One

Three Years Ago, Ironwood Pack Territory.

The ceremonial clearing smelled of blood and jasmine.

Sera Vane stood at the edge of the moonlit circle, her hands were trembling inside the pockets of her only clean dress. The fabric was thin, secondhand, pale blue with a stain on the hem she couldn't quite scrub out. She'd borrowed mascara from another omega and immediately smudged it.

'Don't cry. Don't hope. Don't embarrass yourself.' she reminded herself again and again.

Around her, the Ironwood Pack gathered in a loose ring consisting of two hundred shifters, their eyes gleamed gold and amber in the torchlight. There were also wealthy families in dark silks, enforcers with scars crossing their throats, and Omegas like her, pressed to the back, completely invisible.

Tonight was the Claiming Moon, the night when unpaired wolves over twenty were brought before the pack to scent their fated mates.

Sera had never believed she'd find one.

Twenty-one years old. Orphaned at twelve when her mother died in a rogue attack. Raised as a servant in the Ironwood kitchens, scrubbing floors and mending linens. Her wolf was quiet, she was small; an omega of the lowest tier. She'd been told her bloodline was weak, diluted, and defective.

The elders said defected omegas didn't get mates. They got sold to neighboring packs as breeders or servants. So when the magic hit her she almost fell to her knees.

Mate.....

The word carved itself into her chest like a hot blade. Her wolf screamed, surging against decades of silence. Her body flushed with something she had never felt before, something that burnt at the pit of her stomach and between her thighs till slick warmth wet her thighs. Her heart pounded heavily as her head snapped toward the far end of the clearing.

Toward..... Caelan Ironwood.

The alpha heir. Terrin's only son. Twenty-five years old, already infamous for his brutality in the rogue wars. He stood a head taller than every other male in the circle, his shoulders were broad under a black leather jacket, his jaw was sharp enough to cut glass.

And his molten gold eyes were ringed with red, they were locked on her.

"Mate...."

His wolf answered hers. She saw it in the way his nostrils flared, the way his hands curled into fists, the way his chest rose and fell like he'd just been punched.

He felt it too. She could tell he felt it, and she couldn't believe it.

For one breathless second, Sera believed in fairy tales.

But then his father spoke.

"Approach, omega." He commanded.

Alpha Terrin sat on a throne of carved oak, his beard was streaked with gray, his eyes were cold as winter mud. He was a tyrant, everyone knew it, but he was their tyrant because he made the pack strong. He did not smile as Sera walked barefoot across the grass.

She stopped before Caelan, her mate.

Up close, he was even more beautiful. He had dark hair falling across his forehead and a thin scar splitting his left eyebrow. He smelled of smoke, snow, and something darkly sweet, it wrapped around her like a blanket.

"Caelan," she whispered, because his name was the only word that mattered.

He didn't speak, but his jaw worked, and his throat bobbed. But his eyes… his eyes were terrified and completely conflicted.

The pack watched, the torches crackled, and Alpha Terrin rose from his throne.

"Son," the old alpha said, his voice carrying. "You know what must be done."

Caelan's hands shook, and Sera saw it. She wasn't sure what it was that he needed to do, but she was trying to trust the process despite being terrified. He reached for her chin, his fingers were warm, and she felt them trembling.

Was he really we terrified as she was?

"I'm sorry," he whispered, so low only she could hear.

Sorry? For what?

But before she could ask, he spoke again.

"Did you think," Caelan said, his voice was louder now, for the pack, for his father, for the performance of it all. "That I would tie myself to a bloodless omega?"

Sera's heart stopped.

Around her, the pack murmured. Some laughed, but at least an omega behind her sobbed.

"I don't...." she started.

His grip tightened on her chin till it turned bruising and cruel.

"Your mother was a rogue's whore," he said, and the words were like knives to her heart. "Your bloodline is poison. You think I'd let you spread your legs for me? Bear my pups? Defile the Ironwood line?"

She couldn't believe this was happening. She couldn't breathe. What was he doing? Why was he doing this? This wasn't part of the ritual.

"Please," she whispered. She needed this to stop, she was getting scared.

He leaned in, his breath was hot against her throat. His lips brushed her mating gland; the spot where he was supposed to bite, to claim and tie their souls together forever.

Her body stiffened and she whimpered quietly. She was confused, she couldn't understand what was happening. But then he spoke again, with that low voice only she could hear.

"Run," he breathed. "And don't come back."

Then he bit her.

Not gently, it was claiming, like he meant to rip out her flesh.

His teeth sank into her throat like she was prey. The pain was searing, a scream that tore out of her without permission. She felt the bond tear, the golden threads of fate snapped one by one, and each break was a fresh agony.

Blood flooded her collar and dripped down her chest. She clawed at his shoulders, but he didn't stop until he'd chewed through the mating gland entirely.

When he pulled back, his mouth was red, completely smeared with her blood.

And the bond was gone.

Her wolf howled inside heronce, twice, three times, then it went quiet. Her wolf had retreated, maybe died. She couldn't tell because she was dying herself.

"You're nothing," Caelan said, loud enough for the pack to hear. "Get up, defect. Run. And if I see your face again, I'll finish what I started."

He shoved her.

She fell face-first into the mud.

The pack laughed again. Someone threw a rock, it bounced off her hip, but she barely felt it. The wound in her throat was everything; it was pumping blood, pumping grief, pumping the hollow remains of a future that had died before it breathed.

She pushed herself up on shaking arms and forced herself to look at him despite the pain, he looked like a monster. Caelan stood over her, blood dripping from his chin, his expression carved from stone.

"I said run." He barked.

And she did. She ran through the forest, barefoot, bleeding, her ruined dress clinging to her body. Branches whipped her face, thorns sliced her arms, and her wolf was gone, she couldn't shift or couldn't heal, couldn't do anything but stumble, fall, crawl and weep.

Behind her, the pack's celebration howls faded into the distance, and ahead, the human city glittered, it was her only hope. She made it to the highway before she collapsed and waited for help.

A truck driver found her at dawn, and he had called an ambulance quickly. He'd asked no questions when the nurses said the wound on her throat looked like teeth marks.

Sera told them she'd been attacked by a dog. She told herself the same thing.

And for three years, she almost believed it.