CHAPTER TWO: SURVIVAL 

Three weeks.

That's how long I lasted before I almost died.

Being a rogue wasn't the romantic freedom I'd seen in movies. I was cold, hungry, and terrified. Every night I spent looking over my shoulder, waiting for pack patrols or rogue hunters to find me. Every day I spent trying to find food, water, shelter—the basic things I'd always taken for granted.

My wolf grew weaker without a pack bond. All wolves needed pack connections to stay strong. Alone, we withered.

I'd made it to the borderlands, the wild territories between pack lands where rogues and outcasts gathered. It wasn't safe, but it was safer than being in claimed territory where any pack wolf could kill me on sight.

I'd found an abandoned cabin and made it my temporary home. The roof leaked and the windows were broken, but it was shelter. I'd been surviving on rabbits I could catch and berries I recognized from my childhood.

But tonight, my luck ran out.

I'd gone to the stream to fill my water bottle when I smelled them. Wolves. Multiple wolves. And they were hunting.

I ran.

My wolf surged forward, giving me speed, but I was weak from weeks of poor eating and no pack bond. They were gaining on me.

"There!" a voice shouted. "The rogue!"

Terror shot through me. I recognized that voice. Mason. One of Moontide's border patrol warriors.

They'd sent hunters after me.

I pushed harder, lungs burning, legs screaming. The forest blurred around me. I could hear them behind me, closing in, their wolves faster and stronger than mine.

Please, I begged silently. Please, I just want to live.

Something slammed into me from the side. I went down hard, rolling through dirt and leaves. Before I could get up, a wolf stood over me, teeth bared. Mason in his wolf form, gray and massive.

Two more wolves circled around, cutting off any escape.

Mason shifted back to human form, naked and unashamed. "Alpha Kane sends his regards," he said with a cruel smile. "Can't have a rejected mate running around telling stories, can we?"

"I haven't told anyone anything," I gasped.

"Doesn’t matter. Orders are orders."

The other two wolves moved closer. I scrambled backward, my back hitting a tree. This was it. This was how I died. Alone in the woods, killed by my own former pack.

My wolf snarled, ready to fight even though we both knew it was useless.

Mason shifted back to wolf form, preparing for the kill strike.

Then the world exploded.

Something moved so fast I barely saw it. One moment Mason was lunging at me. The next, he was flying backward, hitting a tree with a sickening crack.

A figure stood between me and the other two wolves. A man. Just a man.

He wore dark clothes and had black hair that fell to his shoulders. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and he radiated danger like heat from a fire.

But he had no wolf scent. No pack aura. Nothing.

The two wolves hesitated, confused.

"Leave," the man said. His voice was quiet, but it carried absolute authority.

One of the wolves, braver or stupider than the other, lunged at him.

The man moved like lightning. He caught the wolf mid-air by its throat, lifted it like it weighed nothing, and threw it into the other wolf so hard the earth shook. Both wolves whimpered and went still.

Mason was trying to get up, blood streaming from his mouth. "What... what are you?"

The man walked toward him slowly. "Tell your Alpha that the Methlock clan sends their regards. Tell him his time is coming."

Mason's eyes went wide with terror. He shifted and ran, limping badly.

Then the man turned to look at me.

I saw his face properly for the first time. He was handsome in a brutal way—sharp features, cold gray eyes, a scar cutting through his left eyebrow. He looked maybe thirty, but there was something ancient in his gaze.

"You're hurt," he said.

I touched my side and my hand came away bloody. One of the wolves must have clawed me during the tackle. Adrenaline had kept me from feeling it.

"I'm fine," I lied.

"No, you're not." He moved toward me and I flinched back. He stopped. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Why did you help me?"

"Because they were going to kill you."

"You don't even know me."

Something flickered in his eyes. "I know enough. You're rogue. Recently rejected, based on the wound in your chest that has nothing to do with claws." He tilted his head and sniffed. "And you're from Moontide Pack."

"How do you know that?"

"I make it my business to know everything about Moontide." His voice went cold. "They're on my list."

"What list?"

"Of packs that need to die."

The casual way he said it should have terrified me. Instead, I felt a strange spark of satisfaction.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"Daren Methlock."

The name meant nothing to me. I shook my head.

He studied me for a long moment. "You really don't know, do you? They've buried the story that deep."

"What story?"

"The Methlock Massacre. Twenty-five years ago, seven packs including Moontide attacked my clan in the middle of the night. They killed everyone. Men, women, children. Burned everything. Only one survived."

"You," I whispered.

"Me."

"How? If you were just a child—"

"That's a long story. One I don't tell strangers." He looked at my wound. "You're losing blood. You need medical attention."

"I'm fine."

"You'll be dead by morning if that gets infected."

I wanted to argue, but my vision was starting to blur at the edges. The adrenaline was wearing off and pain was rushing in to replace it.

"Why do you care?" I asked.

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said something strange. "Because you smell like Moontide. And anyone Moontide throws away might be useful to me."

Not the most comforting reason, but I was in no position to be picky.

"Can you walk?" he asked.

I tried to stand and immediately stumbled. He caught me before I hit the ground, one arm around my waist, steady and sure.

"I'll take that as a no."

Before I could protest, he picked me up like I weighed nothing. I should have fought. Should have been scared. But I was so tired, so hurt, so completely done with everything.

"Where are you taking me?" I managed to ask.

"Somewhere safe."

"There's no such thing as safe. Not for rogues."

He looked down at me, and for just a second, something almost like understanding crossed his face.

"No," he agreed. "But there are places that are less dangerous than others. And you're no good to me dead."

"Good to you for what?"

"That depends. How much do you hate Moontide Pack?"

I thought about Ryker's cold eyes. Vanessa's betrayal. Kane's disgust. My mother's abandonment. The hunters who'd just tried to kill me.

"More than anything," I whispered.

He smiled. It wasn't a kind smile.

"Good. Then we might be able to help each other."

My vision was fading now, darkness creeping in from the edges. The last thing I remember before passing out was the strange comfort of being carried by someone strong enough to make me feel, for just a moment, like I wasn't completely alone.