Red Moon Rising

7. bones

Chapter Song: Sink - Iwan Rheon

XX

"I wish your mom could be here."

"I know." I settle on a shaded bench next to my father and follow his gaze to where Tasha is laughing and shaking hands with several of the elders who have just arrived. Mom always loved Cam, and when she got sick she told me how much she regretted that she wouldn't get to see us matched together at the ceremony. I think she envied us, in a way; she and dad didn't know each other before the elders matched them. And it was a good pairing—they loved each other deeply until the day she died, but they had to figure out all of the hard parts of being together after the ceremony. I've known Cam forever, and we've been together for a long time—long enough that mom already considered him part of the family.

"You wouldn't know Tasha's just eighteen, would you." Mom didn't get to see Tasha grow up like dad and I did, either. She never got to understand what a fucking kind, brilliant daughter she produced.

"She knows how to charm those old bastards."

"She sure does. Did she smooth things over with Tom?"

He gives me a wry smile and nods. "Don't worry about it, Layla. You said what all of us were thinking, and I don't think Tom blames you for it."

"Still."

He wraps an arm around me and gives my shoulder a light squeeze before standing. "Come on, Layla, you should mingle a bit before the ceremony. I'm releasing Cam from his duties for the day so you two can celebrate."

"Thanks, dad."

"You look lovely, by the way."

I smile, crinkling my fingers into the skirt of my sun dress. "Thanks, dad. Now go schmooze."

As he moves into the crowd, there's a tiredness in his shoulders that I don't remember seeing before. Has he always looked this old, this weary? The past few years without mom have been hard on him, and I think days like this bring up memories of everything he doesn't have anymore. I hope that despite how the morning has gone that he'll be able to enjoy having so many wolves around us now, laughing and drinking and dancing—all of the things you're supposed to do on the summer solstice. Not mourning.

There are representatives from almost every pack in the state in our little town, nearly two thousand extra people crowding on the grassy mall by the great hall. The air smells like grilling meat and woodsmoke, and there's a hum of energy that rises even above the sound of voices and laughter. And then there are those that were chosen for the ceremony, sixty of us in total this year, identifiable from the crowns of flowers we're made to wear and the painted symbols that trail down our arms. I know some of these symbols from school, but I know what they are meant to tell—the story of how the moon goddess fell in love with a man and blessed him with the soul of a wolf. They were soul mates, and each summer solstice, the elder council remembers their bond by pairing young wolves together, whose names were chosen by the gods.

At least, that's what we learned in school. We're all in our early twenties, and those who are single are generally happy to be given a match that's said to be fated by the gods. But truthfully, no one has ever not been matched with someone they're already dating. It's a tradition, one that we abide by largely because no one has a reason to object to it, and it's a good excuse to celebrate our roots and party together for one long day and night. As I watch the other chosen wolves, it's easy to identify which ones are single. They're making eyes at the other flower-crowned tributes, perhaps hoping that the elders will pair them with this one, or that one. And then there are those who have already found the one they're meant to be with, flowered heads bent together as they celebrate the day they're finally recognized by the council.