Fated To The Alpha, Stolen By His Brother

Six hundred women thought they earned their spot at the fire. The flame was the judge, jury, and executioner, and it was about to disagree with over half of them.

But before the soul-shredding, spirit-stomping, shit-show of that, the priestess explained the final steps.

”Once every draftee has offered her blood to the sacred flame, the Goddess will reveal the fated among you by calling each pair forward from the fire itself, for she alone knows which souls were bound before birth and she alone will speak their names into the flame.”

Translation: The fated mates will be revealed.

”For those among you who are not called forward as fated, the flame will present your matches thereafter, guided by the Goddess’s judgment, the counsel of the elders, and the scores you earned, for the Goddess does not work alone in matters of the chosen and she has granted the elders the authority to weigh what she will not weigh herself.”

Translation: Leftover not fated? No fear. The ”flame” will show you who your mate is. Part goddess, part elders, part politics. Three chefs, one ritual, zero chance it stays pure.

With that, the sermon portion of the evening concluded and the bloodletting portion began.

They started with the top-ranked draftees.

Celeste approached the flame with the confidence of a woman who had been told since birth that this fire was hers and the Goddess was just holding it for her. The priestess pricked her finger. One drop of blood fell into the flame.

The fire roared silver.

Silver meant either fated to or matched with an Alpha or Beta bloodline. In Celeste’s case, that most definitely meant she was going to be paired with one of the unmated Alphas.

Maria Emberclaw stepped forward next. The priestess pricked her finger. The blood hit the flame.

Silver. Brighter than Celeste’s. The fire climbed higher and burned hotter and the difference in intensity was visible to everyone in the clearing.

If people had been cheering, Nova would have clapped for her friend. But nobody was. She clapped internally.

In the first ten, silver only appeared for the princesses. No golds so that one was the equivalent of a unicorn sighting.

They went down the line. Or rather, the line moved, quickly, one prick of blood per person. Each woman approached, offered her finger, watched the flame respond, and stepped aside.

Emerald was the most common by far. Green fire bloomed for warrior’s daughters and omegas and ranked women whose mates were out there somewhere in the crowd of males, waiting for the Goddess to play matchmaker.

Ruby flared twenty times. Sapphire once.

WHOOM.

At around the one hundred mark, the fire went out completely.

Not dimmed. A roaring ten-foot flame that had been burning since before the ceremony started went dark in a vacuum, like someone had dropped a glass jar over a candle. One pin-drop of blood from one woman.

Nova’s jaw dropped. Every contestant behind her who hadn’t gone yet shared the reaction. Nova genuinely believed it would only happen to her. Which was narcissistic but in her defense, she was the one without a wolf and the flame talked to wolves.

The girl turned around and Nova’s heart broke for her.

An omega with auburn hair walked with teary eyes and her chin trembling. Her posture was trying to fold in on itself. She had probably been so excited to be here. She had probably trained for months, counted down the days, believed that the hard part was the elimination round and everything after it was the reward.

Nova blinked hard. The tears fell silently which she hated herself for. She had no wolf. She had no right to cry for a ritual that was never going to include her. But the girl with the auburn hair had walked up to that fire with hope in her chest and walked away from it with nothing.

Nova wasn’t the only one. Maria Emberclaw was crying. Women all around Nova were crying, some not silently. It spread like wildfire. About half the draftees present were crying at one point for a woman they had never met.

The men looked like hostages wearing a collective, ’for fuck’s sake’ expression. Universal regardless of pack or rank because apparently they didn’t have empathy and this made them deeply uncomfortable. It would have been funny if it wasn’t for the fact that a girl with the auburn hair had hoped tonight would be the best night of her life and was just told that she was not good enough.

Getting eliminated at the flame, on sacred ground, in front of every important wolf in Helix, after you’ve already been told you qualified, was a rejection on steroids. The Goddess had dangled the yes, let her hold it, let her believe it, and then yanked it back in front of every damn wolf who mattered.

Nobody offered condolences. Nobody gave any reaction to it at all. The girl turned from the hill and moved back to the trail, walking toward a twenty-mile run home that she would be making alone and in tears.

It happened again fifteen girls later. A flame that was burning strong went dark on contact, and another woman turned and walked away from the hill with wet cheeks and shaking hands.

Then ten girls later. Then one in every five. The fire was developing a pattern and the pattern was cruelty.

By the time the line reached the four hundred mark, the flame was taking turns.

On, off, on, off, like a drinking game of some sick holy bullshit.

Women who had survived the elimination round, who had outscored thousands, who had trained and tested and earned their place in the top twenty percent, were being told by a fire that their best wasn’t good enough for a Goddess they couldn’t see.

The Goddess could have at least provided a ride. But no. Walk home, cry, and think about what you did wrong. Which was nothing. They did nothing wrong. And that was the worst damn part.