Chapter 2

Dawn came. I hadn't slept, and Adrian hadn't touched me.

He sat all night in the chair farthest from the bed, like a stone statue guarding the door.

The first morning light slipped through the silver-inlaid window lattice, cutting the shadows on the floor into strips.

I pushed the door open. At the end of the corridor, two Omegas were talking in lowered voices, their eyes sweeping toward me without bothering to hide it. "An orphan girl, standing in the Luna's place. As if she deserves it."

The remark pricked between my shoulder blades like a needle. I didn't turn around. I only straightened my spine a little more.

It didn't take me long to find out about the woman Damian had taken with him.

Her name was Lydia Voss, and she came from the Redfang Pack.

Redfang. When those two words hit my ears, my hand clenched tight.

Twelve years ago, it was Redfang wolves who razed my home and slaughtered my parents.

My parents, Daniel and Evelyn Ashford, were Blackmane warriors. That night, they threw themselves in front of an ambush meant for Alpha Theron, and both died beneath Redfang's silver blades.

Alpha Theron took me into the manor and laid down that rule as his way of making amends for the blood debt owed to my family.

I grew up in this manor, but I was always an outsider. I owed what little standing I had to a single mating contract, and now the heir Alpha Theron had chosen had fallen in love with a daughter of our enemy pack.

I turned it over and over in my mind, and the more I thought about it, the colder I felt.

For days I barely ate. Naya curled in the corner of my soul without a sound, like someone had pulled the bones out of her.

I tried calling to her. All she gave back was a cold silence.

When a wolf is betrayed by the person closest to her, she can fall asleep. In the worst cases, she never wakes again.

I knew I was sliding down that road. I couldn't stop.

I shut myself in the bridal chamber, sitting for whole days at a time and staring blankly at the silver wards on the walls.

On the evening of the fifth day, an Elder came calling under the pretense of visiting the new Luna.

He did not enter. He stood outside the threshold and spoke at his leisure. "You look pale. I do hope that body of yours isn't failing. If Blackmane's Luna can't bear an heir, that seat will have to be vacated sooner or later."

It wasn't concern. It was appraisal, a butcher weighing a cut of meat to see how much it was still worth.

After he left, Adrian stepped out of the shadow of a corridor pillar and stopped at my door.

"You heard him." Adrian did not comfort me. He was blunt. "In this place, tears won't save you. Hiding away won't save you either."

I lifted my eyes and, for the first time, truly studied this man who had taken Damian's place. "Then what will?"

He was silent for so long I thought he wouldn't answer.

"Yourself." With that he turned and walked away, leaving me that one word, along with all the chill of the corridor.

That night, I dreamed of the fire twelve years ago. In the flames, a blurred figure rushed in front of me and took the silver blade meant for me.

As the figure fell, a hand reached out and gently brushed the blood-matted hair from my face.

I had always believed that person was Damian. But when I woke, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't remember whether that figure had the mole at the corner of his eye.

The blood moon had set days ago, but Damian couldn't shake the feeling that the night was not truly over.

He'd left Blackmane Manor at his back and followed Lydia north, into Redfang territory.

His plan had been simple: let his uncle stand in for him that one night, wait for the uproar to die down, then return and switch places again.

But over the past few days, whenever he closed his eyes, the thing he kept turning over wasn't the position. It was Vera.

"Frowning again." Lydia pushed through the curtain, her voice lazy.

"I've been thinking about the manor," Damian said. "Adrian's blocked our mind-link. I can't reach him."

"Vera loves only you, don't you know that?" She moved to his side. "Relax. The title isn't going anywhere. Neither is she."

She fetched a small flask, poured a cup of wine, and held it out to him.

The wine was dark red, with a thick, glossy sheen.

"Drink," she said. "You've been restless for days. It'll help you sleep."

Damian didn't think twice. He tipped his head back and drained the cup. In that instant, Vera's face faded a little further in his mind.

When he looked at Lydia again, all that was left in his eyes was something close to worship, a believer gazing up at a god.

"You're the only one I'll ever want," he said hoarsely.

Lydia watched him, her lips curving while not a trace of warmth touched her eyes.

She took back the flask and ran her thumb over its side, as if judging how much use remained in a favorite tool.

"I know," she said softly.

She had never wanted Damian himself. She wanted the heir's seal at his waist and, beneath that seal, the pack about to change hands: Blackmane.