It was time.

"Finally," Morpheus purred into my ear, his whisper parting as his lips crumpled against the crook of my neck. A tremor coated my legs as I locked my arm around his. Throughout my unease, he planted trails of kisses on the exposed skin of my shoulders.

I straightened the creases of my vanilla white dress, tugging at the close-fitting fabric until the material was compressed against every curve of my form. The silk draped firmly over my taut silhouette, showcasing my breasts and displaying the outline of my crescent hips. One of his hands maneuvered around to hold my waist. His touch soothed my wandering mind, and I instinctively leaned into his side. A bundle of sparks brightened between us.

Our bodies moulded together, side by side.

There have been several days and many weeks that have passed since the night of Kovina's long-awaited death. A full month had already become lost in time. The mate bond had blossomed between Morpheus and I, unraveling with sweet petals of affirmation and stabilizing itself with a strong stem of routine. Viviana and Max continued to grow as one soul. Johnny and Lyonechka found peace within each other. Avyanna stopped feeling as though she was being hunted by death. Vince discovered an adventurous interest in the Ventus pack. Leo succeeded as a proper, born beta. Valkerie saved an old love from their starved, vampiric hunger. Annora matured into a phenomenal, generational aide.

And, Dad no longer let the torment of grief rot away at his entire existence. Instead, he managed to heal using the memory of Mom's radiance. Not fully, for that might never happen, but enough to live like he once did. There were no more slurred mutters. No more words lined with the stench of cheap alcohol. No more delayed texts. No more sleepless nights. He was back to being the man behind the camera—a poet with his muses.

Our lives progressed beautifully.

And, the morally ambivalent gods and goddesses? They had often appeared through the shadows of colourful sunrises and sunsets. The divine beings seemed to strive for forgiveness, offering saccharine dreams and pleasant dedications in exchange for leniency. Due to these shared feelings of remorse swimming among them, there is now a particular brightness to the world that can only be accomplished by the godly—which has been a change greatly cherished by the young and the old alike. However, they had meddled in the lives of innocents, and that fact cannot be erased.

The Ventus Pack has been especially flourishing. Across the vast acres of land, children were basking in the warmth from the sun and sleeping soundly underneath the comforting umbra of the moon. The looming sky had been frequently clear of much stress, after all. Amongst the fields of vegetation, the bounty has become exceptionally prosperous with an ample amount of fruits and vegetables. It was thus an honest paradise. Those who inhabited the territory thrived off the nearby bodies of water, bathing, drinking, and utilizing the restorative nectar. It had soon become a land of perfection, aiding those who carry the blood of human, beast, or even both.

It is clear, Morpheus once told me on a walk through the ageless forest, that they are repentant.

Their efforts lingered like the acquired taste of liquorice, both sweet with a burst and bitter with a bite. They hid behind the guise of being saints, presenting too good to be true gifts, yet they would be the first to unleash you into the unknown dangers of the wild. Your decomposing corpse would only feed into their ideal world. Your death would mean nothing, but your efforts would be dearly missed. Morpheus reassured me of that, that to survive among the all-powerful deities, you must be useful. A mother's love is conditional—you must wholly support her vision and fight against the prophecy of exhaustion. An aunt's presence is dependent—you must attain for her acceptance and accomplish her own observations. In truth, you must live up to their impossible expectations, or simply die trying.

In Morpheus' case, it is kill or be killed.

The pack has been long littered with centuries worth of information, thriving off the hundreds of secrets and mysteries. When King—the deceased Alpha of Pack Ventus and father of Morpheus—signed an unbreakable contract with Dalnim—the Goddess of the Moon and mother of Morpheus—the Pack of Ventus was completely consumed. The territory became a walking ground for various gods and goddesses. Živa experimented on the beasts, plunging them past the boundaries of life and death in the name of true love. Ikelos disguised himself as forgotten ancestors and isolated wolves, stirring the unforgivable nightmares of the beasts. Morpheus, the trusted God of Sleep, had even hidden his own skeletons within the walls of the pack. He took advantage of promised confidentiality. Through pages and pages of now decaying paper, his secrets had long dissolved into thick, dark ink. The diaries of his past were left to rot in the building, so that he could safely omit his scattered mind.

Morph wrote down things that would end with me.

Dalnim had birthed Morpheus, King had donated his essence to produce him, but Áine was who had blessed him with the immortality of the gods. Morph scratched this to be true. Dalnim's creations, among others formed by godly bodies, will only live for so long, unless they appeased the leering heart of Áine. Morph's handwriting was hurried as he confessed. If Morpheus did not receive the contrasting gifts of the sun and the moon, then he would have perished from that sip of poison. This was a secret that Morph would take to the grave. A secret that he did not want to have. A secret that he did not want to share.

It was a secret that I had discovered.

My hands itched at the image of Morpheus taking his last breath underneath the glowing moon. A being that many would pray to. The stars would have mourned his agonizing death. And, I would have been born blind to the bond. Morpheus would have been lost to a limbo, stuck between that of the mortal hell and the god's heaven.

"Are you both ready to commence the ceremony?" Annora's vivacious voice filtered the tense air, forcing me to leave my trance of secrecy.

"Yes," Morpheus and I answered in flawless unison. And, although I nodded along with a graceful smile of confidence, a growing ball of anxiety had lodged itself into the very back of my throat. Without missing a beat, Morpheus added, "Thank you, Annora."

Annora grinned, her eyes twinkling with the same shine that dusted the gold of her jewellery. Her glowing hair was straightened to her waist and tucked behind her square-shaped ears, revealing a pattern of traditional hoops. She stood in front of a large, matching set of arched doors. The ruffle of her ivory dress surely tickled her ankles as she took a step backwards towards the entrance, spinning around. She pushed the two doors open upon receiving our approval, and they swung to greet the eager crowd that awaited us with a wave.

Annora led the way, her heels echoing an excited welcome to the pack and mine falling behind slightly. Morpheus' hand moved to the low of my back. Our steps quickly adopted a similar tune. I tried to count each piercing that covered Annora's ears, avoiding the wide, watchful eyes and the slow gasps of those around me. One, two, three, four-

I pretended to twirl a front curl, brushing the intact

coverage of my ear, knowing that the other is the exact same. Besides the obvious. A gold chain dangled from the solo piercing of each lobe. I felt naked in comparison, especially when noting how much gold could be found in the audience.

Annora dipped to the side, falling in line with the other pack aides of countless duties. They all stood proud with clothing made of white material, some new and some worn. And, like Annora, they were all adorned with precious gold jewelry, differentiating based on placement and style. There were waists, shoulders, and ankles decorated with gold, slinky chains of all sorts. Curb. Wheat. Cable. The pack aides were well-balanced as a group, yet they were so unique with diverse hues of brown and blue, shades of black and white, and tones of peach and pecan.

My eyes snapped up to catch the stare of a hunched elder, their eyes knowledgeable with unshed tears. Their cane pressed deeper into the path as they reached forward, grinding the stone flooring underneath us, and I slipped my hand into theirs. Morpheus eased away, becoming one with the affectionate gazes of the rest of the pack members. There were no traces of malicious intent, not like the harsh treatment I experienced the day I first met Morpheus. The werewolves who would degrade humans to the ground were no more. It was like they never existed in the first place. But, they do.

"It is an honour to be blessed with such a spirit for a Luna," the elder spoke with a genuine tone, dripping in satisfaction, "and, after all this time."

I kept silent, in worry that I would do something wrong and in delight that they truly like me. Their next sentence will forever be imprinted within my memory, "This Luna is worth the wait."

At the introduction, the crowd applauded and cheered with a massive harmony. My heart jumped at the sound, and a smile conquered my honey glossed lips. "Thank you," I whispered to the elder, and a whistle came from the crowd as reassurance that they, too, could hear me.

"You do not need to thank me-" they held my hand tightly, "-it is us who must thank you."

From beside the respected elder, a young aide with downturned eyes stepped forward with a rather large chalice. It consisted of talented pottery skills, made of simple clay, but it was painted with gold. The emblem of the wolves gleamed against the dull grey. She bowed, lifting the chalice towards Morpheus as he advanced into my view. We were now face to face. The crowd had slowly inched closer, only leaving enough space for those at the centre to move their limbs about freely. The various aides held their positions, standing straight with their hands full of distinct objects—bowls filled to the brim with liquids, a boline blade carved into the shape of a crescent moon, and censers full of crackling incense.

Another aide with hundreds of freckles coating his face passed the knife to Morpheus, and he took it with a polite nod. I watched as my mate smirked down at me, raising both his free hand and the knife tall into the cleansed air.

"Just follow my actions," he murmured to me.

The myrrh incense flowed throughout the room, igniting the power within the nearby candles as the rows of attendees lit them individually. The elder suddenly closed their eyes, letting their bangs droop across their vision and the energy guide them. There were soft, low hums that followed each passionate word the elder spoke. A language so forgotten, that the only other member one who knew every single word by heart was Morpheus. He quietly mouthed the prayer, careful to not distract the elder. The elder recited such a chant, while the crowd incanted among themselves—wishing good fortune and glory onto the pack, their alpha, and their luna.

I bit my tongue to stop a gasp from escaping. The knife struck down with an incredible speed, and blood flowed from the fresh slice on Morpheus' hand. He curled his fingers into his wounded palm and hovered over the chalice. A stream of bright, red liquid soiled the cup as he skillfully aimed. I felt his knuckles tap at my hand seconds after, encouraging me to accept the knife without hesitation. I gulped loudly, yet it seemed to go unheard.

The handle was warm, already heated. Morpheus nodded as I stared into his mossy, green eyes. The red on the blade reminded me that I was not the first to do this, and that I would not be the last. In one single swoop, I cut through the wisdom line of my palm. Only a mere tingle came as the result. Quickly, I held my hand over the chalice, digging my short nails into the overhead heart line and letting the blood dribble into the cup. There was but a little wasted.

Morpheus gripped my elbow and the freckled aide took back the boline blade. Another aide with peppered hair stepped forward, followed by three others who marched with the same enthusiasm, and the four of them each tipped their bowls of liquid into the chalice until the very last drop melted into the mix. The various colours of red—rust, vermilion, carmine, garnet, and beet—blended together.

The crimson liquid made my nose twitch, as both the smell and appearance were unexpected.

Please, don't tell me that I have to drink that.

Morpheus almost laughed, as though he was able to read the contents of my mind. The aides swept themselves back into place, minus the girl who held the chalice tightly and smiled up at me with long eyelashes that batted at her rosy cheeks. She angled the chalice towards me and I instantly swapped gazes with Morpheus in hopes of receiving answers to my questions. He jutted his chin forward and pointed subtly with his own thumb.

Thankfully, I caught the hint.

I dipped my thumb into the chalice, mentally cringing. The texture was as imagined, tepid and watery. Morpheus bent down at the hip, watching me with a playful gaze as he caressed the manubrium of his sternum, emphasizing the trivial area between his protruding collarbones. The deep plunge of his shirt's neckline seemed to skirt around the very spot, doing its best to highlight it. I then pressed my thumb against his bare skin, planting my mark just under his jugular notch. I let the excess blood trickle down my finger.

Morpheus pulled away at the same time I did, and he then copied my previous actions with a more experienced attitude. The touch of his thumb shot a familiar spark up through my spine, and the blood soon dried into a fingerprint that clashed against my pale skin. The process of accepting the blood of the pack means taking them in as family.

The heart in my chest felt as though it didn't belong to me, like it was uncontrollable as it beat violently against the cage of my ribs. A new form of energy was surging through my body, splintering at my feet, diffusing into my hands, outlining the height of my form—devouring me fully like a predator would do to their prey. I soon felt the rugged hands of Morpheus grip my shoulders, asking for my permission as he leaned in for a kiss.

His lips felt smouldering against my own, interlocking as we rubbed our noses together before having to pull away. Our breathing mingled like steam. I signalled that it was time, feeling a stray tear escape from the corner of my eye. There was a sprout of fear hiding beneath my courage, only existing because of the idea of pain.

Morpheus gently wiped it away. And, with his healed hand still caked in remnants of blood, he grabbed the back of my head. His teeth elongated into great canines that could chomp through the sturdiest of bone and easily mangle the thickest of skins. My hair became wrapped around his fingers. He bit forward into the crook of my left shoulder, his teeth sinking in with an overwhelming feeling of being invaded. Morpheus' had intruded both my mind and body—the surrounding aides nearly flattened to the floor at the new sensation, the fellow members of the pack howled in recognition, and the elder had gained access to a communication bond that I didn't know could even exist for humans. It was unlike any other experience.

And, it didn't hurt one bit.

The voice of the elder delved itself into the deepest part of my mind, reaching impossible limits, and their voice pulsated against the drums of my ears. Through the pack's mind-link, the elder cried out, "By the grace of the beloved Moon Goddess, the ceremony has been completed! Our Luna has accepted us as her people, and our Alpha as her person!"

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