To Rule the Alpha's Heart

14. The Mating Feast

Silfrún dressed Calla in a silver gown and announced that it was time to join the Mating Feast.

Calla would have been content to wear the same warm, woolen dress as before, but Silfrún insisted that a female must wear silks during her Mating Feast. The silver gown, which hung loosely on Calla's body by a single clasp on one shoulder, complimented her hair the best. Still, this dress could not compare to the beauty of the white wedding garb that she'd sewn with her mother.

When Calla followed Silfrún outside of her private tent, she was surprised to see that the sky had already turned a dark shade of purple. A brisk night wind brushed against Calla's bare arms and penetrated the thin silver dress. She'd be pleased when she found a fire to sit beside.

The wind also carried sounds of drums and laughter, guiding Silfrún and Calla toward the clearing where the Mating Feast had already begun. A monstrous fire rose in the center of the clearing, radiating heat to the edges of the space where other, smaller fires blazed. The full body of an elk roasted above one of the firepits, and entire crowds of shifters gathered around barrels of drink. To Calla's surprise and pleasure, no one seemed to notice her arrival.

No one, that is, except the Alpha that she was giving herself to..

Alpha Einarr sat on a grand chair beside King Rangvald's throne of bones. The central firepit roared in front of Einarr, illuminating three stripes of dye that had been painted above each of his pectoral muscles. The paint resembled the wounds left by claws raking down his chest, and more paint trailed down his abdomen, three lines that disappeared beneath the waistline of his leathers. His dark hair was neatly braided, falling over one of his impressive shoulders as he leaned forward. The reflection of flames danced in Einarr's slate gray eyes as his gaze finally landed on Calla.

Traitorous heat flared in Calla's core, and she nearly stopped walking. Every instinct in her body roared for her to turn around and seek refuge in Silfrún's tent for the remainder of the feast. Before she could act on these instincts, however, another figure loomed in the corner of Calla's vision.

King Rangvald.

The savage male had finally noticed her arrival in the clearing, rising from his mighty throne. Calla's breath hitched in her throat. She would not let the Alpha King witness her fear– her doubt.

With renewed resilience, Calla continued toward Alpha Einarr, careful to avoid King Rangvald's burning gaze.

She'd nearly reached the throne of bones when Einarr stood, his long legs extending until his height rivaled that of the King's. He stepped forward, and Calla braced herself for his touch. Again, he brought one hand to the small of her waist and the other to her cheek.

"Marana," Einarr murmured, his voice like sizzling coals. She'd come to learn that marana meant 'mate' in the Nortend language.

Too aware of King Rangvald's eyes burning into her, Calla tilted her cheek into Einarr's palm. With hesitant fingers, she lifted her hand to hold the shifter's palm against her cheek and tried to muster a fraction of warmth in her gaze.

"M-mar-ana," Calla fumbled over the Nortend word. Mate.

It tasted vile on her lips, but she desperately needed to persuade King Rangvald– and any other male onlookers– that she wanted to be Einarr's mate.

She could not forget the sickening threat that left the savage King's lips when he first noted that Einarr had not claimed her. Those words had shaken Calla to her core, and, now, they motivated her to further shroud herself in Einarr's protection by acknowledging his claim. He always addressed her as marana; therefore, Calla would address him as the same.