressing the silk to settle with perfect grace over Lora’s collarbone. “It is power. But not yours.”

Chin lifted on sudden resolve, Lora decided she would not gift them her tremor. Still, every pulse of the distant drums throbbed against her ribs like a caged thing, rattling free with each beat as though eager to burst out.

A low hum of anticipation rippled through the assembly as the procession began in earnest. One by one, each barefoot girl stepped forward, soft soles kissing the marble aisle, and the crowd responded with a clamorous roar. Hundreds lined both sides—men, women, even children—adorned in the clan’s reds and golds, leaning forward as if scenting the drama about to unfold. This was no quiet ceremony behind closed doors; it was a feast of power, a grand parade of flesh beneath open skies.

When her moment arrived, Lora drew in a slow, silent breath, willing her heart to steady even as the silk slit and shifted across her inner thighs and exposed the sleek curve of her hips. The flickering torches set her skin afire in golden highlights and midnight shadows, and the crowd seemed to lean in as if she carried the promise of prey in her veins. From somewhere, a whisper passed along the ranks: the girl under the Twin Moons. The rare one.

Lora fixed her gaze on the far end of the avenue, where the dais rose above the throng like an island of stone. Broad steps led up to the seat of judgment, and upon it sat the clan’s two Alphas, each draped in their own myth.

She saw him first—Kairon of Dawn, though most called him simply Kai. He sat as erect and still as a statue carved from marble, his broad shoulders swathed in a mantle of pale, snow-soft fur. When the torchlight caught his hair—bronze strands dancing like sunlit wheat—his presence seemed to glow from within. His eyes, sharp as polished steel, tracked each girl with the patient focus of a predator sizing up its prey.

When those eyes settled on Lora, her breath faltered. It was not mere curiosity nor simple interest—it felt like possession before the moment of marking, a claim pressed upon her soul before anything touched her skin. A thread of heat coiled low in her belly, sudden and unwelcome. Lora forced her feet to carry her forward, even as she felt stripped bare under his unblinking stare.

Before she could steady herself, a new sound rolled through the crowd—a low, resonant growl that seemed to ride on the night wind itself. Lora turned her head, and there he was: Rael of Dusk, cloaked in deepest black as though he had been hewn from shadows. His long, dark hair fell in curtains around his face, framing a smile both secretive and chilling in its amusement. His gaze found hers, and the growl tunneled through her chest, vibrating against bone.

Her ribcage tightened. She jerked her eyes away too quickly, but the spark of his stare lingered on her throat, warmer and more intense than Kai’s claim. Suddenly the air felt electric, charged with forces pulling her heart in two directions—light and shadow warring for her surrender.

The procession wound its way to the base of the dais. Each girl in turn dipped into a reverent bow before the Alphas. Finally, Lora reached the foot of the stone steps. The world contracted: the cold marble beneath her knees, the sky’s twin moons reflected in her lowered eyes, the hush of countless expectant breaths. She sank to one knee, head bowed because ritual demanded it, not because she wished to show submission.

“Born beneath the Twin Moons,” the herald announced, his voice echoing between torchlit columns. “Lora Enlight Sirenna, daughter of the omen.”

A wave of cheering laughter and fervent drumming washed over her, the rhythm quickening until it felt as if her heart might break free of her chest.

Kairon rose in deliberate grace, every step measured so perfectly it might have been choreographed. He circled Lora like a hawk eyeing its quarry, and though her every nerve burned to lift her eyes and face him directly, she kept her gaze lowered. Even so, the scent of him reached her in waves—clean and sharp, threaded with something metallic, like ozone moments before a storm.

Then he reached out, just two cool fingers slipping beneath her chin to tilt her face upward. His touch was abrupt, unyielding, but not cruel—more like the certainty of night changing into dawn. Lora’s lips parted as if of their own accord, and she felt the first flicker of his power slide along her skin, a promise of what was to come.

“Mine,” he declared, not softly, but to the gathered crowd, his voice carrying like a banner unfurled under the starlit sky.

The roar that greeted his claim was thunderous, a tidal wave of approval crashing down upon her.

A flare of pain bloomed at her neck—sharp, electric, as though his mark had already broken flesh—yet no teeth had bitten her, not yet. This, she realized, was only the herald of the true bond, and even so her body responded: heat racing across her skin, a stirring need congealing in places she never knew hunger could hide.

Kai’s eyes flickered over her, not with surprise but with satisfaction, as if he had long anticipated this involuntary surrender.

Then Rael laughed. The sound slithered through the plaza like a wisp of smoke, dark and knowing, curling around the crowd until it sank into every heart. He leaned forward, elbows pressed to his knees, and spoke no words, but his eyes never left the spot at her throat where Kai’s fingers still lingered.

Lora’s pulse thundered in her temples. She felt the gravity of both Alphas pulling at her in opposite directions, the brilliance of dawn and the lure of dusk tugging on the threads of her will. Her head swam, and she sensed every breath as though it were her last.

At last, Kai released her chin, standing tall once more and raising a single hand to command silence. Instantly the drums fell mute, and the hush that followed cut sharper than any blade.

“This one walks to Elysor under my mark,” he proclaimed, voice ringing out so everyone could hear. “Let no hand touch what is mine.”

The assembled crowd erupted again, their cheers fracturing into triumphant howls and gruff acclamations.

With knees trembling, Lora rose, the silk sliding over her damp skin in a whispering swirl. She lifted her chin as Ayrella had instructed, though inside her chest a storm raged. She could still feel the phantom bite of Kai’s claim—and, just beyond it, the dangerous, magnetic pull of Rael’s unwavering stare, hinting that her newfound allegiance might not be as unbreakable as anyone believed.

Slowly, she descended the dais steps. The torchlight danced across her ankles, the silk brushing past like a confederate whisper. Behind her, the drums resumed—this time in a slower, more deliberate rhythm that trailed after her into the night like the echo of a choice not yet made.