The Wolfless Twin

Chapter 1

Mira

The silver pauldron is cool in my hands. I polish it with a soft cloth, watching my own reflection distort in the curve of the metal. Pale face, dark hair, eyes that hold no hint of the wolf. The Full Moon Challenge. The name itself is a stone in my gut. For my twin sister, Lyra, it’s the most important day of the year. For me, it is the most public reminder of what I am not.

“Is it ready?” Lyra’s voice is pure energy, bouncing off the stone walls of her room. She stands in the doorway, already dressed in her leather armor, her silver-blonde hair braided tight. She practically vibrates with anticipation. Her eyes, the color of a winter sky, are alight with the thrill of the fight to come.

“Almost,” I say, my voice a quiet contrast to hers. I give the pauldron one last buff before holding it out. “Perfect. Like you.”

She grins, a flash of white teeth that are just a little too sharp, a beautiful hint of the beast within. “You worry too much. It’s just a formality.” She takes the armor piece and fastens it to her shoulder. It settles into place as if it were forged for her. It was.

Everything is forged for her. The pack’s adoration, our father’s pride, the future. While she spent her youth learning combat, I spent mine learning how to be invisible. I remember my last shifting ceremony, ten years ago. The cold moon, the elders chanting, the pack watching with held breath. And then, nothing. Just me, a shivering girl on a cold rock, while other children tore free of their skin. I can still feel my father’s gaze, not angry, just heavy with a disappointment that has never fully lifted. Only Mira, my old nanny, met my eyes that night. She wrapped a cloak around my shoulders, her touch the only warmth in a world that had turned to ice.

“Darius is on his way,” Lyra says, pulling me from the memory. She adjusts a strap on her vambrace. “He said he had a gift for me. For us.”

My fingers still. “Us?”

“That’s what he said.” She shrugs, a careless motion. “You know how he is. Always proper.”

A horn blast echoes from the courtyard, sharp and clear. Darius has arrived. Lyra’s face lights up, and she grabs my hand, pulling me from the room. Her grip is strong, a warrior’s grip. Mine feels frail in comparison.

We emerge onto the great hall’s balcony, which overlooks the main courtyard. The pack is already gathered, a sea of eager faces turned upward. My father, Alpha Valerius, stands in the center, his expression stern and proud. And beside him, dismounting from a muscular black stallion, is Darius.

Heir to the Stonecrest pack, and Lyra’s fiancé. He is everything an Alpha should be. Tall, broad shouldered, with a handsome face and an easy confidence that borders on arrogance. His eyes scan the crowd and find us on the balcony. A smile touches his lips, but when his gaze meets mine, it feels a fraction colder.

“Lyra, my love,” he calls out, his voice carrying across the entire yard. “And Mira. Come down. I have something for you both, to mark this auspicious day.”

Lyra practically flies down the stairs. I follow at a slower pace, each step a conscious effort. I feel a hundred pairs of eyes on me, the wolfless twin, the Alpha’s shame. Whispers follow me like my own shadow.

When I reach the bottom, Darius is holding Lyra’s hands. He looks at her like she is the moon itself. Then he turns, and the pack quiets. He produces two packages.

“For my future Alpha, my warrior queen,” he says, his voice ringing with performative pride. He hands Lyra a long, slender box. She opens it, and a collective gasp ripples through the crowd. Inside, nestled on black velvet, is a silver dagger. Its hilt is carved like a howling wolf, and the blade gleams with a deadly light. “For the warrior,” Darius proclaims, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Lyra’s breath catches. She draws the blade, its balance perfect. “Darius, it’s magnificent.”

He smiles, then turns to me. He holds out a smaller, flatter package wrapped in simple paper. I take it, my hands feeling clumsy. He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper meant for only a few to hear, but in the silence, it feels like a shout.

“And for the watcher,” he says.

I unwrap the gift. Inside is a shawl. It’s made of fine silk, a pale gray color, soft and utterly useless. It’s beautiful, I suppose. A decoration. My cheeks burn with a heat that has nothing to do with warmth. The message is as clear as the blade in my sister’s hand.

One is a weapon. The other is an accessory.

“To keep you warm while you observe,” he adds, his smile never wavering. He is charming. He is handsome. And he is cruel. He built a cage of my own inadequacy and locked the door in front of the entire world. I force a smile, my lips feeling stiff.

“Thank you, Darius. It’s… thoughtful.”

He claps his hands together. “Now! To the Challenge!”

The crowd roars. I fade back into the edges of the throng as Lyra and three other young warriors enter the large dueling circle. The silk shawl is still in my hands, feeling heavier than any blade. I see my father watch Lyra, his chest puffed with pride. He doesn’t look at me once.

The fight is brutal and fast. Lyra is a tempest of silver fur and flashing claws. She moves with an effortless grace that is both terrifying and beautiful. One by one, her opponents are thrown from the circle, defeated but unharmed. It’s over in minutes.

She stands alone in the center of the ring, her silver wolf form shimmering under the high sun. She throws her head back and lets out a howl of victory. The entire pack howls with her, a symphony of power and belonging that I can never join.

Darius vaults into the ring, shifting mid-air into his own powerful gray wolf. He nuzzles Lyra, the perfect couple, the future of two packs entwined. Everyone surges forward to celebrate, to touch their future Alpha. I am pushed to the side, an afterthought. I stand alone, clutching a silk shawl, a ghost at my own sister’s triumph.

Chapter 2

Mira.

The great hall buzzes, a hive of celebration. Torches spit sparks toward the high, beamed ceiling, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. The air is thick with the smell of roasted meat and spilled wine. I am a statue in the corner, the silk shawl Darius gave me draped over my shoulders. It feels like a shroud.

Lyra is holding court near the head table, Darius at her side. She glows. My father laughs at something one of his Betas says, his voice a rumbling thunder that makes my teeth ache. No one looks my way. It is a familiar, comfortable sort of pain.

Then, he moves. Darius detaches himself from Lyra’s side, his eyes finding mine across the crowded room. He walks toward me with a purpose that makes my heart start a frantic, stupid rhythm against my ribs. The crowd parts for him, as it always does for an heir.

“Hiding in the shadows, Mira?” he asks, his voice a low murmur that cuts through the din. He stops in front of me, so close I can smell the pine and leather scent clinging to him.

“Just observing,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. I clutch the edges of the shawl.

“The watcher,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips. It does not feel like a mockery this time. “A valuable skill. Most warriors only know how to act. They rarely know when to watch.” He extends a hand. “Dance with me.”

It is not a question. My hand finds his, and a jolt goes through me. He leads me to the center of the floor, and the pack’s attention follows us. I feel their stares, their whispers. The wolfless girl dancing with the future Alpha. A scandal. A curiosity.

He pulls me close. His hand rests on the small of my back, firm and warm. We move to the slow, rhythmic beat of the drummers.

“You wear the shawl well,” he whispers, his breath warm against my ear. “It brings out a fire in your eyes I doubt many people get to see.”

My cheeks flush. “Thank you for the gift.”

“You deserve to be given beautiful things.” He spins me, and for a moment, the world is a blur of firelight and faces. When I settle back against him, his gaze is intense. “Your sister has the pack’s admiration. But you have a mind that works in silence. That is a different kind of power, Mira. A sharper kind.”

My breath catches. No one has ever spoken to me like this. No one has ever looked for power in my silence, only weakness. Hope, a dangerous and venomous thing, begins to bloom in my chest. Maybe I was wrong about him. Maybe the gift was not an insult but a clumsy attempt at kindness.

He leans in again, his lips brushing my temple. “Do not let them make you feel small.”

When the music ends, he bows slightly and returns to Lyra’s side, leaving me breathless and dizzy in the middle of the floor. My heart is a wild bird beating against my ribs. For the first time, I do not feel like a ghost. I feel seen.

The heat in the hall becomes overwhelming. I need air. I need a moment to hold onto this fragile new feeling before it shatters. I slip out through a side door onto a stone veranda overlooking the dark forest. The cool night air is a relief.

Voices drift from around the corner, Darius’s distinct baritone among them. He is with a few of his friends, their laughter coarse.

“You are spending a lot of time with the quiet one,” one of his cronies says, his tone teasing. “Trying to court both sisters, Darius?”

I freeze, my body pressed against the cold stone wall. I should leave. I should not listen.

Darius lets out a loud, booming laugh. It is not the charming sound I heard on the dance floor. This one is sharp, and full of scorn.

“Lyra is my future, a true Luna,” he says, his voice dripping with condescension. “A queen for my pack.”

There is a pause. I hold my breath.

“Mira?” he continues, and the casual cruelty in his tone hits me like a physical blow. “She’s a lovely piece of decor, not a warrior. It's amusing to see her blush, but that's all she's good for.”

The hope in my chest implodes, turning to ash and ice. Decor. An amusing toy. The words echo in the sudden silence of my mind, louder than the feast, louder than the drums, louder than my own frantic heartbeat. He did not see me. He saw an object to be played with.

My hands tremble as I tear the silk shawl from my shoulders. It feels slick and cold, like a snake’s skin. I let it fall to the stone floor. I turn and flee into the darkness, the sound of his laughter chasing me all the way.

Chapter 3

Mira.

The days following the feast are cold. Not with weather, but with a silence that is louder than any argument. My father, Alpha Valerius, paces the halls of our keep like a caged lion. Word from the border patrols is grim. Skirmishes with the Shadowpine pack. A hunter found dead on our side of the river. Tensions are a frayed rope, ready to snap.

He summons me to his study. The room smells of old leather and his simmering rage. He doesn't ask me to sit.

"The pack is at risk," he says, his back to me as he stares out the window at the darkening forest. "Our alliances are not as strong as they once were."

I say nothing. I am a ghost in this house, a piece of decor. I learned my lesson.

"Alpha Kaelen of the Sunstone pack has made an offer."

He turns to face me. His eyes are hard, like chips of granite. I see no father in them, only an Alpha making a calculation.

"He is old," my father continues, his voice flat. "Twice widowed. But his pack controls the southern pass. An alliance with him would secure our flank."

Ice floods my veins. I know what is coming. The words form before he says them.

"He requires a mate to seal the pact. He has asked for you."

My breath leaves me in a rush. "No."

The word is small, but it hangs in the air between us like a shard of glass. Kaelen is a lecherous old wolf whose hands wander too freely during council feasts. His wives died young. The whispers said they were relieved to go.

"It is not a request," my father says, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. "It is your duty. You cannot fight. You cannot shift. But you can serve your pack in this."

"You mean I can be sold," I say, my own voice trembling with a fury I did not know I possessed. "This is my purpose? To be a broodmare for some decrepit Alpha?"

He takes a step toward me, his shadow swallowing me whole. "You will do as you are told, Mira. The betrothal is set. Now get out of my sight."

I flee his study, his words chasing me like wolves.

Two days later, we stand in a clearing on the edge of our territory. Neutral ground. A place for tense meetings and broken treaties. My father stands with his Betas. Lyra is not here, a small mercy. But Darius is. He stands beside my father, an advisor, looking smug in his tailored leather armor. His eyes find mine and he gives me a small, pitying smile. The look says it all. This is where useless things end up. Traded away.

Alpha Kaelen has not yet arrived, but another party has. The Alpha of the dreaded Shadowpine pack. A murmur of fear and hatred ripples through our warriors as they emerge from the trees.

And then I see him.

He is not what I expected. He is younger than the legends say, but the stories of his brutality are etched onto his skin. A long, jagged scar cuts from his temple down across his left eye, which is a startling, pale silver. The other is a deep, forest green. He moves with a predatory grace that makes the air crackle. He is power given form.

This is Fenrir. The Alpha who killed his own father to take control of his pack.

His gaze sweeps over my father and the other Alphas gathered. It is a look of utter dismissal, as if they are gnats buzzing in his path. Darius puffs out his chest.

"The Shadowpine cur finally crawls out from his den," Darius calls out, his voice laced with arrogance.

Fenrir’s head turns slowly. His eyes do not land on Darius. They pass over him, over my father, over everyone, until they stop. On me.

My heart stutters. It is not a look of lust, like the ones I have gotten from other males. It is not a look of pity or disdain. It feels like he is peeling back my skin and looking directly at my soul. He sees something. For the first time, I feel like I am not invisible.

My father steps forward, clearing his throat. "Fenrir. Your wolves have crossed our borders. This aggression must end. We are prepared to make a proposal of peace."

Fenrir does not even glance at him. His eyes are still locked on me.

He cuts my father off, his voice a low growl that vibrates through the ground. "I have a better offer."

The clearing falls silent. Even the birds in the trees seem to hold their breath.

"Your alliances are weak," Fenrir says, his voice resonating with absolute certainty. "I will offer a non-aggression pact for ten years. My pack will not touch your borders. Not a single warrior, not a single hunter."

My father’s eyes widen. It is an offer beyond anything he could have hoped for. The kind of offer that saves a pack from a losing war.

Suspicion wars with greed on his face. "In exchange for what?"

Fenrir’s pale eye seems to gleam in the fading light. His gaze never wavers from mine.

"Her."