Iris feels her thoughts shouldn't weigh her down. She should be out there, savoring life like her peers, not consumed by worry. Is she just one of those people never satisfied with what they have? Should she wish for more?
To push away these troubling musings, Iris pictures a radiant smile and the face of someone she holds dear—his wild blonde hair and mischievous blue eyes. That playful look captures his personality perfectly. He has the power to make her laugh until she can't breathe, yet he also drives her crazy in ways no one else can. Thinking of him dispels all the darkness coursing inside her.
His name is Noel McBride, her best and only friend. Their bond runs deep, and she would do anything for him—and he would do the same for her. It might seem like they're more than friends, but they're clear on that.
They aren't a couple; their friendship is simple and genuine. Noel is her steadfast rock, and she is his. He's kind-hearted, a true gentleman—sweet and handsome. His mischievous blue eyes and teasing grin make her smile even on the bleakest days. Noel can make her laugh so hard she can't breathe, yet he also infuriates her in ways no one else can. Whenever she thinks of him, the darkness inside her lifts.
Iris often wrinkles her nose at her own thoughts. They made a promise to always be honest with each other, but she keeps secrets—secrets she cannot share. Her past is long gone, yet shadows and memories still haunt her. Like demons hidden within, they lurk beneath her surface. She tries not to dwell on them, fearing she might break if she does.
It's a fragile hope—she reminds herself, 'No, Iris, don't go there.'
Life here is uncomplicated, and she wants it to stay that way. Suddenly, her room door swings open with a loud bang, startling her so badly she crashes onto the floor.
"Damn, Noel! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" she yells, glaring at him as she gets to her feet, rubbing her backside.
"Need some help with that?" he winks mischievously.
"Get lost!" she snaps, but he laughs and wraps her in a bear hug. His cheesy grin spreads across his face as he looks at her.
"I'm sorry I scared you," he says softly.
"Oh, you're not, and the next time you do that, I swear I'll kick your ass, Mr. Cheesy guy," Iris retorts, folding her arms defiantly. Noel chuckles again, reveling in her reaction.
Iris promised herself she'd make it up to him, but only if he agreed to one thing first.
"Oh, and what's that?" she asked, noting his mischievous grin. "You have to say yes before I tell you," he replied.
"No way!" Iris responded, sensing she might not like what was coming.
"Oh, come on, Iris. Just say yes!" His pleading eyes were hard to resist. Exhausted, she let out a deep sigh and saw his smile grow wider.
"Alright, yes. Now, tell me what this 'make it up to you' thing is," she said.
He grinned. "Get ready to look fabulous—you're coming to the twins' party!" he exclaimed, waving his arms excitedly.
"No way! I'm not going there! Absolutely not!" Iris declared.
"You promised," he said smoothly. "You said yes, so there's no backing out now. You're nineteen, not a century old. It'll be fun, I promise." She sighed again, closing her eyes. The last time she saw the twins at a gathering, one of them had tried to kiss her and refused to take no for an answer. What a jerk. But being a she-wolf had its perks, and Leonard had ended up regretting it—painfully. She smiled at the memory.
"I know what happened last time, but I don't think he'll try anything again," Noel assured her.
"Fine," Iris relented. "But you owe me another 'make it up to you' day."
"Absolutely, ma'am," Noel said with a playful salute. She shook her head and turned to her closet. She wasn't much of a fashionista and rarely shopped—especially since options were limited in their small town. She pulled out two dresses and showed them to Noel.
"Tonight, the deep blue one! It matches your eyes," he said.
"Seriously, Noel? My eyes? Have you even seen them? Nothing matches these eyes!" Iris groaned. Her eyes—one icy ocean colored, the other green with purple flecks—were quite unusual for a werewolf, and the purple flecks made her feel even more weird.
Noel looked at her warmly. "Iris, I think your eyes are beautiful. And you're beautiful inside and out. You're one of a kind."
That made Iris blush. She wasn't used to compliments. Rare? That was nice to hear.
"Thanks. I should go change," she said, heading toward the bathroom.
"You better," Noel called after her. "Hurry up!"
Iris didn't wear much makeup—preferably a natural look—just a touch of mascara, some bronzer for her pale cheeks, and lip gloss. She styled her long blonde hair into beachy waves. Taking a deep breath, she checked her reflection in the mirror. With a shrug and a snort, she turned and headed back to her room.
"Wow, girl! You're going to melt some wolf-boys' hearts tonight!" Noel teased.
"Can we just get this over with so I can go home sooner?" Iris replied, rolling her eyes.
"Sure thing. Ladies first," Noel quipped as they drove to the twins' place. The ride took about fifteen minutes. Iris promised herself she'd try to have fun—so that was her goal.
When they arrived, the house was packed. Great, she hated crowds.
"Did they invite the whole town?" she asked.
"Pretty much everyone our age from the Hill Mountains," Noel replied with a smile.
"Why?"
"Have you forgotten about the Crescent Nightingale? Soon, we'll discover who the new Alpha of Alphas will be and who his beta will be. Plus, we'll see if the lower-ranked alphas, betas, and omegas will retain their positions. It's only two full moons away. They're evaluating each other."
Iris nodded, recalling the Crescent Nightingale ceremony. This event occurs whenever a new Alpha of Alphas and Beta are needed.
Somehow, the universe determines when change is due and signals the pack members months in advance. It's not technically a ceremony; it's a contest of dominance where any male wolf can challenge for the title.
Every four years, they also observe the Bloom Night. Instead of voting, these positions are decided through trials, ensuring only the strongest individuals claim them. When a challenger wins, the previous leader must step down.
Iris wasn't particularly interested in these details. She understood the pack's need for these roles to stay strong—but she questioned why everyone was so obsessed with them. Many wolves devote their entire lives training to become the next Snow Mountain Alpha of Alphas, but there is only one spot, usually opening only once a century.
You are born an Alpha; you can't simply train to become one. Sure, you can strengthen your body, but that's as far as it goes. Our current Alpha of Alphas is elderly, and during the Crescent Nightingale, the Moon Goddess strips his strength and magic before passing them to the next Alpha.
This is why the Crescent Nightingale is approaching. The Alpha of Alphas possesses unparalleled strength compared to other wolves. As long as he retains his power, his position is secure. The Moon Goddess grants this power only to a worthy Alpha. The victor of the Crescent Nightingale immediately becomes the new Alpha, while the former guides and supports him.
"I suppose it's a big deal," Iris murmured.
