The Awakening Series

My blood is rushing through my head to the point I have a headache, my palms are sweaty, and my adrenaline is spiking as I follow the path to the top of the cliff on Jell-O legs.

I walk in behind the others who, like me, are to go through the ceremony at the highest point of the full moon.

I’m breathless, fighting nausea and the internal shaking in fear, body trembling, as I watch where I step a little too closely and almost collide with the girl in front of me.

I stagger sideways, accidentally kicking stones in my path to avoid her.

“Watch where you’re going, reject!” one of our accompanying mentors growls as he leans in close.

He hits me on the side of the face with an open palm and shoves me back in line, hard enough to send me crashing into the rock face we are brushing up against.

I almost hit the ground with the force, coughing out a whimper of pain.

I catch myself, quickly right my body, ignoring the burning pain of abrasions, and skip two steps to catch up and get back in line while rubbing my bruised arm and shoulder from the collision.

I try not to look his way, knowing that if I do, he will probably smack me in the face for showing zero respect to a superior, one of the alpha’s prominent pack leaders of the subs, one of the Santos.

He’s called Raymond, and he’s around twenty-four. He hates anything to do with us—another superior wolf from a pure bloodline who sees us as an inconvenience and unworthy to breathe his air.

This is the reality of my life and how little value I have in this hierarchy.

Reject is the name for all of us like we don’t have separate identities anymore, and I can’t wait to be free of these people and this life.

“Halt!” A booming low and gravelly voice ahead of us stops us all in our tracks as we come to the level top of the cliff known as Shadow Rock.

It’s more of a large plateau than a rock, but the sun never seems to lay its light and warmth in this nook of the mountain, and yet it gives us a direct and uninterrupted view of the moon every night.

It’s been the point of this ceremony for hundreds of years, and we’re finally here.

I pull myself past the girl in front of me and come to her side to gaze at the familiar scene before us, stomach churning with the knowledge it’s happening.

At points near the ledge, the ceremonial flares and burning fires are already set up there and glowing brightly all the way around the curve of this giant platform.

It creates a red-and-amber glow that illuminates the space in what will soon be the wall-to-wall darkness of this still night.

The center of the clearing is marked out with symbols in chalk, and a large set of circles surrounds them, one for each of those who are to awaken.

I shudder inside as reality hits home that this is it, and I have nowhere to hide. You can’t outrun it; there’s no way to stop it from happening.

“Clothes off here and put these on.” Scratchy gray blankets are thrust into our arms by a tall, muscular Santo, looking down at us with almost black eyes as he snarls his contempt.

He walks past as he dishes them out.

I am aware that many have gathered around the ledges and above us on the edges of the cliffs to watch this, probably annoyed that they even allow my kind to go through this as everyone else does.

All the packs are here already, and right in the middle stands Juan Santo and his immediate family. His second-in-command, his third, and his son, Colton.

The ceremonial shaman is standing in full dress with his staff, awaiting the start of his duties—something he could do with his eyes closed, I expect, as he has been here for so many years.

I don’t wait to question the order, eyes down, nerves frayed, but I get to it. I know the drill.

I throw the gray blanket around my shoulders to conceal my body as best I can, the same as the others, and we quickly strip down inside our coverings.

We discard our things into neat piles that we’ll return to later.

Transforming rips your clothes to shreds, so being naked is the best way to deal with it. Afterward, we’ll be able to get dressed again, but for now, this itchy old blanket is all I have to cover my modesty.

Not that anyone cares. Nudity among wolves is common and not something they stare at or find abnormal.

So many turn in the blink of an eye and come walking back in human form with no covering at all. It’s another sign of weakness to be body shy and hide if you have to go home without clothes.

The alpha types walk around in the nude without worrying, seeing they are physically perfect. The only time it’s an issue is if a mate is being ogled by someone who isn’t hers.

Males are territorial, jealous, and aggressively unpredictable when mated up, so it’s typical for regular testosterone fights over looking at each other’s women.

It’s kind of basic and primal, and another reason I won’t miss being part of a pack. We’re animals by nature, and humans would be disturbed by what is standard among us.

I mean, between married people, aggression, physical hostility, and even beating each other are not viewed in the same way humans would.

Mates fight, sometimes in wolf form, and bites and scratches are usually the best way to resolve disputes.

I undress fast and leave my clothes and shoes in a neat pile between my ankles to stand up, pulling my blanket around me snugly to await the following orders and shield myself from the cool air.

Visibly shaking with nerves, I glance around me quickly to see the others’ similar fear, pale skin, and solemn faces.

I’m not the only one who is terrified. We’ve all seen how bad this gets, and before the night is out, we will have felt pain incomparable to anything we’ve been through in our lives.

“Move!” Raymond shoves the male to my left to make him lead the way, and we dutifully follow silently, in a line, to the open clearing and head toward the chalk circles awaiting us.

I close my eyes for a second and try to swallow the clawing fear spreading through my veins like ice, my throat dry and itchy with the effort.

Holding myself together, I quickly move to the first circle I see as the line in front of me dissipates.

Hundreds of eyes are on us as they watch and wait, silence eerie in the oncoming night, and I look up to the sky to find some sort of eternal calm.

The moon will be upon us soon enough. Before long, it will be dark and dotted with twinkling stars, but for now, it’s daylight, and we have to begin.

After everyone shuffles quickly into place and settles, the booming voice of the shaman breaks the hush as he gestures for us all to sit while he raises his staff.

I do as I am told, slide down quickly, and sit cross-legged within my blanket on the cold, hard, gritty ground beneath me, trying to get enough of the covering underneath me to make it less uncomfortable.

I’m aware of the penetrating stares from all around, and I try to blot them all out.

“Drink.” Something hard shunts me in my ribs from behind, and I strangle a yelp, sitting upright sharply, and spin my head around to see a wooden cup held out to me.

Another Santo shoves it into my hand as I open it to take it.

“What’s it for?” I ask innocently, always wondering when we watched from a distance and stupidly naive to think I’ll get any sense from one of them.

“Drink it and find out.” He smirks, walking away with no actual answer.

I sigh, internally irritated at his attitude, before staring down at the dark amber liquid within, its heavy scent of herbs and perfumes wafting into my face.

I spot the others drinking it down fast, without question, and I follow suit.

It tastes like thick gloopy honey, laced with all sorts of chemicals that burn my throat as I drink it down and almost choke on its thicker consistency.

I gag but manage to claw myself into staying still and swallowing hard with multiple gulps, closing my eyes as the taste turns bitter, spreading down my throat and into my stomach.

It immediately warms them both. I can feel it disperse into my veins and limbs, knocking away the cold of the rocks from wherever my skin touches, and almost instantly, I get a little dizzy.

The ground around me is moving and swaying softly, like the sea coming in on the tide. I shake my head, but it’s completely pointless.

Hunching forward, so I don’t fall over, I now understand why every time I watched this, the newest to awaken would sit the whole ceremony slumped down and immobile until they turned.

They have drugged us for the pain, and I start to lose track of everything around me as a veil of surreal sweeps up like a warm fluffy fog and devours me whole.

Seemingly oblivious to all the tradition and its stages, the light faded to dark.

I don’t know how long we are this way or what’s happening, as all I can hear is the chant of the shaman as he dances around, shaking things, singing, and clapping.

Vision blurry and coming in waves, my body heavy yet detached, I no longer feel like I am here or even conscious.

Time passes, but I have no clue how fast or slow. All I know is it gets dark so quickly around me. I can’t seem to stop myself from drifting into space or losing track and fading away.

I am cocooned into the little bubble of black space around me, where the smell of fire and incense makes me giddy and sleepy.

It’s peaceful, yet somehow it’s not, and there’s a stirring of awareness and fear almost out of reach.

Lulled into a weird semi-sleep state, I can no longer open my eyes or understand what is happening around me. There are warm hands on me, maybe, but I’m not sure.

There is a sudden breeze, although it does nothing to cool my eternal warmth.

Then it is cold liquid and wrinkled hands, as something is smeared across my forehead, making me cringe with a second of reality.

I grasp to focus on the dancing form in front of me, rattling, blowing smoke, chanting a song as it runs down the bridge of my nose.

I pull from memory that the new turns are marked with a fresh blood kill to prepare them for their turn. My face will bear the mark of a wolf with an animal that our alpha will have slaughtered.

The roughness of something pulling across my skin startles me slightly, and then suddenly, I’m levitating out flat, floating, or maybe lying down. No clue anymore.

I’ve never felt anything close to this, not even being drunk for the first time a few months ago when we found some alcohol in the orphanage storage cupboard.

I’m too wasted to have any sort of idea about what my body is doing, and the heavy, loud tones of the wolf song echo across the mountain as the packs sing to welcome our moon.