Nyell averted his eyes, unsure where to look. He feared he wouldn't be able to control his facial expression if he looked directly at Allen, and he might not be able to swallow the words lingering at the tip of his tongue, either. Let's say that they weren't exactly the kindest words out there.
A moment ago, Allen had lightly bitten his cheek at the exact spot where Miell had pecked him, keeping him close in an embrace as he did so. It made a chill run down his spine. Although Nyell did expect Allen to react, as there was no way a werewolf would gladly watch their partner be overly friendly with another, he hadn't expected Allen to take it this far. But they had an audience, and Nyell couldn't complain or push him away. He could only bear the overbearing display of jealousy, lest he arouse suspicion.
In all honesty, Nyell didn't actually mind the proximity. What bothered him was something else entirely: it felt too real, almost as if this act of possiveness hadn't been an act. He had the uncomfortable feeling that Allen was genuinely marking his territory, trying to ward off any other pesky pests that would dare to entertain the idea of growing too close to him. Up to now, Allen hadn't shown any sign of the usual possessiveness werewolves had toward their mates, and Nyell was troubled at the thought that, maybe, he hadn't been as composed as he had let it seem. Unlike him, Allen wasn't fighting against their bond and had embraced it long ago.
'Am I dumb or something?' Nyell berated himself as he took Allen's offered hand, trying his best to hide his inner turmoil. The trial was about to start, and no matter how disturbed he was, he couldn't stay unmoving. They had things to do. Still, a nagging thought persistently prickled his mind. What if the shaman already perceived him as his mate and considered him his? It'd explain a lot, but Nyell would rather not entertain that idea. He wanted to keep the status quo for as long as possible. Otherwise, he'd need to face feelings he didn't want to face just yet. He'd rather blame everything on his inner beast than dissect the emotion flaring in the pit of his stomach. Yes, it was his wolf instinct that pulled him toward Allen, and nothing else.
"You seem distracted."
"Maybe 'cause I am," Nyell replied, scanning the crowd from where they stood. "There are plenty of things happening in the crowd to distract me right now."
"Fair enough."
The terrace offered a majestic view of the harbor, and the whole scale of the gathering gradually entered Nyell's sight as they walked to the altar. Thousands of people of all ages were packed in disorderly rows, whispering or cheering. Children sat on their parents' shoulders, and the bold ones hung onto buildings, railings, and crows' nests to get a better view. It was a bit overwhelming, even for Nyell. His tribe consisted of only a few hundred people, and it was the first time he had ever witnessed such a large crowd. To make matters worse, they were there to see him, and their curious gazes, filled with awe, were more often than not locked onto him. Thankfully, Allen bore the brunt of a few heated gazes, too.
"Feeling shy?" an elder, who stood beside the altar, asked with a detestable smirk. Couldn't he be more obvious about which faction he belonged to?
"No, annoyed," Nyell responded with a cold smile and a deadpan voice. "I feel like a juicy piece of meat, and it's not exactly what I'd call a comfortable feeling. They look like starved hyenas, and I'm starting to fear for my well-being."
Allen muffled a chuckle, whereas the elder's mouth twitched. At least, neither of the two elders dared to comment afterward, lest they get shut down by a grumpy Nyell. He was forcing himself to smile, but his eyes weren't. The deep green of irises appeared frosty. He was only playing along with their cumbersome trial because of Allen. The result was already written in the sky, and having to subject himself to these geezers' whims was putting him in a foul mood, especially considering how the tribe treated the trial with so much reverence and exuberance. It wasn't even a mating ceremony, so why the heck did he have to doll up as if he was about to be married off? It was a sore point that he wouldn't let die down anytime soon.
"Thank you all for taking the time to come to today's trial," Allen started the ball rolling. He was holding onto a talisman that, from what Nyell understood, carried his voice to all those who were present in a specific area. "I'll not bother you with a long speech, as I know you're all curious about the result. Without further ado, we will begin."
At these words, the elders, who had been tasked with watching over the cauldron on the makeshift altar, took a step aside to allow the fated mates to take their assigned places. Yesterday evening, Allen had made a quick rundown of what the trial entailed to Nyell. As such, he knew the gist of what he had to do, and for what he didn't, he only needed to follow Allen's lead. It wasn't like it was a highly complex matter, either. A bit of chanting from a few shamans, a drop of their blood in the cauldron, and voila. Admittedly, it was a little more complicated than that, but Nyell didn't really care. Shamanic stuff wasn't his forte, and half of what Allen had said went in one ear and out the other.
The chant lasted for about half an hour, which almost put Nyell to sleep. Standing up before a pretty-looking bowl wasn't precisely what he'd call entertaining, and the swirling clear liquid inside had long lost its novelty after a few minutes. Staying immobile with his back held straight was hard on his nerves, and his impatience grew exponentially as the minutes passed.
Shamans and their goddamn rituals!
"Your hand, Nyell," Allen's gentle voice brought Nyell back to reality, as his mind had wandered into an unknown land. It was hard to stay concentrated when people spoke gibberish around him, and he understood nothing. The chant had gradually turned into a mere background noise, and he didn't even notice when it stopped.
"Here," Nyell stretched his hand without hesitation, offering his ring finger to the ceremonial dagger an elder held. She swiftly cut his fingertip before turning toward Allen, repeating the same process, but with the utmost respect this time. Nyell had to restrain a smirk, noticing how different her attitude was between them. Although she most likely did it unconsciously, she nevertheless tilted her head and showed her throat in a clear sign of submission. Amusing how the elders were on both extremes of the spectrum in the White Moon tribe: some were mindlessly devout, while others plotted Allen's demise.
And Nyell? On what side was he, truly? If he took a moment to think about it, he had hated Allen's guts for the majority of his life, even though they had only met recently, wishing to bash his head to death numerous times. He had blamed everything the hunters did on him, and his view of the White Moon tribe's chief had always be biased. But what about now? He was playing along with whatever the man wanted, cuddling in front of others and participating in his schemes. Lately, Nyell had been thinking that he should stop being stubborn and let go of his past hatred, even if he felt like he would lose a part of himself in the process. He was still refraining from acting in some ways at times, just for fear of forgetting who he had once been and the pain he carried. Yet, at other times, he surprised himself with thoughts and actions he would never have believed possible and a trust in Allen his younger self could never conceive. It was a duality that had been tiring him out.
Nyell had to choose a path going forward, but which one? Perhaps the trial could help him make up his mind. A foolish thought, and maybe an excuse. But it might be all he needed to take the first step.
It didn't take long before blood beaded on their fingertips, and after they glanced at each other, they let the droplets fall freely into the translucent cauldron. Now, it was time to wait.
The moon shone softly upon the liquid, making it glimmer like a thousand stars, and as everyone held their breath, something breathtaking happened. Those who were close enough to see gasped, and those who were too far away asked what was going on. Excitement quickly spread like a plague, and the quiet crowd erupted.
"So, we truly are fated mates," Nyell scoffed, unsure what he had been expecting. But their blood couldn't lie. If they hadn't been destined mates, the beads of blood would have stayed clear of each other in the liquid, repulsed to each side of the cauldron like different poles of a magnet. They wouldn't blend like they did, nor would they seem to be dancing and twirling in the clear liquid.
"Did you doubt it?" Allen's soft voice traveled to his ears, and Nyell responded by shaking his head.
No, he never doubted it. The moment he met Allen in his father's hut, he knew with certitude that they were destined mates. He had come to accept that fact, but he hadn't wanted to admit it to himself and commit to what it implied. The desire to fight against the fate the gods imposed on them was starting to dwindle, and maybe he should just accept it, like his blood had with Allen's. They hadn't known each other for long, and yet, he already felt at ease with the shaman and could more or less tell what was going through his head, almost as if they had known each other for years.
Unbeknownst to him, Nyell had already accepted Allen. The only thing left to do was to stop hiding behind sloppy excuses, although that was easier said than done.