CHAPTER 2

Ronan

She smells like smoke and pine.

I catch it the moment the guards drag her into the trial ring—head down, wrists bound behind her back. Her steps are slow but sure, her chin tilted just high enough to defy submission, even in the face of death. Her feet are bare. Her hair’s tangled, a mess of dirt and dried blood clinging to strands that once might’ve gleamed under moonlight. There’s blood on her lip, but it isn’t fresh.

The scent hits harder than anything else. Pine needles crushed underfoot, smoke clinging to worn fabric. And something beneath that—something almost royal, but buried, feral, strange.

Wrong.

My wolf stiffens.

And then he growls.

I sit up straighter on the high platform where the Alphas observe the Trial Ceremony. Jehrin stands at my right, arms folded in satisfaction. A sick sort of pleasure gleams in her eyes. To my left, the elders and council members shuffle papers, whispering judgments. They don’t smell what I do.

But I do. And so does the wolf.

He’s restless now, pacing just under the surface. Breathing like he’s ready to tear through skin and muscle. And it’s not because of a threat.

It’s because of her.

I narrow my eyes, trying to place her face. She’s too filthy to recognize—skin smudged, cheek bruised. But her eyes lift, just for a moment, and meet mine.

And I forget how to breathe.

Steel gray. Fractured moonlight. Familiar in a way that makes my ribs hurt.

She holds my gaze like she’s waiting for something. Or daring me to remember.

“Found her sneaking past the boundary line,” one of the guards reports. “Just beyond the eastern ridge.”

“She was trespassing during the Trial Ceremony,” says Elder Cainen. “If she’d gotten closer, she could’ve disrupted the selection rites. What if the Blood Moon had already begun?”

Jehrin tuts under her breath. “She’s a feral omega. You can smell it on her. And look at her—filthy, wild-eyed. She could be rogue-blooded.”

The girl doesn’t flinch at the accusation. Doesn’t look down. Just stands there, letting them spit venom.

“She doesn’t speak?” one of the elders asks.

“She refused to give a name,” the guard replies. “Hasn’t said a word.”

Silent. Steady.

She doesn’t speak because she’s watching us. Judging. Calculating.

That’s when I feel it—heat in my chest. Not from anger. From instinct.

Claim her. Protect her. Touch her. Ours. Ours. Ours.

No.

My hands tighten around the armrests of the ceremonial chair. I am Alpha of this pack. I don’t act on impulse. I don’t indulge in primal urges like a starved pup. This girl is no one. A trespasser. A threat.

But the wolf isn’t listening.

His growl rises, low and deep. My teeth ache with the pressure of holding back the shift.

“She must be executed,” says Elder Dren. “Publicly. Make an example. The Trial Ceremony is sacred.”

The word executed hisses through the air like a brand. And something inside me snaps.

I stand.

The movement silences the entire courtyard. Even the girl tilts her head, curious. Not scared. Never scared.

“She is not to be touched,” I say.

Elder Cainen looks up, brows lifted. “Alpha?”

My mouth is already moving.

“She’s mine.”

The words land like a thunderclap.

Shock rolls through the arena. Jehrin actually steps back.

“What did you say?” she hisses.

I can’t take it back now. “She’s mine,” I repeat, louder this time. “Trial mate.”

The wolf settles. Satisfied. Like it was always meant to be said.

Jehrin’s voice goes sharp. “This is madness. You don’t even know who she is.”

I don’t answer.

Because I do know. Somewhere beneath the haze of instinct and years, I know.

“This is irregular,” Elder Vance grumbles beside me, fingers tapping his cane. “The Trial is sacred. We can’t just allow strays to insert themselves into it.”

The girl lowers her gaze slightly. Not submission. Something closer to calculation. She knows the game I’ve just set in motion. And she’s willing to play.

“You know what this means,” Elder Dren warns. “She’ll be protected for the duration of the Trial. Marked under your claim.”

“I understand,” I say.

Another council member leans in. “Then we defer to your judgment. The Trial Mate is yours to train, to test, and to protect.”

Jehrin’s face tightens, rage trembling at the corners of her carefully painted mouth.

The girl too thin. Too dirty. Too calm for someone moments from death.

But something about her… the stillness beneath the surface… it’s like standing on frozen water, knowing a storm once raged beneath it.

The council erupts into noise.

“Unclaimed!” “She has no pedigree!”

“She’s not even wolf-borne—she could be feral!”

I let them speak. I keep my eyes on her. She still hasn’t said a word.

Jehrin steps forward. “You want her in the Trial? As a mate candidate?”

I nod once.

She snorts. “Then she fights. Prove she’s worth your bond.”

“She will,” I say, though I have no idea if that’s true.

Because my wolf hasn’t been this loud since the day I first shifted.

And it’s not just noise—it’s a command.

Protect her. Keep her close.

Vance pulls me aside. “This is insane. You don’t know who she is. She could be from one of the burned packs—”

“I know.”

His jaw tightens. “Ronan, this could cost you your seat. The council won’t back this.”

“They don’t have to.”

I glance back at the girl.

She stands now. Chin raised. Bloody knees. Unbowed.

She meets my gaze—and holds it.

And that’s when it hits me.

There’s something familiar about her eyes. Not just the color. The shape. The depth. Like I’ve seen them before. In dreams. In nightmares. In smoke.

The guards release the girl’s wrists.

She steps forward. Not toward me. But into the center of the ring. Still silent. Still unshaken.

I watch her every movement. The way her shoulders shift. The way her chin lifts again. She’s not grateful. Not relieved.

She’s ready.

And I suddenly understand: she wanted this.

Whatever game she’s playing, I’ve just stepped into it.

And I don’t even know the rules yet.