1. Fire In Her Veins
Nikita
~432 AD- 2 days before the Autumn Equinox, Methana Peninsula
The basket was heavier than it should’ve been, and of course, I was the one hauling it. Figs and pomegranates slid against each other as I shifted the weight on my hip, my fingers sticky with juice from one that had split open. Great. Just what I needed—to walk into the courtyard looking like I’d already stolen from the feast.
Preparations for Alpha Marcus’s equinox gathering were in full swing, wolves rushing past me with garlands of ivy, amphorae of wine, and linens bright enough to blind. The whole packhouse buzzed with energy. I should’ve been excited—parties meant new faces, possible mates, and a night where I didn’t have to think about duties or training. And I was excited… just not enough to quiet the nerves crawling under my skin. Outsiders were coming. Important ones. And I’d never been good at sitting pretty while strangers judged from the shadows.
The packhouse was more than walls and stone; it was history. Mosaics of wolves and gods sprawled across the floors, their colors glinting under shafts of sunlight. Timber beams stretched overhead, blackened with years of smoke, while ivy crept through open arches to curl around the edges of the courtyard. The scent of salt from the Saronic Gulf drifted in on the breeze, mingling with the aroma of roasting meat and spiced wine. Every step echoed with the weight of the Flint Pack’s place in the world—we weren’t just a family. We were a legacy.
I’d only just turned eighteen, and sometimes I still felt caught between pup and woman. Damon, at twenty, was only two years older, but he acted like those two years gave him the right to loom over me like a second Alpha.
The basket shifted again, and I muttered under my breath, ready to drop it on the first table I could find. That was when a hand plucked a fig from the top.
“Stealing already?” Damon’s voice carried down the corridor, smug and loud enough for half the pack to hear.
I shot him a glare over my shoulder, but he just grinned, bronze skin gleaming with sweat from training, his dark hair plastered back. Damon was tall, with dark brown eyes, broad-shouldered, and had the kind of confidence that made people part when he walked through a crowd. My brother never missed an opportunity to make a scene.
“I’m working,” I said flatly, shifting the basket higher on my hip. “Unlike some people.”
He bit into the fig, juice running down his thumb. “I am working. On my debut as Ares, god of war. Someone has to keep the outsiders entertained.”
I barked a laugh. “Entertained? Or terrified?”
“Both,” he said without hesitation, flashing a grin as broad as the courtyard gates. “You’ll see. They’ll be lining up to throw themselves at my feet.”
I rolled my eyes, but it was hard not to smile. Damon could strut into a storm and still believe the thunder was applauding him.
Damon tossed the fig pit into a corner brazier like it was a training target, then eyed me from head to toe. “Speaking of debuts, I still don’t know why you agreed to that costume. An oracle? Really? Of all the things you could’ve picked, you went with spooky and untouchable.”
I shifted the basket onto a table, flexing my sore fingers. “It wasn’t just me. Marcus and Lidia thought it would be striking and powerful.”
“Powerful?” Damon snorted. “Cursed, more like it. You’ll scare off every potential mate before the wine’s even poured.”
“Let them be afraid,” Astraia whispered in my mind. My wolf had no patience for Damon’s theatrics. “Power makes them show who they really are.”
I bit back a smile, not about to say that out loud. Damon already thought I was strange enough.
I smirked. “Maybe that’s the point.”
But the truth settled heavier than the basket had. Oracles weren’t just feared—they were pitied, and whispered about. Every she-wolf grew up knowing the word Omada, and every one of us prayed we’d never hear it tied to our name.
I forced my shoulders back and lifted my chin. “Besides, someone has to balance out your ridiculous helmet. If you’re going to look like a walking statue, I may as well look like the goddess whispering in your ear.”
Damon laughed so hard he nearly bumped into someone. “Fine, little sister. But don’t come crying to me when everyone stares.”
“They always stare,” I muttered, more to myself than to him.
Damon grabbed the basket before I could stop him and carried it like it weighed nothing. Typical. He strode ahead of me into the courtyard where wolves strung garlands across pillars, their shadows long in the slanting afternoon light.
Alpha Marcus was there, sleeves rolled, his dark beard threaded with gray, and his frame still as solid as any warrior half his age. His voice carried without effort, sharp but steady. Beside him, Luna Lidia trailed with her usual grace, her auburn hair braided and pinned, her green eyes full of quiet steel. That smile of hers softened every command, but no one doubted she expected obedience. Their son and heir, twenty-year-old Theron, hauled a table with two warriors, laughing like this was all a game. Dark curls stuck to his forehead, his bronze skin gleaming under the torchlight, and his easy grin made him look more boy than future Alpha.
“Looks good,” Damon said, dropping the basket beside the food tables. “Though I still say my helmet is going to outshine all of this.”
Marcus arched a brow. “Your helmet won’t matter if you eat all the figs before the guests arrive.”
Damon only grinned, unbothered.
I stayed quiet, slipping to the edge of the courtyard while watching. The torches. The flowers. The endless bustle. It was beautiful, but it also felt… bigger than me. Outsiders would be here tomorrow—packs from Anatolia, Thrace, even the Italian Peninsula. Wolves I’d only heard of in Marcus’s stories.
Damon nudged me with his elbow. “Don’t look so serious. It’s a party, Nik. You might even find your mate.”
My stomach flipped, though I tried to play it off with a shrug. “Or I might just spend the night making sure you don’t embarrass us.”
He smirked. “I embarrass no one.”
I rolled my eyes, but the words stuck in my chest—a mate. Every she-wolf dreamed of that day—the pull, the bond, and the certainty. I wanted it too, even though I told myself not to expect fairy tales.
As the sun sank lower, shadows stretched long across the mosaic floors. The courtyard hummed with laughter and clattering dishes, but my gaze drifted past it all, to the golden hills beyond the walls. Tomorrow, when the equinox balanced night and day, everything would change. I just didn’t know how yet.
The clang of a bell rang through the courtyard, sharp enough to cut through laughter and chatter. It was time for dinner.
We filed into the great hall, the scent of roasted lamb, olives, and honeyed bread thick in the air. Long tables stretched from one wall to the other, torches flickering against the stone walls. I slid into a bench between Damon and Theron, both already reaching for food before the prayers were even finished. Typical.
Platters crowded the table—roasted lamb slick with herbs, fish wrapped in grape leaves, bowls of olives and cheese, stacks of flatbread drizzled with honey. Wolves passed jugs of watered wine, pouring freely until the torches blurred with golden halos.
Damon tore into his lamb like he hadn’t eaten in days. Theron stole half my bread the moment I set it down. Lidia caught him and rapped her knuckles against his wrist, all motherly scolding and soft laughter.
“Tomorrow isn’t just feasting and games,” she reminded us, though her gaze lingered most on me. “We represent Pyrólithos before the Society. Every word, every smile matters.”
Her gaze lingered on me, as it often did. Lidia wasn’t my mother, but she had been the closest thing I’d had since I was eight years old. Our parents had been killed in a raid, my father dying beside Marcus, his Alpha and closest friend. Marcus had taken Damon and me in without hesitation, raising us as his own. He said it was his duty to his fallen Beta, but I knew it was more than that. He carried the weight of my father’s death on his shoulders, and in his own way, he’d never stopped trying to make it right.
Damon groaned around a mouthful. “Don’t worry, Luna. I’ll win them over with my Ares routine. No one resists a warrior god.”
Marcus gave him a look so sharp that even Damon swallowed. “Win them over with respect. Not arrogance.”
Damon nodded in agreement before taking a giant bite of bread.
“You’re going to choke one day,” Lidia scolded, setting a fresh pitcher of wine on the table. Her smile softened the words, though, and Damon only winked at her before stuffing another piece of bread into his mouth.
Theron leaned toward me, lowering his voice just enough. “So, Oracle, do you plan to see the future tomorrow? Or just terrify half the guests with your glowing eyes?”
Heat rushed to my face, and I swatted his arm. “It’s just a costume.”
“Mm-hm.” He grinned, ducking when Damon tried to flick a grape at him.
Marcus shook his head at all of us, but I caught the way his hazel-eyed gaze lingered on me—sharp, thoughtful, like he was seeing something I couldn’t. I hated when everyone did that.
“The Italian wolves will arrive first,” Marcus said, his tone shifting to business. “Followed by Thrace, then the Ashina clan from Anatolia. Each expects respect. Each carries power. We will give it, but not bow.” His gaze swept over us, steady and unyielding. “Remember that.”
Petros, the new Beta, sat further down the table with his mate, Lyra. They’d never tried to take the place of my parents, but Damon and I had grown to respect them. Still, it was Marcus I watched, Marcus I measured myself against.
I picked at my bread, pretending not to feel the weight of his words. Outsiders weren’t just guests—they were politics wrapped in fur and teeth.
The meal passed in a blur of laughter and teasing. Plates scraped clean, wine flowed too freely, and the courtyard beyond grew darker with every hour. When at last Marcus dismissed us, my limbs felt heavy, but my mind refused to quiet.
I climbed the stairs to my chamber, slipping inside the small room that overlooked the sea. My chamber was simple compared to the grandeur below—white plaster walls, a low bed draped in wool, and a single clay lamp that threw shadows across the floor. A wooden chest held my spare tunics, and bundles of dried lavender hung by the door to keep pests away. It smelled faintly of smoke, salt, and herbs. Not lavish, but mine.
I pushed open the shutters, letting the salt wind curl against my skin as I leaned on the sill. The hills glowed faintly under the last wash of twilight, shadows pooling in the valleys.
Astraia stirred in my mind, pacing just beneath my skin. She was restless and hungry. Waiting for something I couldn’t put a name to.
I pressed my forehead to the cool stone, trying to calm the jitter in my chest. Tomorrow, the equinox would come closer, and with it, the Society. Maybe even my mate.
The thought sent a shiver through me, half fear, half hope.
“We’ll know him when we see him,” Astraia murmured, her certainty brushing against the edge of my doubt. I closed my eyes, letting the night air cool my skin. Maybe she was right. Or perhaps it was just a story we told ourselves to make the waiting bearable. Either way, tomorrow would bring answers.
