Chapter 2

Chapter Two — The Mark Beneath the Ashes

Riley wasn’t sure what was worse: the fact that she was in the backseat of a luxury black SUV with childproof locks… or the smug silence of the man driving it.

Jaxon Vale hadn’t said a word since she begrudgingly climbed into the car. He didn’t gloat, didn’t explain, didn’t even glance at her through the rearview mirror. Just sat there with his hands at ten and two, like some obedient Alpha-in-training. It would’ve been easier to hate him if he weren’t being so damn calm.

The SUV turned into a private road, the gate opening automatically. Riley sat up straighter as a sleek, modern compound came into view — steel and glass wrapped in stone, half fortress, half billionaire bachelor pad.

Of course the Vale Pack lived like this. Wolves like Jaxon always did — power and privilege wrapped in charm and leather jackets.

“Home sweet home,” he muttered as the vehicle came to a stop.

Riley didn’t move. “You sure you want to drag a ticking time bomb into your ivory tower?”

“You shifted to save a kid. Not exactly villain behavior.”

“I also broke every law your kind worships.”

“You say that like you’re not one of us.”

She didn’t answer.

Jaxon got out and opened her door like she was some dignitary, or maybe just a mildly dangerous animal. She stepped out, brushing past him on purpose.

The packhouse loomed ahead — three stories tall, clean lines, dark windows. Wolves moved like shadows inside, their energy unmistakable even from a distance. Riley’s skin prickled. It had been years since she’d felt a bond link, even a fractured one. It was like hearing a song you hated but still knew every word to.

She swallowed hard.

“Your room’s upstairs,” Jaxon said as they entered the house. “Left side. Top floor. It locks from the inside. We’re not animals.”

“I mean… speak for yourself,” she muttered.

He smirked but didn’t take the bait. “We’ll debrief in the morning. Don’t wander.”

As he turned to leave, she blurted, “What do you know about the mark?”

Jaxon paused. Just for a moment. But it was enough.

“Your file was… redacted,” he said slowly. “But I’ve seen enough to know you’re not just some unlucky rogue.”

“Of course I’m not,” she snapped. “But that doesn’t mean I’m your problem.”

“You were exiled five years ago,” he said, turning fully now. “No one’s heard from you since. Until tonight.”

“I like being forgotten.”

“Well,” he said, eyes locking with hers, “you’re about to be remembered.”

He walked away before she could think of something sharp to say.

---

Riley’s room was far too clean. Minimalist. Cold. She tossed her backpack onto the bed, then paced the floor. Her shoulder ached from the earlier hit, but she didn’t shift to heal it. Not here. Not surrounded by pack walls and prying ears.

Instead, she headed for the en suite bathroom, turned on the tap, and peeled off her sweatshirt.

There it was.

The scar.

A pale mark shaped like a crescent flame just below her collarbone, right where Elias Vale — Jaxon’s rogue uncle — had branded her that night five years ago.

She touched it like she always did, half expecting it to burn.

She remembered the fire. The screams. The way the pack turned on her when they found him dead in the council house. No one asked questions. No one gave her a chance to explain. Just banishment. Just silence.

She hadn’t killed him.

But she’d covered for someone who had.

Now, it was unraveling. All of it.

---

The next morning brought a knock on her door.

Riley groaned. “If this is a dominance test, I’m legally obligated to punch you.”

“It’s me,” said a voice she didn’t recognize. “Lena. Jaxon’s sister.”

Riley opened the door warily. The girl was young — maybe nineteen — with soft curls, bright hazel eyes, and an oversized hoodie with coffee stains on the sleeve.

“I brought you real food,” Lena said, holding up a tray. “Also, I hate pack politics, so we’ll probably get along.”

Riley blinked. “You’re awfully cheerful for a jail warden.”

“More like a designated roommate. Technically, I’m supposed to keep an eye on you. But mostly I’m just nosey.”

Riley took the tray. “Points for honesty.”

“Also,” Lena added, “Jaxon said you had a… mark. Is it true?”

Riley’s grip tightened. “Why?”

“There’s a theory,” Lena said carefully, “that some exiles were marked by someone named Elias before he vanished.”

Riley sat down slowly. “Why would Jaxon care about that?”

Lena hesitated. “Because that mark? It’s showing up on other wolves now. Wolves who’ve been attacked and drained.”

Riley stiffened.

Drained.

The word hit her like cold water. Because once — just once — she’d seen a wolf like that. Empty eyes. Lifeless limbs. Runes etched into the skin like some twisted language. It had haunted her for years.

“I need to see one,” Riley said quietly.

“I can’t promise anything,” Lena replied. “But if you’re willing to talk about your past…”

Riley looked up. “I’m not.”

Lena didn’t push. Just gave her a warm smile and left the tray behind.

Riley sat alone again, staring at the toast she wasn’t hungry for.

Her secret wasn’t just dangerous.

It was beginning to wake up.

And this time, she wasn’t sure she could outrun it.