Marking the Wrong Twin

Freya’s POV

I lift my staff promptly to parry Sable’s swift attack, a grin forming as frustration flashes across her face.

“It’s not my problem that you move like a turtle, Sable. Stop dragging your feet,” I taunt with a teasing edge.

Her eyes roll as she lets out an exasperated huff. “No, but it is your fault you always end up with the better deal while I’m stuck with the leftovers. We’re twins, Delta Freya—try learning how to share.”

“Completely unfair,” I counter while sidestepping her next move. “Come on, Sable—we’ve both got our strengths; you know that.”

Despite being sisters, our appearances couldn’t scream ‘different’ louder. Sable’s blonde curls and green eyes contrast sharply with my black hair and steely gray irises.

Still, our differences don’t hinder us. Every drill, every battle has forged a rhythm between us—flawless synchronization. When we spar, there’s this odd tranquility that settles over me, even though her barbs sometimes hit nerves.

Her voice, layered with deliberate casualness, pulls me from my thoughts. “So, tonight’s the big mating ceremony.” She leans against her staff, breathless but sharp-eyed. Her words make me pause. Something unspoken lingers in her tone.

“Our mating ceremony, Sable,” I reply evenly. “Both of us, remember?”

She shrugs it off with a nod, but for a split second, her eyes betray her. “Yeah, yeah. A stranger for me—lucky, right? Tell me, Freya, do you feel nervous at all?”

Spinning my staff absentmindedly, I shrug. “A little, I guess,” I admit, keeping my voice neutral. “But compared to what we’ve faced as warriors? This is nothing. We’ll handle it.”

Her head nods again, though there’s no real belief in her hollow laugh.

Dropping her staff, she looks away, and my gaze naturally follows. Down the well-trodden path leading out from the training grounds toward the pack house, I notice movement. Two figures walk side-by-side, but it’s the taller one who holds my attention. His commanding stride and an air of unquestionable authority tug at my curiosity. There’s something magnetic about him, but his face doesn’t ring any bells. Who could he be?

“Freya! Hellooo? Are you even paying attention?” Sable’s voice slices through my distraction.

I turn back sharply. “Sorry, what?”

She smirks knowingly. “You always zone out when something interesting catches your eye.”

Embarrassed, I glance sideways, trying to hide my smile. “I just spotted someone I didn’t recognize—down there.” I tilt my head toward his direction. “Any idea who the tall one is?”

Her eyes scan quickly before she shakes her head. “Not sure. Likely one of tonight’s guests.”

“Probably,” I murmur. She sighs dramatically, her face scrunching with mock disbelief.

“Unbelievable. You were busy ogling a guy while I was here spilling all my deep emotional turmoil about tonight!”

I snap back defensively. “I wasn’t ogling, thank you very much. I just noticed someone interesting.”

“Right,” she teases, though less sharply. “Anyway… you always land on the lucky side, Freya, don’t you?”

Her words make me blink in surprise. “What are you getting at?”

She almost fidgets, shifting on her feet. Finally, she states, “We grew up training the same way. I’m the older twin—even if by just a few minutes. So, logically, the head warrior title should’ve been mine. But guess who got it?”

I try not to wince as guilt twists in my chest. Still, I keep my tone light. “Sable, you know the elders had reasons for their choice—”

“Sure they did,” she interrupts, bitterness darting through her green eyes like a shadow I can’t ignore. It’s been there for years, unspoken but persistent. “And now, tonight, you’re pairing up with the alpha’s heir. His father steps down tomorrow, and—boom! You’ll be Luna. That’s a leap, Freya: Delta to Luna.”

Her words hit harder than she knows. Stronger even than her staff strikes. I look down, unsure how to respond.

“Sable—” I start, but she cuts me short.

“You’re lucky, Freya,” she says, this time unmasked venom lacing her words. “At least you had a say.”

Pain seeps into me, her disappointment wrapping me in chains. I drop my staff and inch closer. “None of this is fair to you,” I say, voice soft. “You never got a choice. I know that.”

Her agreement comes in the form of silence, her body tensing. Sable’s fate had been sealed years back—a betrothal to Alpha Alistair of Red Moon, a name we only knew in whispers.

She shrugs, movements stiff as if brushing off the weight of those years. “The council decided; Father agreed. Just like always—his beta duties took priority over his daughters.” A crack in her voice wrenches my heart further.

Gently, I place my hand on her arm. “You’re so much stronger than this, Sable. Who knows? Maybe Alistair won’t be what you fear.”

Her brittle smile barely forms. “Maybe. Maybe I’ll even learn to love him," she murmurs.

The silence that follows says more than any words could. My own struggles feel trivial in comparison. Just as I’m about to say something, footsteps crunch behind us, breaking the quiet.

“Delta Freya,” a guard announces, his rigid stance unyielding. “Your father asks for you in the alpha’s office.”

I glance at Sable. “Will you be alright?”

“Of course,” she answers with a faint smile. But as my attention drifts briefly away, her gaze wanders toward the woods. Before I can ask, she speaks again. “Freya, have you bumped into Jareth lately?”

With a furrowed brow, I shake my head. “Not yet. Why?”

“No reason. Just wondering,” she says, dodging my question. Her smile remains fragile as I hesitate briefly.

Finally, I nod. “Alright then. See you later.”

As I trail after the guard, I see her heading deeper into the trees. The urge to stop her comes, but I resist. Perhaps she just needs some breathing room before tonight’s chaos.

Soon, we arrive at the alpha’s office. The room hums with tension. My father stands near the window, his hands clasped behind his back as Alpha Whitlock converses with the gathered elders.

“Freya,” Father greets with a rare smile, motioning me inside.

I step forward, offering a small bow. “Alpha Whitlock. Elders.”

“Delta Freya,” they respond in unison.

Whitlock softens visibly as he speaks, his warm gaze settling on me. “How are you feeling?”

“Quite well, thank you,” I reply, my voice even.

Father narrows his eyes slightly, studying me. “Just hours until the ceremony begins… Are you prepared, Freya?”

“I am,” I assure him. Despite everything swirling in my chest, I am ready. My bond with Jareth grounds me; we’ve faced much together over the past two years. But Sable’s anguish lingers at the edges of my thoughts.

Father places a hand on my shoulder in support. “Tonight goes beyond you and Jareth—it’s about our pack’s future.”

“I understand,” I say softly.

His approving nod is small but sincere. “You’ve brought us immense pride as our lead warrior, Freya. I have great faith you’ll do the same as Luna.”

Any comfort I might take in his words is overshadowed by the weight of Sable’s struggle.

“Father,” I venture carefully, “about Sable—”

But he raises a hand, halting me. “The council’s choice stands. Focus on your role, Freya.”

Obedience tamps down my protest as I bow my head. “Yes, Father.”

Whitlock shifts then, lifting something from beside him—a ceremonial dagger, its surface etched with ancient symbols and a midnight-black stone set firmly into its hilt.

“This will play a part tonight,” he says, handing it to me. “Before the ritual, you and Jareth must each offer a single drop of blood. It binds your bond irrevocably.”

I accept it, hesitating faintly. “I haven’t seen Jareth yet… Do you know where he is?”

Whitlock’s smile holds fondness. “He’s at the cabin in the woods—our family’s tradition for generations. It’s prepared for the two of you tonight.”

Elder Joram chuckles. “Likely ensuring everything’s perfect—or eager for what’s ahead!”

Their laughter echoes faintly in my ears.

“When does everything begin?” I ask, steadying myself.

“In just a few minutes,” Whitlock answers with finality. “Leave now—we’ll follow shortly.”