Chapter Thirteen: Firelight and Fault Lines

The Midnight Pack's field pulsed with life as the aging ceremony party kicked into gear, the night air thick with smoke, pine, and the tang of spilled liquor. Tents dotted the grass near the pack house, their canvas shapes flickering in the glow of the central bonfire, its blaze roaring high, spitting embers into the starry sky. I elbowed my way to the makeshift bar—a wobbly table of splintered wood, bottles glinting atop it—set up between two tents, the ground slick under my boots from an earlier drizzle. "Three shots," I barked at the wiry bartender, his hands darting as he poured amber bourbon into chipped tumblers. I knocked them back, one, two, three, the burn clawing down my throat, a rare jolt for me. I wasn't a drinker—water or a stray beer usually did it—but tonight demanded more, something to melt the knots Natalie's rose scent and Amelia's venom had twisted into me.

I wove through the crowd, the bonfire's heat pulling me in, and dropped onto a rough-hewn log, its damp bark cool against my jeans. I stared into the flames, their dance numbing my edges. These mate parties never changed—single wolves from half a dozen packs piling onto some field under a full moon, chasing that fabled spark. I'd lost track of how many I'd slogged through, each one bleeding into the last: firelight, hopeful stares, the same tired chants. Years in, and the Moon Goddess still hadn't bothered with me—maybe I was too jagged for her to bother fixing.

A ripple ran through the crowd, tugging my gaze. Wolves were clustering at the field's far end, near a low stage draped in midnight-blue cloth, set up against the pack house's cedar wall. I'd lost time to the fire's pull, the bourbon fuzzing my clock. With a groan, I hauled myself up, swinging by the bar for one more shot—liquid courage, bitter and biting—and joined the throng. Torin and Seline stood atop the stage, the Alpha's greying hair catching the firelight, the Luna's silver braid stark against her dark dress, the pack house looming dark and quiet behind them. Ten new eighteen-year-olds fidgeted in a line—five guys, five girls—their faces twitching between nerves and thrill.

"Welcome, everyone, to another mate party," Torin's voice boomed, warm but firm, slicing through the chatter. "This month, we've got ten wolves who've come of age, searching for their mates." He grinned, broad and proud. "May the Moon Goddess bless them and bring their mates swiftly, so they can know the wonder of the mate bond." He pulled Seline close, kissing her forehead, her blue eyes softening as the crowd cooed, a few wolves whistling.

I scoffed under my breath, the bourbon souring the sweetness. Years of these nights, and I was still empty-handed—either the Moon Goddess had skipped me or I wasn't worth the ink on her list. We lined up, a ragged queue of singles snaking across the damp grass, the ritual as worn as my patience. Fifteen minutes dragged by before I climbed the stage steps, boots thudding on the creaky wood. The first girl—a petite blonde with a shy smile—offered her hand; I shook it, felt nothing but her sweaty grip. Next, a lanky guy with a jittery grin—pack rules meant checking all, no exceptions, though I'd never leaned that way—another handshake, another blank. Down the line I went, ten hands, ten nothings, my dark green eyes meeting theirs with fading sparks. "Another month, still no mate," I muttered, stepping off, the weight settling like wet dirt in my chest.

The bar tugged me back, a bourbon cradled in my hand as I slumped onto a wobbly stool, the field spinning with life around me—tents flapping, wolves laughing, the fire's crackle a steady pulse. Six of the ten had paired off, giggling and starry-eyed, hands locked, whispers traded in the shadows. I was glad for them, sure, but their glow carved a hollow in me, a void I couldn't shake. The glass was cool against my lips, the liquor a slow sear as I watched, half-there.

"Where's your girlfriend?" Amelia's voice sliced in, sharp and close, her arms crossed as she loomed beside me, chestnut hair glinting in the firelight.

I tilted my head, playing dumb. "What do you mean?"

She scoffed, dark eyes narrowing. "She must've been pissed, seeing you up there with those eighteen-year-olds."

I shot her a sideways glance, taking a slow sip. "If I had a girlfriend, she might've been." The words landed dry, my tone flat.

"Don't lie, Kyan," she snapped, voice spiking, her cheeks flushing with anger.

I drained the last of my drink, the glass clinking as I set it down, and stood, looming over her slight frame. "That so-called girlfriend is Cade's sister. He dragged me here to bring her, get her used to how other packs run things." I paused, watching her jaw tighten. "She's not my girlfriend—she's my Alpha's sister. Maybe next time, don't choke on every rumour you hear." I turned, leaving her rooted there, and trudged back to the fire, its heat a thin shield against the night's bite.

I hadn't seen Electra since she'd bolted from the tent, her shocked face still a splinter under my skin. Scanning the field, I caught her near the edge—light brown hair loose, cream sweater glowing in the firelight—talking to some guy, tall and broad, dark hair tousled. They stood close, her smile wide and easy, his hand brushing her arm. He leaned in, whispering something that drew a bright, unguarded laugh from her, and my gut twisted—sharp, unbidden. None of my damn business—just flirting, nothing heavy—but her eyes flicked to me for a heartbeat, green and searching, and I looked away, staring into the flames. As long as she was safe, that's what counted, right?

When I glanced back, they were gone. My eyes darted—tents, bar, crowd—nothing, until I caught her cream sweater vanishing behind the pack house, his hand tugging hers. I knew that spot; the shadowed nook back there was a hookup den—I'd stumbled into it myself a few times as a kid, chasing quick thrills. Every instinct growled to let it go—she was grown, alpha-blooded, tough as hell—but a nagging piece of me, tied to Cade's trust, maybe more, knew he'd have my hide if she got hurt. With a groan, I pushed off the log, the bourbon buzzing in my veins as I followed their trail.

The back of the pack house was a mess of couples—lips locked, hands wandering under the eaves—but none were her. I pressed into the forest beyond, pine needles crunching underfoot, the bonfire's hum fading to a dull roar. "Liam, don't do that!" Electra's voice cut through, sharp and close, slicing the dark.

"Come on, babe, we made out so many times at school—shouldn't we take the next step?" His voice—Liam—smooth but pushy, followed by rustling leaves.

"Just get off me," she said, firm, a scuffle prickling my ears. I stepped closer, shadows parting—Liam pinning her against a tree, hands clamping her wrists at her sides, his lips on her neck. "Come on, babe," he muttered, ignoring her squirming. She was strong—alpha blood ran deep—but she held back, jaw tight, like she was trying to talk him down instead of breaking his nose.

Rage flared, hot and fast, my beta voice surging as I closed the gap. "Get away from her!" I growled, low and lethal, the command vibrating in my chest. Liam's head snapped up, eyes wide with shock, and he stumbled back, hands dropping, tripping over roots as he bolted into the trees.

My anger cooled, worry thudding in its wake as I heard her sob, soft and ragged. "Electra?" I stepped closer, voice softening. "You alright?" The firelight filtering through the branches caught the tears glinting in her green eyes—she wasn't, not really—but I needed her to say it.

She swiped at her face, trembling. "Don't tell my brother," she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Please."

"I won't tell him," I said, soft but steady, "but I need to know you're alright first."

She nodded, a quick jerk. "I'll be fine. Just... please don't say anything."

"Alright," I agreed, holding her gaze. "But I might have to teach that guy a lesson."

She shook her head, stepping away. "Leave it, Kyan. He was drunk—he wouldn't have hurt me."I reached out, resting a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. "That's not an excuse. He should've stopped when you said no." My voice was low, edged with a protective bite I couldn't shake.

She shrugged my hand off, turning toward the field. "I'm going to bed," she muttered, her steps uneven as she vanished into the dark, leaving me rooted there, fists clenched. Every fibre itched to hunt Liam down, drunk or not, and show him what happened when you crossed her—but her plea held me back. I respected her call, even if it gnawed at me.

I trudged back to the tent, the party's noise a dull hum behind me. The air mattress creaked as I sank onto it, the canvas walls pressing in. Sleep dodged me—her sobs, Liam's smirk, Amelia's words twisting in my head—but exhaustion finally dragged me under.

Morning broke grey and quiet, the field a wreckage of empty cups and smouldering logs. Electra emerged from her side of the tent, eyes red-rimmed but dry, dodging my gaze as I packed up. The tent came down fast, poles clattering into their bag, beds deflating with a hiss. We said clipped goodbyes to Torin and Seline—Torin's handshake firm, Seline's smile tight—and loaded into the SUV. The three-hour drive home started in silence, her wildflower scent sharp in the cab, the tension thicker than the fog rolling off the hills—she'd barely looked at me since I'd started avoiding her, and she'd noticed, no question.

Twenty minutes from home, she broke it. "Kyan?" Her voice was soft, tentative.

"Mmm?" I grunted, eyes on the road.

She sighed, a small sound. "Thank you for last night." I caught a faint curve of a smile from the corner of my eye.

I glanced at her, her light brown hair tangled from sleep, her face softer now. "If you ever need my help, I'm here, Electra." I meant it—every damn word—my voice steady, a promise I hadn't meant to let slip.

She nodded, turning back to the window, the silence settling again, lighter this time. I kept my eyes forward, the road unwinding, my mind replaying the night—her tears, Liam's retreat, that flicker of gratitude. I still owed her an apology for the tent mess, hadn't found the moment, but this felt like a crack in the wall. Cade's shadow loomed—no trouble, no screwing up—but something else was stirring, a thread between us, fragile and quiet, pulling harder than I could dodge.

Back at the pack house, I parked, the engine ticking as it cooled. She slipped out, backpack slung over one shoulder, and paused, glancing back. "See you around," she said, her voice quiet but firm, then headed inside. I sat there, hands on the wheel, the bourbon's echo faint in my throat. I'd apologize later—tonight, maybe—when things settled, just to clear the air about Amelia, because she deserved that much. For now, I grabbed my duffel and followed her trail, the pack house looming ahead, wondering how long I could keep sidestepping whatever this was growing between us.