Chapter 5

Walking hand in hand with Cami, she whispers, “Stay close,” her voice barely audible over the mingling conversations of the pack gathering engulfs me as soon as we step into the clearing. A symphony of growls, laughter, and the melodious incantations of witches mingling with the rustle of leaves.

A bonfire crackles at the heart of the festivities, casting an ethereal glow over the assorted creatures that dance in its light. Werewolves, their eyes shimmering with untamed life, move with a primal grace. Vampires, their elegance untouched by the revelry, converse in hushed tones, their pale skin reflecting the firelight like moon-kissed marble. Witches gather in cloistered circles, their fingers weaving patterns in the air as they whisper spells that make the air thrum with magic.

My senses are alight with the vibrant energy of the night; the scent of pine and earth intermingling with the smoky sweetness from the fire. Yet amidst the celebration, a silent storm brews within me. I watch a pair of young wolves entwine in a dance that speaks of a bond as old as time, and my chest tightens. The longing for a connection that deep is a hollow ache in my bones.

“Amazing, isn't it?” murmurs a voice beside me. A witch with eyes like the twilight sky glances at me with knowing amusement. “But occasionally, it's easy to feel lost among all these souls.”

I offer a smile that barely touches my eyes. “It's all so… overwhelming,” I admit, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear as I look away.

“Give it time,” the witch says before drifting back into the crowd.

My gaze follows her, tracing the effortless interactions around her. Laughter bubbles up nearby, but it feels distant, muted by the echoes of my doubts. My dreams of academia—a world of textbooks and theories—clash with this ancient realm of fur and fang. And the nightmares… these vivid terrors that claw at me during the solitary hours of night, leave me trembling with a fear I can’t shake off, even under the protective canopy of my pack.

“Thinking too hard, Alena?” a gentle tease breaks through my thoughts.

“Isn't that what humans are best at?” I quip back, my lips curving despite myself. It is true; my human side often feels like a misfit puzzle piece in the grand design of the supernatural world.

“Perhaps,” concedes the voice, a fellow pack member who understands the duality of my heritage. “But don't forget to live a little while you're at it.”

My laughter is a brief, silver chime in the night. Living is what I yearn for—a life beyond the expectations of my lineage, a soulmate who can see past the fragmented pieces of my dual existence.

“Tonight, I'll try,” I promise, more to myself than anyone else, my resolve firming. With a deep breath, I allow the rhythm of the gathering to seep into my bones, determined to embrace the present even as my dreams beckon from the horizon.

My gaze drifts through the throng of supernatural beings, each lost in their revelries, when the subtle shift in the atmosphere pulls my attention to the entrance. A hush falls over the nearest clusters of creatures as a man steps into the clearing, his presence commanding immediate attention. King Roak, with an aura that whispers of ancient forests and untamed lands, strides forward, exuding the power that doesn’t need to be flaunted—it simply is.

“Who is that?” I whisper, more to myself than expecting an answer.

“King Roak,” murmurs a nearby witch, her eyes wide with a mix of respect and something akin to fear. “Ruler of the Northern Realms. They say he can command the elements.”

The words skate over me, barely registering as I watch him move with lithe grace, his eyes scanning the crowd until they find mine. Time seems to fold in on itself, and the clamor of the gathering dims, leaving only the piercing intensity of his gaze locked onto my own. My heart stutters, then races—a deer sensing both danger and an inexplicable pull towards it.

“Have you ever seen someone so… captivating?” I can’t help the words slipping from lips that suddenly feel too dry.

“Captivating doesn't cover it,” the witch agreed with a knowing smile, watching me with keen interest.

Our eyes remain entwined, and a jolt of electricity sizzles through my veins, grounding itself in the pit of my stomach. I feel laid bare, yet I can’t conjure the will to break away. It is as though his gaze peels back the layers of my guarded soul, seeing past the human facade to the wild spirit that yearns for recognition.

“Your heart races,” a voice like smooth whiskey washes over me, a symphony in the cacophony.

“Doesn't everyone's in the presence of a king?” I challenge, my voice steady despite the tremors that dance beneath my skin.

“A fair point,” he concedes, with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But I suspect there's more to your story, Alena.”

My name on his lips feels like a sacred incantation, weaving a spell I wasn't sure I wanted to break.

My breath hitches as the sea of murmuring bodies seems to part, a path clearing where none has been before. King Roak moves with an unhurried grace through the throng, his strides measured and assured. The murmurs grow into hushed reverence, the crowd both yielding and drawn to him, like iron filings to a magnet. I stand, rooted to the spot, my surprise etching itself in the slight parting of my lips—how can he be approaching her?

“Quite the command he has,” I whisper, more to myself than to anyone around.

“Indeed,” comes a voice from nearby, though my focus remains tethered to the advancing figure.

With every step King Roak takes, the air changes, subtly at first, then all at once. A hint of wild cherry teases my senses, a natural allure that speaks of untamed forests and hidden groves. It is swiftly followed by a warmer undertone of apple cinnamon, evoking images of comfort and the quiet crackle of a hearth fire on a chilly night. The scents weave together, creating an olfactory tapestry that seems to trace the invisible line, pulling me towards him.

“Is it me, or is the air different around him?” I mutter as I inhale deeply, the fragrances intensifying with proximity.

“His aura has a way of changing the environment,” comments the witch, unbidden.

As if on cue, King Roak halts mere steps from me, close enough for the mingled aromas to envelop me completely, and I feel a warmth unfurl within my chest. Being this close, the connection sparks anew, charging the space between us with anticipation. His eyes, dark and fathomless, hold mine, and I know undoubtedly that the electric thread that binds us is woven of more than just idle curiosity.

“Your scent, it's quite… intoxicating,” King Roak remarks, his deep voice resonating with a timbre that sends shivers down my spine.

“Yours carries the essence of the forests,” I reply, my voice laced with wonder, and something else, something comforting.

“Perhaps it's a reflection of what lies within us,” he suggests, his gaze unwavering, “a mirror of our desires and fears, Alena.”

“Perhaps,” I concede, the single word laden with a thousand unspoken thoughts.

My heart hammers against my rib cage, a frantic drumbeat echoing the uncertainty swirling within me. King Roak, the embodiment of regal might and raw power, stands before me, an alluring enigma that both entices and alarms me. A flicker of doubt creeps into my mind, weaving through the tapestry of our shared scents. Can I dare to venture closer to his flame without getting scorched?