Page 1 of Shifting Hearts 1
ONE
Rejected by the Moon
Paris
The moon doesn’t care.
It stares down at me, pitiless and pale, a perfect silver eye above the clearing. Its light spills across the stone altar where I stand, barefoot and trembling, dressed in silk that feels more like a funeral dress than the blessing it is supposed to be. The ceremonial fire roars behind me, its heat licking at my back as the smoke clogs my throat. Sparks spiral upward into the night only to vanish before they can touch the sky, just like me.
I force myself to keep still even as my legs shake, even as my hands curl into fists at my sides. I feel the weight of every gaze in the clearing pressing into me, suffocating me.
The Stygian Pack gathers in a wide circle around the altar, a hundred strong at least. I recognize every face, though none of them feel familiar tonight. I can’t push past my sense of unease to even smile at any one of the people gathered here.
The warriors stand at the front—broad-shouldered men and women, their leathers dark against the silver light of the moon,their battle scars cutting across their arms and faces. They are built for war, and yet tonight they watch as if this, my mating ceremony, is the true battle. Their eyes gleam with hunger. Not for me but for the bond. For the power that comes from it.
Behind them are the elders, a half-moon of bent backs and sharp eyes. They lean heavily on carved walking sticks; some draped in shawls woven with runes older than memory. Their lips are thin lines, their silence louder than the fire. They came to see prophecy fulfilled…. or shattered.
The mothers stand further back, holding their children close. The little ones squirm, whispering, eyes wide as they take in the smoke, the altar, and the gleam of the moon. They don’t understand, not yet. But they will remember. The pack makes sure no one forgets when the Goddess gives a gift. Or when She takes it away.
And then lastly, scattered throughout the gathering, are the curious and the cruel. Those who never wished me well. Those who always whispered that I was too soft, too fragile, too full of dreams to ever be worthy of fate’s hand. Their eyes are sharp with interest now, waiting for me to fail.
At the edge of the circle, standing taller than any other, is Alpha Maddox. Our Alpha. His black hair falls loose around his face, his eyes gleaming gold beneath the moonlight. His power rolls across the clearing like a living thing, making my stomach twist painfully. He does not smile. He does not frown. He simply watches, as though my life is a game he has already decided the outcome of.
Beside him, in robes of midnight blue stitched with silver threads, is my mother. Luna Mireya. Once a fierce warrior, she is now the spiritual guide of our pack. She stands with her chin high, her expression unreadable, though I see the tightness at the corner of her mouth. Her hands clasp a silver pendant at herthroat—the symbol of the Moon Goddess—and I wonder if she’s praying for me or for the pack.
My father stands a step behind her, as he always does. He is the historian of the pack, the keeper of all our traditions, memories, and failures. A scholar of bloodlines and the keeper of old laws. His face is a mask of indifference, but his eyes are cold, fixed on the fire. He won’t look at me. Not even now. He never does.
I want to scream at them all that I’m not ready. That I’m not strong enough. That the dread in my gut is not just fear, but knowledge. But my throat is dry, and my words are no more than ash on the evening breeze.
A murmur rises through the crowd before he steps forward.
Gabriel.
The pack shifts and all the scrutiny focuses on him, as though his very presence commands attention.
He walks with a calm certainty, each step deliberate, his tall frame cutting through the crowd like a blade. His ceremonial tunic is black, embroidered with silver runes that glimmer faintly, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing strong forearms marked with dark ink and faint scars from past battles. His trousers are fitted, tucked into boots polished to a dull shine. He looks every inch the Beta he is, the pack’s future, the Alpha’s right hand.
And yet when his eyes find mine, they are empty. Dark. Cold. Unreadable.
Not the eyes of the boy who once climbed trees with me until our palms bled. Not the boy who pulled me from the river when I slipped on the rocks, holding me close as I coughed up water and promised,“I’ll always keep you safe, Paris.”
No. That boy is gone, replaced by someone I don’t know. This man doesn’t smile, doesn’t soften, and doesn’t reach for me. Heonly folds his arms across his chest and stares at me as though bracing for impact.
My heart slams against my ribs and I idly wonder if they can break from the impact. The whispers swell, then hush, the entire pack waiting, watching.
He says my name. “Paris.” The sound of it slices through me, sharp and merciless.
There is no affection. No reverence. Just… acknowledgment. My heart breaks just a little bit know that my fated mate feels nothing for me. The bond hums between us but there isn’t even an inkling of attraction between us.
The air thickens and the fire pops behind me making me jump.
I step forward because tradition demands it. Because duty demands it. Because I was raised my whole life to believe this moment was my destiny.
My bare feet slap against stone, cold and unforgiving beneath me. The altar hums faintly, the runes etched deep into its surface glowing silver in the moonlight. I can feel the magic in the air, taste it on my tongue. It’s old, sacred, and binding.
I lift my chin, though my hands shake. My voice is thin, but I force it steady.
“I, Paris Lioren, daughter of the Stygian Pack, accept the bond of the Moon and my fated mate.”
