Our whole pack was seated around a huge banquet table, draped in crisp white linen and decorated with candles and flowers. A feast of rich dishes rested along the middle, which the pack had all pitched in to make and were all enjoying now.
Despite the festive mood, my own was strained. I sat to the left of Dylan. He was to the right of his father, while Heather sat to Chris’s left. I felt like Dylan and I were supposed to be the mirror image of our Alpha and Luna, but creeping shame built in me. I couldn’t help noticing how often Heather leaned in to talk to Chris or patted her husband’s arm and other little signs of affection that marked the pair as a proper couple.
Whereas Dylan and I had barely exchanged two words all night. Dylan mostly talked to his father about pack business. The only time I managed to speak to him was to ask if he’d tried the salmon or venison and other dull things.
A sheen of sweat beaded along my forehead as I dwelled on what everyone must be thinking as they watched us. My skin crawled, and I felt as if the whole pack’s eyes were on me, despite everyone being too busy enjoying themselves.
The banquet was to die for. Heather, our Luna, had spared no expense in celebrating her husband’s fiftieth birthday. The whole pack was gathered in the huge open-plan reception room of our Alpha and Luna’s house. The building was a converted barn, but none of its agricultural roots showed. The airy, high-ceilinged space would have looked at home in the richest areas of downtown Seattle. We were on the second floor, with huge balconies on either end, thrown open to the starry night sky.
I fidgeted with the strap of my dress. I’d been blown away as I’d put on the silver number tonight. It hugged my every curve, falling around me like a waterfall in the moonlight. But I was uncomfortable because Heather had given it to me. She’d told me she’d worn it at her Moon Ceremony, saying it would mean a lot if I wore it tonight. But now, it only added to that hot, prickly feeling washing over me. I was a pale imitation of what Heather was. I didn’t deserve to wear this because Dylan didn’t want me as his mate.
A lump rose in my throat, but then Bert’s voice sounded beside me, “Do you think John’s ever gonna lay off the ribs?”
I followed my friend’s gaze, biting my lip to hide a smile. John, one of the older members of the pack opposite, was tucking into his third plate of red meat. The man had terrible gout but was notoriously bad at restraint. John often joked it was his wolf’s appetite. I smothered a laugh as John’s wife nagged him.