4

Asher Wesson, alpha of the Dagger pack, stood naked in front of the statue. His tanned skin seemed to glow with supernatural light in the soft moonlight. He was tall, his body lithe and taut with hard, lean muscle. He removed the clothing he’d tied around himself—a white button-down and dark pants—and dressed. He pushed feathery, dark chocolate hair out of his eyes and looked up at the statue. My heart was pounding so hard, I wondered if he could hear it. Wolves had heightened senses, and if he was an alpha, I imagined his senses were even more attuned to prey. I.e. me.

I trembled as I watched him walk forward. He was the enemy. Over the past few months since William, his father, was killed, Asher had led the Dagger pack to take more and more territory from the Wilcox pack.

Because of his success, Asher had earned the reputation of being a dangerous, calculating, ruthless alpha. The Dagger pack was unique in that they seemed to spend a ton of their time in their wolf forms. People said that made them crueler and more bloodthirsty. But Asher didn’t seem all that imposing as he stopped near the base of the statue and tossed his coins. In fact, the way his broad shoulders were hunched forward, and the way he looked up through his lashes at Holo told me he was actually remorseful about something.

I ought to have stayed silent, ought to have waited for him to leave, but I was curious what the alpha of a rival pack wanted. It was dangerous, risking my position to someone as powerful as Asher, but then again, I was on sacred land. It was forbidden for every wolf, no matter what pack they came from, to kill here.

But it was impossible to know how the alpha would react if I was exposed. I needed to keep in mind that my position in the knee wasn’t as secure as it had been before I started getting out of the statue. I couldn’t risk exposure by shifting into my original spot.

“Speak,” I said.

Asher flinched as my voice reverberated through the statue, just the way all parishioners did. El looked at me with wide eyes that demanded “what the hell are you doing, girl?” but I ignored her. It wasn’t like I had an answer.

“Goddess Holo,” he began. “I need to get some things off my chest.” He spoke gently and with reverence, but his deep voice allowed me to hear him clearly. He was the sort of man who never had to raise his voice to command the attention of a room.

I hadn’t been in the presence of a real alpha in five years, back when I was still in the good graces of the Salcedos.

“I know my father committed a great sin against you when I was a child,” Asher said. “When he hurt you and severed the link binding my pack to Emrys, he stole the ability to control our shifts from you. But when he was killed six months ago, that ability transferred not to me, but to the Wilcox pack. As you know, they are our enemy.”

My anxiousness shifted to confusion. What the hell was he talking about? Emrys was the so-called god realm, the plane where Holo and the other deities lived, but it wasn’t real. I’d read countless books about the old legends involving the gods when I was part of high-wolf society. Those books talked about the gods being able to control wolf shifts, but that shouldn’t be an ability that could transfer to mortals. Besides, I thought the Dagger pack loved being in their wolf forms?

“I’m so sorry for what my father did to you,” he continued, “but my pack has felt the punishment for my father’s actions. We can only manage to spend a few hours a day as humans, and that only brings us closer to becoming feral as the days go by. We can’t go on living this way. No wolf could. The only option I have to save my pack is to kill Edgar before his son ascends to take his place as alpha… but I’m sure you know the difficulties that face us if I take that path.” He dropped to his knees in front of the statue, his head bowed low. “Please, reestablish the bond between the Dagger pack and Emrys. I will do anything you ask in return. You can take my wolf, you can take my life. Take anything, but please save my pack.”

It wasn’t like me to stay silent after a confession, but what on earth could I say? Whatever Asher was talking about, I didn’t understand it. It was true that his father had been killed by Edgar, but beyond that, what he was saying about Holo and curses made no sense at all. Those things weren’t real.

Maybe he was crazy. Maybe Asher wasn’t the tough alpha I’d been led to believe he was. Maybe he was just as reckless as his father had been.

As Holo, I wanted to dismiss him and tell him everything he was saying was nonsense, but he’d said he was willing to give up his wolf form if it would save his people. Looking at him on his knees, his expression open, vulnerable, and so, so sad, I believed he was being sincere. From what I understood, a shifter and his or her wolf was a bond that, once formed, could never be broken. It was like he was offering his own heart to Holo. Crazy or not, that level of devotion tugged at my heartstrings.

So, instead of dismissing him, I wanted to offer some kind of comfort. In exchange for taking the money offered to me, I had to give something in return. Words of wisdom, a blessing—anything to make sure they never had to feel like I did when I was helpless at sixteen, when I begged and pleaded Holo to give me a wolf form only for her to stay silent.

But what could I say? He was asking for things that were impossible for me to understand, let alone grant.

I deliberated, but I must have taken too long. Asher suddenly got to his feet, a growl rumbling from his chest. “Damn you, say something!” he demanded.

He kicked the base of the statue, and the force of his attack shook through the legs. My sneaker slipped and I yelped, floundering until I caught myself again. I became as still as the statue itself, but it was too late. He’d heard the squeak of my sneaker against the metal, heard my cry. He knew I was there.

Chapter 2

Asher

C

old rage spread from my chest and into my blood. I had been deceived.

Roaring my fury, I returned to my wolf form, my blood hot in my veins. I was an idiot. I should have suspected something was strange the minute the statue spoke to me. Now I’d confessed my secrets and the secrets of my pack to some stranger.

Now, my only course of action was to kill them.

I leaped onto the base of the statue and pounced with claws and teeth. The statue was made of bronze, but it was no match for my wrath. The torso of the statue broke off at the hip as I threw myself at it.

I believed the pretender was in the statue’s chest, but as I tore into the cavity and wrenched it open, all that met me was emptiness. A tight sob sounded behind me, and as I turned around, I caught the scent of the pretender. I’d been too blinded by anger to scent them properly. I abandoned the ruins of the statue’s chest and climbed onto what was left of Holo’s hips.

The pretender, a woman by the sound of her, scrambled down the leg as I forced the metal hips to bulge open. I followed her down, my jaws snapping at blonde hair. When the leg grew tight, I bent the metal apart and forced the opening wider.

She screamed and dashed through a crack in the leg. As I followed her, I saw her rushing to get to her feet. I recognized her, though I didn’t know her name. My men had told me that Connor Salcedo had cast out the woman who was once his chosen mate, but I never understood why. Now I had a better idea. She wasn’t shifting now, but if she could, she would have to get away from me. Connor must have kicked her out because she was damaged goods. Well, what did it matter now? She had to die for knowing my secrets.

I sauntered toward her. A pix fluttered around me, brightening their wings to try and distract me, but I closed my eyes against the dazzling display. I had the pretender’s scent, and what was even better, I heard her panting. That was all I needed to find her.

I sprinted in the direction she was heading and leaped. She cried out as she hit the dirt, and in seconds, I had her pinned beneath me. I opened my mouth wide and sunk my teeth into her. Blood rushed into my mouth as she screamed. I pulled back, the coppery tasting liquid dripping from my fangs. I’d gotten her shoulder, though I’d been hoping for her neck. The next time, I wouldn’t miss.

I opened my mouth to bite through muscle, vein, artery, and bone, but I froze when I felt her body shift strangely beneath me.

I hopped back on instinct and watched in shock as her bones popped and moved unnaturally beneath skin that was sprouting hair along her arms. Her screams had become strangled gasps and pants, and her clothes ripped and tore as the changes overtook her trembling body. She was experiencing her first shift. That was why her movements were so jerky and slow. She would be in terrible pain. But that didn’t make sense. She was young, but not more than two or three years younger than me. This shift should have occurred long ago.

Sudden understanding cut through my confusion, and I returned to my human form. I couldn’t kill her while she was helpless. It wouldn’t be right. There wasn’t a shifter worth their fur who would attack her now. We all knew intimately how important this time was. My bite must have somehow spurred it on.

I should have left or turned away to give her some privacy, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her. When the transformation was complete, she stood on four trembling legs.

My eyes widened. Her wolf form was breathtaking. Her fur was as dark as the night sky, with hints of a golden inner coat along her mane and haunches.

She shook off the remainder of her torn clothing and nearly lost her balance. The sight was adorable. So much so that I almost cracked a smile. That only shocked me further.

The she-wolf looked at me with eyes that glowed like cerulean gems, then took a few hesitant steps toward me. Maybe she wasn’t in her right mind after her shift, but she seemed to forget that I’d attacked her. Blood seeped from her shoulder where I’d bit her. Stinging guilt rushed through me, and before I could stop myself, I slowly reached a hand toward her. She sniffed the air delicately, as if she were scenting for danger. After a moment, she inched closer and stretched out to sniff my hand.

But in the moment that her nose would have touched the tips of my fingers, I noticed a mark on my inner wrist. I turned my hand, expecting to find a splotch of blood or dirt. What I saw instead was something so much worse.

The crimson circle was filled with intricate, swirling designs of the same color. I’d never seen this design before, yet I knew what it was. Something in me recognized it. This sort of mark was only meant to be a legend. A story about fated mates.