The Dance of Wolves

THE DANCE OF WOLVES

Part 2

Author: Afroluv

Copyright 2022

The novelty of being that guy with a she-wolf as his wolf spirit wore off not long after that boot camp, which seems like ages ago now, though it was just last summer. I just graduated from high school and all is right with the world. Alma, my she-wolf, and I were quite happy with our accomplishment. It was a joint effort after all. I was accepted into the college of my first choice, but I didn’t get the scholarship I needed. I’m taking online courses at a junior college to get the general classes out of the way. I should be able to transfer the credits and focus on my major at the college of my dreams.

My dad knocks on my door and after I hit submit on my keyboard to send an email to my biology professor, I call him in. He stays there standing in the doorway, visibly tense and frowning slightly. I’m on red alert, but maybe the tension has nothing to do with me, maybe he’s just constipated?

“Son, the next Gathering will be hosted by our pack,” his voice was a little unsteady as he continued, “Your mom is on the event planning committee... Are you planning on attending?”

I tense a little and hold my breath. “Sorry Dad, I’m swamped between work and school and I’m really not interested in socializing.”

He nods and shuffles from foot to foot. “I thought as much and I mentioned it to Alpha Khalan when he asked earlier today. No one’s going to force you to go.”

That’s a relief, I thought I’d be guilt-tripped into going. My father’s unease was becoming contagious for a second there.

“Since you won’t be attending as a guest, you’ll be working as the head florist for the event.”

Oh, so I have to go anyway. As the other shoe drops, silence falls between us.

“Okay. ” No pressure. Thanks for the heads-up, Dad.

***

I may be older now and comfortable in my own skin, but I still prefer to stand in the background and just observe. There are about forty-five people in attendance, a mixture of men and women some in their late teens and others, their early twenties--all dressed in their best cocktail-hour finery. The lights are dim inside and the volume of the music is perfect--just loud enough to dance to and drown out other’s conversations from our supernatural hearing but low enough to be able to hear the person next to you speaking in a normal voice. The sights and sounds create an atmosphere of intimacy for the couples pairing off to talk and I feel like I’m intruding.

I wear a form-flattering, neutral, champagne-colored dinner jacket, black tuxedo pants, and a black vest over a matching dress shirt with an open, wing-tipped collar-no tie for me. I dressed up enough to look like I belong without being too formal and kept the colors in dark earthtones for camouflage. The other young men are dressed like brightly colored peacocks, vying for attention from the unmated women. I shake my head and get back to work.

I manage a small staff who do an amazing job expressing the party planner’s vision of an autumn sunset. We created six vessels, each arranged with a mix of five hundred soft gold and orange roses, surrounded by Oriental salmon star lilies. Not only is the display beautiful, but its fragrance is also pleasant and calming.

Tonight’s dance is in full swing. My best friend, Peter, is the DJ. He is a bit disappointed that he’s limited to upbeat jazz and classical music for tonight’s selection, but it’s a paycheck and his first pup is on the way. I look up in time to catch a bright smile and a wink from him and nod back in acknowledgment.

I make a final check of the arrays, one by one, around the room while fashion-policing the guests. More people have sauntered in and the new group is bold. I wonder what pack they represent? The dresses these ladies wear range from modest to scandalous, skin-revealing open backs, slits up to the thigh, and gowns with cleavage for days. I marvel at how they walk in stilettos without a care. For some reason, I can’t coax Alma to chat for our internal good cop/bad cop red carpet critiques.

I do a double-take on a tall, young warrior with an air of power and strength-not an alpha but more than a beta. Shoulders, back chest out, and legs for days and days; he walks with a confident, elegant swag that has me licking my lips to keep from drooling. He’s wearing a dark tux with a cream shirt, and a forest green tie under a matching vest. Even with the suit on, I can see he’s well-muscled and perfectly sculpted. Sun-kissed skin, light brown hair with flecks of gold frame his face. Hazel-green eyes with thick, curly lashes peek out over high cheekbones, a straight nose that widens out at the bottom, and full lips complete the picture of him in devastatingly handsome proportions. Yeah, he’s the whole meal.

He’s my type–but also exactly the type I’d never approach, ’cause rejection bruises–literally, when you’re bi and you approach a fellow male shifter, especially a straight one. It’s a long story I plan on taking to my grave…But, he’s too perfect, too flashy, he is the exact opposite of me in how he draws every eye. Too serious. I shake my head as the girls flock to him. His stoic expression tells me he’d rather be anywhere else. I take a seat to watch the ‘show’ for a little while and smell the roses.

The bell tolls for me at midnight and I feel the earth move under my seat. I pull my vibrating cell phone from my back pocket and switch off the dual alarms when people start staring. It is officially my birthday. I close my eyes and Alma and I congratulate ourselves on becoming alcohol-eligible adults. I take one last glance around the ballroom as I turn to head back home.

“Aksal, do you smell that?”

I raise my head, close my eyes to take a sniff. “No, I--”

Suddenly, I smell an unbelievably enchanting scent--like the smoking wood of a campfire and sweet, fragrant wildflowers. Oh my Goddess, where is that coming from?

Against my will, it lures me over to where a group of girls waits to be asked to dance. Oh my goddess, is there a girl here with a male wolf trapped inside of her? The scent grows stronger the closer I get to her. I found my soulmate. She is absolutely stunning with mocha skin and deep brown eyes with only a hint of make-up. She has a curvy, hourglass figure and a petite frame. She is wearing a dress in the merging colors of the twilight; her dark hair is cut into a pixie style with just enough length to hide her left eye behind its soft waves. She is next to the hot guy from earlier with hazel-green eyes and light brown hair. Alma is speechless, but I can feel the joy radiating from her.

I want to know her name, her favorite color, her likes, and dislikes. I want to know her everything. I decide to take it slow and just ask her to dance. I am focused on her but she hasn’t noticed me yet, still in conversation. I yearn for her to see me. I’m starting to sweat a little from nervousness and I resist the urge to sniff my armpits. I clear my throat as I approach and they both look over at me. The corners of her generous lips lift up, raising her cheeks and forming happy little folds around her eyes which are wide in wonder and surprise. “Mate,” she says confidently as she steps forward to meet me halfway and reaches her hand out….and over to my right. I hear a familiar voice behind me reply, “Mate.” Joshua grabs her hand and pulls her to him as I turn to stare at them in shock. It only took seconds for the two of them to become each other’s world, oblivious to the rest of us.

Red-faced with shame and confusion I look down at my feet. I think, ‘I can’t believe I got my hopes up for nothing.’ It’s then that I realize, ‘Oh, so I had hoped to find a mate.’ I guess some part of me didn’t feel as complete with Alma as I thought. Relieved I didn’t hear the usual, ‘I told you so’ from Alma, I take a deep breath to let out a long sigh... The scent is still there. I can’t make sense of why the fragrance lingers. Wasn't it all in my imagination? I close my eyes to concentrate, blocking out sight, sound, everything but smell.

Someone gently lays a hand on my shoulder. Irritated, I find myself looking into hazel-green eyes. “Mate.” His smooth, melodic murmur and Alma’s answering, “Mate.” collide in my head and in my ears.

“I think I need a drink,” I head for the bar. I glance over my shoulder; he still stands there--though, with his head down like that he looks a bit dejected, so I add, “You coming?”

__

A/N Did you see that coming? Poor Aksal.