CHAPTER 270: JOLLY SEASON

The no-man’s land was still as dead as the last time I had been here—just as I remembered from the day Adam and his brothers almost ended my life.

Even though Makeh had hinted that the reality of that traumatic incident might be different, I had chosen to believe the same truth I had always known, until proven otherwise.

I looked around slowly, my hand tightening around Diana’s smaller one as if the ground itself might try to claim her. Ahead of us, the others were already moving forward, fanning out in loose formation toward the denser part of the pack’s forest.

And yet, I didn’t hurry to follow them as would have been my custom. No. I continued to take in the details slowly as if studying it.

The no man’s land stretched in every direction, flat and without mercy. No trees clawed at the sky, no wild grass swayed under invisible wind—just brittle, yellow-gray stalks that crumbled when you brushed them. Even the air seemed thin here, robbed of proper oxygen, so each breath carried the faint weight of suffocation.

The ground was cracked in some places, as if thirsty for a rain that had not come in years. My boots sank slightly into powdery dust with each step, and I could hear the faint grit grinding under my soles.

No animals scurried in the underbrush because there was no underbrush. No crows or hawks wheeled overhead. The sky itself felt heavier—its pale light dulled by the fog clinging at the edges of the land, turning the horizon into a blurred nothingness.

It was a place where life didn’t just avoid you; it actively retreated.

A graveyard without graves.

I let my gaze drift toward the spot where I had once bled out, my last breath stolen by the teeth and claws of those who should have been my protectors. The memory was sharp enough to scrape along the inside of my chest, but strangely, no tremor came. No spike of panic, no cold sweat, no creeping seizure the way it had before.

Did it mean that I was completely over it?

Diana’s voice broke through my thoughts. "Are you okay?" She tilted her head up, her brows drawn together in that stubborn crease of worry that made her look far older than she was.

I forced a smile and nodded. "I’m okay. I think I’ve... gotten past the trauma."

Her eyes searched mine for a beat longer before she nodded, squeezing my hand. "That’s good. It’s a huge progress. You have really come a long way."

Yes, I have.

I looked toward the path where we should follow to get to the proper pack environs. It was then I realized we were alone. The rest of our group had already disappeared into the fog.

Not even Levina, the supposed penitent, had waited up. She had attached herself to Raul the moment we disembarked, gliding toward him with all the grace of someone whose remorse was skin-deep at best.

"So much for being the bigger person," I muttered.

"Hmm?" Diana asked.

"Nothing. Let’s move before someone comes looking for us and decides we’re plotting something sinister."

But I’d barely taken two steps before shapes emerged from the fog—guards stationed at the edge of the pack. Their expressions were unreadable, their posture disciplined.

Here we go.

Instead of the suspicion I’d expected, they bowed deeply. "Is there a problem, my lady? Have you lost your way?" one asked.

I shook my head. "We were just appreciating the scenery."

The speaker’s mouth curved faintly, and I recognized him—Ray, son of the pack’s second elder. What was he doing here?

"As witty as ever, my lady," he said lightly, then gestured to the path we should follow.

I swallowed the question on my tongue. It wouldn’t do for a supposed witch from outside the Lycan community to know the name and family rank of one of their key figures. That was a detail I was supposed to be oblivious to.

We followed them out of the barren expanse. Ray walked at a pace that was brisk but not rushed, glancing back now and then to make sure we were keeping up.

"The others have already reached the guest hall," he told us. "The Lycan King will address everyone soon."

"Is it going to be a long address? I’m very hungry," Diana muttered, earning a small chuckle from Ray.

"Don’t worry," he said warmly, "you’ll soon be swimming in an abundance of food. I was tasked by the King himself to see to our esteemed guests’ comfort."

Ah. That explained his presence here—personal butler duties.

I smiled before I could stop myself, catching the way the second guard stiffened slightly under my gaze. I’d seen him before, always alongside Ray and the other children of elders, part of their tight-knit clique when they weren’t with the King’s sons.

Five minutes of winding through bushy, narrow paths brought us into the heart of the pack’s grounds.

The change in atmosphere was instant.

Lanterns floated like captive stars above the houses, each one shaped differently—some round like full moons, others long and cylindrical with tassels swaying gently. Gold and silver ribbons wound around the trunks of the few tall trees, their shimmer catching the lamplight.

Banners stretched across streets, bearing intricate symbols of the Moon Goddess: a great white wolf silhouetted against a luminous crescent. Some banners were stitched with silver thread so fine they seemed to glow on their own.

Doorways were draped in evergreen garlands, threaded with tiny charms—protection runes, blessings for fertility, and the occasional heart-shaped token meant for matchmaking. Children darted through the streets in fur-trimmed cloaks, their laughter spilling into the night air like bells.

There was no fear here; no fear of the evil that was vampires.

From open windows came the scents of roasting meat, spiced cider, and fresh bread. Shadows of dancers flickered against walls where music played loud enough to feel in my bones.

I breathed it in, the sheer vibrancy of it all. In the spirit of the season, I was sure every werewolf would be generous even to outsiders. Perhaps that was why Ray kept smiling at me like a man ten years my senior had any right to.

Not that I blamed him. He didn’t know I was the girl he’d once passed in these very streets while I was being mocked and shoved, the one he’d ignored. Now he was my escort. My butler.

It was tempting to lean close and whisper my identity, just to see him blanch.

Not yet, El’s voice murmured from the corners of my mind, stirring from her slumber.

"How do you feel?" I asked silently.

Good.

As we neared the Lycan King’s domain, the difference was obvious. Where the Queen’s estate thrived on cultivated beauty, the Lycan King’s boasted sheer landmass and utilitarian splendor.

The gates were massive wrought-iron things adorned with new additions—stone gargoyles crouched at the pillars, their wings half-unfurled as if ready to leap. They hadn’t been here during my last visit, and their glassy eyes glimmered faintly in the torchlight. Renovations, I see.

Inside, buildings sprawled in a complex pattern. There were separate wings for the King’s personal affairs, guest housing, a barracks, training yards, and—absurdly—a dining hall just for the King himself. Why anyone needed a private dining hall when there were at least three communal ones was beyond me.

Seasonal decorations softened the severity of the architecture. Strings of lanterns looped between buildings, casting warm halos over cobblestones. Wreaths hung at every archway, and a massive silver wolf statue at the central courtyard had been draped in a flowing white sash embroidered with lunar phases.

"This way," Ray said, leading us around a bend toward the great hall.

The Lycan King, Mr. Brekan, was already speaking when we entered. His voice filled the chamber, deep and resonant.

"...glad that you have all made the time to celebrate with us this season. I promise you will not forget the experience in a lifetime. And of course, thanks to my special guest, Dora Ackwoods, for accepting my request to join us."

A ripple of applause spread through the hall, and I realized it wasn’t just us here. Elders lined the front rows, alongside other distinguished members of the pack—including my first foster parents.

My eyes found my mother’s, and my lips curved when she winked at me. She remembered me—or at least remembered the girl who had caused a scene at the peace party, the one who had turned down the King’s sons.

I longed to speak with her, but the King’s gaze swept toward me, cutting that hope short.

"Dora," he said warmly, "thank you for coming."

I dipped my head in a small bow, still holding Diana’s hand. The King’s smile softened further when he looked at her.

Must be the spirit of the season, I thought.

"I’m sorry my boys aren’t here to receive you," he went on. "They’re out on the hunt—you know it’s something we do to celebrate the season."

Of course I remembered. The hunt for the Fulak, the wildest beast in the Lycan forests. Whoever caught it earned not only a gift from the King—a prize that changed every year—but also an honor that lasted a lifetime.

"I’m sure you’ll see them tomorrow," he said.

I nodded, though their presence was the last thing on my mind.

When was the food coming?