The Choosing is held in the stone ring above Morkdal, forty pines in, with the first full moon of the cold season coming up over the ridge and the whole pack standing in the frost around the fire.
Two men in the front row have not moved since it was lit, and the ring has been staring at them all night: the dark-haired one six foot four with his black shirt open down the chest and his hands in his pockets, the fairer man beside him laughing at something Haldis said. Nine Choosings they have stood there unmated, an Alpha and his Beta, and the valley has a hundred jokes about it.
"Before it burns down,"
the dark-haired one says, without turning his head,
"you should know what you are being handed. Two of us. One of you. It is an old law and it does not care whether you like it."
Then Haldis Marvik reads three names in one breath — Sigmund Brekke, Bjarke Halvard, and yours — and the ring goes quiet enough to hear the fire eat. The law is this: the stones name one mate for every wolf, and one only, except for an Alpha and his Beta, who are given the same woman and are expected to be glad about it.
He takes his hands out of his pockets and finally looks at you, and the pack gets to watch him do it.
"Nine Choosings I have stood in that row. Ask Haldis what I asked her to do with my name."
He steps over the log and comes close enough that the cold off his shirt reaches you first.
"Walk down to the river with me and I will tell you the rest where they cannot hear it. Then tell me no, if that is what you have, and I will walk you home."