CHAPTER ONE: The Three-Mile Road

Frost crunched beneath Selene's boots as she made her way up the mountain road to the High Keep.

She pulled her woollen shawl tighter around her shoulders, tucking her chin into its folds against the morning wind. Dawn had barely broken. Far below, the chimneys of Lowfell were beginning to release thin trails of smoke into the pale sky.

In a small timber cottage at the end of Mill Street, Aunt Martha would be waking up. She would cough into her handkerchief, light the iron stove and put water on to boil before attempting to open her little shop.

Selene adjusted the strap of her work bag.

Two silver pieces by Friday. One for flour, the other for Martha's chest medicine.

She repeated the figures in her head as she walked. There was little room for mistakes when every coin already had somewhere to go.

Lowfell's human residents lived under the protection of the Black Moon Pack. In return, they paid taxes in grain, timber and labour. Those who could not afford the payments in goods often found themselves working in the High Keep.

Selene had been doing so for five years.

By the time she reached the fortress, the cold had settled into her fingers. Two guards stood beside the iron portcullis, their spears resting against their shoulders.

She presented her wooden service token. One of the guards glanced at it before waving her through.

Inside, the servants' entrance was already busy. Kitchen workers hurried between the scullery and the storerooms, while two stable hands argued over a missing sack of oats.

Selene found Mrs. Hallowell standing beside a wooden table, examining a list.

"Third-floor east gallery today," the housekeeper said, without looking up.

"Yes, ma'am."

"The Alpha returned from the northern ridge last night. His boots have left mud all over the upper corridor. I want it cleaned before the council meeting."

She handed Selene a bucket and a bundle of linen cloths.

"He sleeps lightly, so keep the noise down. No dragging furniture, no dropping buckets. If his door opens, leave the corridor and wait by the stairwell. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hallowell."

The older woman finally looked at her.

"And fix your scarf. Your neck is exposed."

Selene adjusted it.

"I don't want another servant coughing through an entire shift. If you've caught whatever is troubling your aunt, tell me before you start."

"I'm fine, ma'am. It's only the cold."

"Then get to work."

The third floor was quiet when Selene arrived. Unlike the lower levels, where kitchen fires roared and servants moved constantly, the upper corridor seemed almost deserted.

Tall windows lined one side of the gallery. On the opposite wall hung portraits of former Black Moon Alphas, their stern faces and amber eyes following anyone who passed.

Selene placed her bucket beside the wall and knelt to scrub the dried mud from the stone floor.

The work was familiar. Wet the brush, scrub, wipe, move forward.

Her thoughts wandered to the settlement below. Widow Cora had promised to save her a loaf of bread. Bram had also agreed to repair Martha's fire grate, although he would probably complain about it when she saw him.

She was considering whether she could afford another sack of flour when a door opened down the corridor.

Her hand stopped.

The Alpha's chamber.

Mrs. Hallowell's warning returned to her. If she heard his door open, she was supposed to retreat to the stairwell.

But her bucket was in the middle of the corridor, and moving it would make noise.

Selene lowered her head and concentrated on the floor.

Perhaps he would pass without noticing her.

Footsteps approached.

They were quieter than she expected. No heavy boots or hurried movements. Just the measured sound of bare feet against stone.

Then the footsteps stopped beside her bucket.

"You're scrubbing across the seams."

Selene's fingers tightened around the brush.

The voice was low and rough with sleep. It wasn't loud, but it carried easily through the empty corridor.

She looked up.

Alpha Orion stood a few feet away, dressed in a loose black linen shirt and dark trousers. The top of his shirt was undone, revealing a faint scar near his collarbone. His dark hair was untidy, and a shadow of stubble covered his jaw.

He looked less like the commander whose victories the warriors celebrated and more like a man who had not slept enough.

"If you follow the seams, the dirt won't settle in the grout," he said, glancing at the floor. "The old steward knew that. The new staff seem to have forgotten."

Selene looked down at her brush.

"I'll adjust it, Alpha."

He didn't move.

His gaze shifted from the bucket to her hands. The skin around her knuckles was red and rough, partly from the cold and partly from the cleaning water.

Then he looked at her face.

Something changed in his expression.

It was slight, almost unnoticeable. His brows drew together, and his nostrils flared as he took a slow breath.

Selene felt a sudden chill beneath her collar.

The small silver vial hanging against her chest had grown strangely cold. She pressed her lips together, resisting the urge to touch it.

Orion tilted his head.

For a moment, he seemed to be listening to something she couldn't hear.

"You walk up here from Lowfell every morning?"

"Yes, Alpha."

"In this weather?"

"Yes, sir."

He studied her for another moment.

Selene wasn't sure what he expected her to say. The road was cold. She knew that. But Martha's medicine would not buy itself, and neither would their food.

She waited.

Orion glanced at her hands again before looking towards the corridor.

"Ask Mrs. Hallowell for cedar soap instead of the lye she's given you. That stuff leaves an unpleasant smell in the gallery."

"Yes, Alpha."

He turned towards his chamber, then paused with one hand on the door.

"And wear gloves tomorrow. Numb fingers make for careless work."

The door closed behind him.

Selene remained on her knees, staring at it.

She had worked at the High Keep for five years. She had cleaned its corridors, washed its windows and carried supplies through its kitchens. She had passed members of the ruling family countless times without being given a second glance.

Yet the Alpha had stopped to speak to her.

Worse, he had noticed her hands.

She looked down at the small brass name tag pinned to her apron.

SELENE.

Perhaps that was how he knew.

She returned to the floor, dipped her brush into the bucket and resumed scrubbing.