The Target

The first week at Silver Creek Academy carved itself into my bones.

Every morning, I walked through the gates with Iris at my side, my borrowed blazer too big, my secondhand bag clutched to my chest. Every morning, the whispers followed me like shadows. The stray. The charity case. The girl who slept in the same house as the Triplet Alphas and thought that made her one of them.

And every day, the triplets reminded me exactly where I stood.

Theron was the worst. He did not touch me again—not after the chapel—but his eyes never left me. In the cafeteria, he sat at the raised table with his brothers, his gaze burning into my skin. In the corridors, he appeared at the edges of my vision, his grin sharp, his presence a constant pressure on my chest. The other students took their cues from him. My locker was jammed with garbage. My textbooks went missing, only to reappear in the girls' bathroom, soaked in water. A group of girls led by Lorna Hale—the alpha's daughter, the one betrothed to Cassian—made a game of bumping into me in the hallways, sending my books flying, their laughter sharp as broken glass.

I endured. I had survived worse. My father's death. My pack's collapse. The hunger and cold of those weeks before my mother signed the contract. A pack of rich girls and a cruel alpha heir could not break me.

But Lysander was different.

He did not torment me. He did not humiliate me. He simply watched. From across the cafeteria. From the end of the corridor. From the window of the library when I studied with Iris. His honey eyes followed me everywhere, and there was nothing cruel in them. Nothing kind, either. Just hunger. Quiet, patient, terrifying.

On Thursday, I found a note in my locker. Not a threat. Not an insult. Just a single word, written in the same careful hand as before.

Mine.

I burned it in the fireplace of my room and tried to forget the way my pulse had raced when I saw it.

Cassian, at least, left me alone. He did not look at me. He did not speak to me. He moved through the halls of Silver Creek Academy like a ghost, untouchable, unreachable. The other students parted for him. The teachers lowered their eyes. And I watched him from a distance, the bond humming in my chest, and I told myself I was grateful for his silence.

I was lying.

It was Friday when everything changed.

I was walking through the courtyard toward the east gate, my bag heavy with textbooks, the sun low and golden behind the trees. Iris had left early—a family thing, she said, something in her voice that told me not to ask. I was alone.

The forest path was quiet. Too quiet. The birds had stopped singing, and the wind had died, and the air was thick with something that made my wolf pace beneath my skin.

I stopped. My hand went to my boot, to the dagger my father had given me.

They came out of the trees like shadows given form.

Three of them. Rogues. Their clothes were ragged, their eyes wild, their bodies too thin and too hungry. I smelled them before I saw their faces—blood, dirt, the feral musk of wolves who had abandoned the laws of the pack.

One of them laughed. It was a wet, ugly sound.

Well, well, he said. What do we have here?

I took a step back. My fingers closed around the hilt of my dagger.

You are on Blackwood territory, I said. My voice came out steady, stronger than I felt. Leave now, or the Alpha will hunt you down.

The rogue laughed again. Blackwood? The old man who hides behind his walls? We are not afraid of him.

Another rogue stepped forward. He was larger than the others, his face scarred, his eyes flat and dead. He looked at me the way a butcher looks at meat.

You are the one, he said. The alpha's daughter. The one who got away.

My blood ran cold. They knew who I was.

Your father begged before we killed him, the scarred rogue said. Begged for his pack. For his mate. For you. He was crying when his throat opened.

The world narrowed to the sound of my heartbeat. My father's face. His blood on the forest floor. My mother's screams.

I drew the dagger.

The rogue smiled. It was the worst thing I had ever seen.

The first one came at me fast. I was faster. My father had trained me since I was old enough to hold a blade, and my body remembered what my mind could not. I ducked under his swing, drove the dagger into his side, and twisted. He screamed. Blood sprayed across my hand.

The second rogue hit me from behind.

I went down hard, my face slamming into the dirt, my dagger skidding out of reach. Pain exploded through my skull, and for a moment I could not see, could not breathe, could not think. Then his weight was on my back, his hand in my hair, his breath hot against my ear.

You are going to die just like your father, he hissed.

I clawed at the ground, trying to reach my blade. My fingers were inches away. Inches. But he was too heavy, too strong, and I could not move.

Then a roar split the air.

It was not a human sound. It was a wolf's cry, primal and terrible, filled with a fury that made the ground shake. The weight on my back vanished. I heard a scream, a sickening crack, and then silence.

I pushed myself up on shaking arms. My vision was blurred, my ears ringing, but I saw enough.

Cassian stood over me.

He was not in his wolf form. He was a man, but he was something else too—something ancient and terrible, his eyes blazing gold, his body vibrating with power I had never felt before. The rogue who had been on top of me lay crumpled against a tree, his neck bent at an angle that meant he would never move again.

The other rogues were running. Cassian let them go. His attention was on me.

He dropped to his knees beside me, his hands moving over my body, checking for injuries. His touch was gentle, impossibly gentle for a wolf who had just killed a man with his bare hands.

Are you hurt? His voice was rough, strained.

I shook my head. My face was bleeding. My ribs ached. But I was alive.

His hands cupped my face, tilting it up to the light. His eyes were still gold, still burning, and in them I saw something I had never expected to see.

Fear.

He was afraid. For me.

I am fine, I said.

He did not answer. He pulled me against his chest, his arms wrapping around me, and held me. His heart was pounding as hard as mine. His body was shaking, barely controlled.

I thought— he started, and then stopped. His voice broke.

I wrapped my arms around him and held on.

We stayed like that for a long time. The sun set. The woods grew dark. And Cassian Blackwood, the fortress, the ice king, the wolf who never looked at me, did not let me go.

His fingers tangled in my hair, his breath warm against my neck. I felt the bond pulse between us, stronger than ever, pulling us together like we were two halves of something whole.

Ravenna, he said, my name a prayer on his lips.

He pulled back just enough to look at me. His eyes were grey again, soft, vulnerable. His hand cupped my face, his thumb tracing the cut on my cheek, wiping away the blood.

I love you, he said.

The words hit me like a wave. The bond flared, bright and fierce, and I felt the truth of them in my bones. He had been fighting this. Fighting me. Fighting the bond. But he could not fight anymore.

I love you too, I said.

He kissed me.

It was not gentle. It was desperate, hungry, the kiss of a wolf who had been starving for years. His lips were cold at first, then hot, then burning. His hands slid into my hair, tilting my head back, and he kissed me like I was the only thing keeping him alive.

I kissed him back, pouring everything I had into it. The fear, the hope, the love I had been too afraid to name. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me onto his lap, and I went willingly. The bond exploded between us, and I felt his memories—his mother's death, the years of silence, the moment he first saw me in the foyer and felt something crack. I felt his fear, his guilt, his desperate need to keep me safe.

I want you, he said against my mouth. I have wanted you since the moment you walked into my house.

Then have me.

He pulled back. His eyes were gold, blazing, his chest heaving.

Not here, he said. Not like this. When I take you, it will be somewhere safe. Somewhere no one can hurt you.

He kissed my forehead, my cheeks, the corner of my mouth.

But I need you to know, he said. You are mine. The bond is mine. And I will protect you with everything I have.

I touched his face. His skin was warm, his jaw rough with stubble.

I am yours, I said. But you are also mine. And I will protect you too.

He smiled. It was a small smile, fragile and real.

Then he stiffened.

His head snapped up, his eyes scanning the trees. His arms tightened around me.

There are more of them, he said. I can smell them. They are coming.

My blood went cold.

I need you to run, he said. Back to the manor. Do not stop. Do not look back.

I grabbed his arm. What about you?

I will hold them off.

No. I am not leaving you.

His eyes blazed gold. You will do as I say.

I am not your wolf, Cassian. I am your equal. And I am not leaving you.

His jaw clenched. Then we run together.

He grabbed my hand, and we ran.

The manor gates appeared through the trees. Lights blazed in every window. Guards ran toward us, swords drawn. We were almost there. Almost safe.

Then Cassian stopped.

His hand tightened on mine. His whole body went rigid.

Ravenna, he said. Look.

I looked.

Marcus stood at the edge of the forest, his grey eyes cold, his lips curved in a smile. Behind him, bound in iron chains, was my mother. Her face was white, her eyes wide, her throat marked with the line of a blade.

And in Marcus's hand, that same blade pressed against her skin.

Come any closer, Marcus called, and she dies.

Cassian stepped forward, but I held him back.

Father, Cassian said. His voice was ice.

Marcus laughed. I gave you everything. Power. Position. A pack. And you threw it away for a stray.

He pressed the blade tighter. Blood welled beneath the edge.

You have until dawn, Marcus said. Bring me the girl. Bring me the Kingslayer. Or she dies.

He pulled my mother into the trees. She did not scream. She did not fight. Her eyes met mine for one moment—and then she was gone.

I lunged forward, but Cassian caught me.

No, he said. It is a trap.

I do not care.

He turned me to face him. His hands framed my face, forcing me to look at him.

We will get her back, he said. I swear it. But not like this. Not tonight.

He kissed me. It was soft, desperate, a promise.

Dawn, he said against my lips. We go at dawn. Together.

I looked at the forest, dark and silent. My mother was in there. Marcus was in there. The bond hummed, restless, hungry.

Together, I said.

He took my hand, and we walked through the gates. But when he looked away, when his brothers ran to meet us, when the guards closed the doors behind us, I made my choice.

I pulled the dagger from my boot. The blade gleamed in the moonlight.

Dawn was too far away.

I would not wait.

The forest swallowed me whole, the darkness closing around me like a fist. Behind me, the lights of Blackwood Manor flickered and died.

And ahead, in the shadows, my mother's life hung by a thread.

I gripped the dagger tighter and walked into the dark.