Chapter 2

I hadn't taken two steps before Delilah blocked my path with a handful of warriors.

"Seraphina, you cheap little bitch. Without Logan's protection, you're not even worth a stray dog."

Logan stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching.

He clearly thought I'd suffer a beating, then come crawling back to beg his forgiveness.

How adorable.

Delilah's eyes raked over my face, sour with envy.

I'd been beautiful since I was a child. The first time Logan saw me, he'd stood there gaping like a fool.

He used to call me his goddess. Forever.

Now he was draped over another woman, calling me filth.

"Slash her face!" Delilah barked. "Let's see what tricks she has left without that pretty face!"

Then, as if she still hadn't tasted enough blood, she added:

"And then strip her. Throw her into the cells with the rogues in heat. Let them love her properly."

The warriors lunged at me with twisted grins.

To them, I was just a fragile little pack-doctor.

I almost laughed.

Deep in my eyes, a flash of royal gold flared and vanished.

I met the first warrior head-on and drove my heel into his chest.

"Don't waste my time."

Bone snapped, sharp and clean.

He flew backward into a tree, blood spraying from his mouth, and crumpled.

I caught the next one's wrist mid-strike and twisted it backward until it broke.

I tore the dagger from his fingers. Silver flashed once, twice.

Blood arced through the air.

The remaining two collapsed, clutching wrists with severed tendons, howling on the ground.

Five seconds. Maybe less.

The smile froze on Delilah's face. She staggered back a step, then another.

Her elite warriors. Useless.

I walked toward her with the bloody dagger in my hand.

I was about to teach this woman a lesson she'd never forget when a sharp, bitter smell of burning herbs hit my nose.

Delilah blinked. Then realization hit, and she broke into hysterical laughter.

"Seraphina! Your herb garden! I had it torched! Your precious little plants are ash now!"

I stopped.

Those weren't just herbs. They were one-of-a-kind cultivars I'd raised to cure a rare wolf disease.

My wrist flicked. The bloody dagger cut through the air.

Delilah ducked, screaming.

The blade grazed her cheek and buried itself in the tree behind her with a hard thunk.

"Wash your neck and wait for me."

I dropped the words and ran for home.

By the time I got there, my garden—lush and alive only that morning—was a black smoking ruin.

My quarters, just a heap of charred wreckage.

Three years of work. Countless rare herbs. All gone.

I clenched my fists until my knuckles bled.

Good.

Delilah. Logan. You had made me angry.

I would repay this debt a thousand times over.