Chapter 5
She danced through the kitchen like a breeze—light, untamed, ribbon trailing behind her like a streak of colour caught in motion. Her bare feet glided across the wooden floor, toes gripping for balance as she twirled and leapt, laughter bubbling at the edges of her lips. The silk ribbons followed her every move, weaving through the air in elegant arcs, catching the light with each turn.
The warm aroma of her mother’s cooking wrapped around her like a blanket. It was the kind of scent that could draw strangers from miles away, comforting and mouthwatering all at once. If her mother had ever chosen to become a chef, the world would have thanked her for it. But she hadn’t. And so, the kitchen remained their little sanctuary, filled with memory and magic.
She stretched an arm out mid-spin, her ribbon wrapping around the handle of a cup and then a salad knife resting on the counter. With a flick of her wrist, the ribbon reeled them in like playthings. She caught the cup with a grin, let the knife slice gracefully through the air—not with violence, but with practiced control. Her smile widened. She was getting better.
“Mother,” she called, arching her back into a lean that dipped her low to the ground, her ribbon spiralling above like a silver halo. “I have a question.”
Her mother hummed in response, her hands moving in a rhythm of their own as she stirred the pot on the stove. The clink of a wooden spoon tapping the side of the pan echoed softly, blending with the soft thrum of her melody.
“How do I identify my mate?” she asked, breathless from the spin but curious all the same.
Her mother’s smile came slowly, like a secret returning from the past. She didn’t turn away from the stove, but her voice filled the room, rich with the weight of knowing.
“It’s easy,” she said. “When you catch a scent that’s unlike anything else—something so intoxicating it makes your chest ache—when the wind shifts and you feel it brushing your skin like fingertips… when you can’t think of anything but that scent… then you’ll know. The one it belongs to is your mate.”
The girl slowed her ribbon to a stop, her chest rising and falling gently with the quiet that followed. She stared at the swirling fabric as it settled beside her, eyes thoughtful. The scent, the wind, the pull—so much power in something as invisible as air.
“And what do you do when you find him?” her mother asked softly, almost too gently.
The girl straightened, her spine tall, her chin steady. Her eyes held a knowledge too old for her years.
“I reject him,” she said.
And for a moment, the kitchen was silent—ribbons still, steam rising, and a low growl resonating in the depth of her mind .
Another ridiculous day—only worse than usual.
Since news spread that The Steel Alpha had agreed to visit our pack, Alpha Swindells had worked me to the bone, forcing me into endless preparations meant to make the pack appear flawless. Everyone knows I’m a perfectionist when it comes to organisation, so of course, they dumped most of the responsibility on me. All in the name of making a good impression.
The only “reward” I received was permission to spend time away from the pack grounds, but I knew better. It wasn’t a gift—it was a warning. They didn’t want me anywhere near the visiting Alpha, especially not if he or his wolves failed to find their mates.
“Who would see such a good servant and turn a blind eye?” Alpha Swindells had asked, his tone heavy with disdain.
So, waking up today to not be ordered around felt like a rare mercy. I wash up, scrubbing the exhaustion from my skin, and slip into one of the few dresses I inherited from my mother. It’s pale blue, soft to the touch, and shorter than I remember—my body having grown into a woman’s shape while the dress remained frozen in time. I braid my hair carefully, tucking the end over my shoulder, and lace up my only good pair of shoes: black combat boots gifted by a distant friend.
If I’m lucky, she might appear today.
Scarlette.
I met her a year after my mother died. She stumbled upon my hidden sanctuary deep in the forest—my quiet pond, my secret place. For a human, she wasn’t afraid. Not even when she found a mute girl with dirt-streaked cheeks. Somehow, her presence didn’t feel like a threat. It felt like safety.
She told stories. Jokes. Spoke with a voice that filled the empty spaces in my mind. I didn’t always understand, but I didn’t need to. Just listening was enough.
At first, she visited every day. But when the Luna began noticing unusual movement near the pack’s borders, Scarlette had to reduce her visits. Eventually, she only came around my birthday—or unpredictably.
Later, I learned she wasn’t entirely human.
Scarlette is a dhampir—a half-vampire, half-human anomaly. She has the strength, speed, and telepathy of a vampire, but drinks blood only twice a year. Once, if she avoids overusing her powers. Her control is frighteningly perfect. She’s also a hunter, judging by how easily she used to slip through the pack’s borders unnoticed. That part of her life, I believe entirely.
So today, I cling to the hope that I’ll see her again. That she’ll make this day—like every other day in this cursed place—a little brighter.
I slip away toward the pond, the short sundress fluttering against my thighs as I walk beneath a thick canopy of trees. A breeze tugs at the hem, and the scent hits me—sweet peas and rock rose with a hint of rosemary,—and of course, the faint hint of hawthorn only I can perceive.
She’s here.
Zinnia, my wolf, lets out a giddy whoop of excitement. Scarlette’s presence always means freedom—shifting. Scarlette knows my secret, though I didn’t tell her. Zinnia did.
It was two years ago, on the anniversary of my mother’s death. The grief that swallowed me had pushed me so deep inside myself that Zinnia surged forward, taking control. She would have rampaged, torn through the forest if Scarlette hadn’t appeared and talked her down.
That day, she promised to keep my secret.
And she shared her own.
She told me what she was—an outcast among her kind, a forbidden dhampir. Her mother is the only one who knows her true identity. Like me, she survives by keeping it hidden. We share that burden.
I step into the clearing, and there she is.
Scarlette stands at the water’s edge, skipping flat stones across the surface with a childlike grin. The ripples spread outward, catching the sun like liquid silver.
Just like her name, her hair is the colour of fresh blood—deep scarlet waves that tumble down her back, catching fire in the sunlight. Her skin is a rich, flawless mocha brown, and her features outshine every alpha’s daughter in the pack. Emerald green eyes glint with mischief as she turns toward me.
“There you are!” she exclaims, her voice a melody in the wind.
I laugh quietly, her joy contagious.
“I’ve been waiting for ages,” she continues, dramatic as ever. “Did you know I came here yesterday? And the day before that? And the day before that?”
I giggle, pressing a hand over my mouth.
She twirls back around to face the pond with a sigh. “It’s so boring now that I’ve quit my hunter career.”
I reach out and tap her arm, tilting my head in question.
Her gaze lowers. “The old geezers got out of hand,” she mutters. “Seven months ago, they planned to attack innocent werefoxes—”
I gasp, hand flying to my chest.
She laughs at my reaction. Of course she expected it. Her laugh is rich and melodic, the kind that warms the chest and makes the corners of your lips lift without realising. Sometimes, I wish I looked like her. The girls in the pack think I’m a threat—they’ve never even seen Scarlette.
“Wait—what are werefoxes?” I ask with sign language.
Scarlette raises a brow. “I didn’t tell you?”
I shake my head, leaning forward eagerly. She’s my only thread to the outside world—my link beyond pack borders, beyond these walls. Other than books, she’s my knowledge.
She smiles. “Well, I’ve met them. Once. And there was this time I went to Asia—met a nine-tailed fox.”
My eyes widen. “They’re real?” I sign.
“Oh, very real,” she whispers. “I was just as shocked. But when the hunters targeted the foxes, I couldn’t go along with it. I refused. I left.”
I nod, my stomach twisting with unease and admiration. “What happened after?” I sign.
“They went through with it anyway,” she says quietly. “I tried to warn the high council, but turns out the council already knew. They didn’t care.”
“What did the foxes do?” I breathe.
“They reported it to their guardians,” she says, voice hushed. “The red nine-tailed fox, the white one, and the three-eyed sun fox. To make a long story short,” she finishes, eyes growing distant, “most of the hunters are dead now.”
There’s a pause. The air stills.
“My mother too.”