Chapter 1

Ivory's POV

"Hey, pipsqueak."

I looked up from the pumpkin I was carving, grinning as Marcus approached across the backyard.

Jack-o'-lanterns in various stages of completion surrounded me on the picnic table, along with the mess of pumpkin guts I'd been scooping out for the past hour.

"Perfect timing." I gestured to the pile of orange innards. "Want to help me clean up this disaster?"

"On your birthday? Never." He settled beside me on the bench, bumping my shoulder with his. "Can't believe my baby sister is twenty now."

"Ancient," I agreed, wiping pumpkin slime off my hands. "Practically decaying alive."

Marcus laughed, the sound warm. He'd been taking care of me since our parents died four years ago, stepping into the role of pack leader and big brother.

Some days I missed them so much it felt like drowning, but Marcus never let me sink too deep into the grief.

"I got you something." He pulled a small velvet box from his jacket pocket, his expression suddenly serious. "Well, technically it was already yours. Mom wanted you to have it when you turned twenty."

My chest tightened. Mom's jewelry had been locked away since the funeral, too painful for either of us to look at. "Marcus, you don't have to…"

"She'd want you to wear it tonight." He opened the box, revealing a silver pendant on a delicate chain. The metal gleamed in the lamplight, covered in engravings that seemed to shift and move when I wasn't looking directly at them. "It's been in the Vale family for generations. Every Luna has worn it."

I touched the pendant with one finger, surprised by how warm it felt. The symbols carved into its surface were beautiful but unfamiliar, like writing from some ancient language I'd never learned.

"It's gorgeous," I whispered.

"May I?" He gestured to the clasp, and I nodded, lifting my hair so he could fasten it around my neck. His fingers were gentle at my nape, the same way they'd been when I was little and he helped me with necklaces for school pictures.

The pendant settled against my collarbone, heavier than I'd expected but not uncomfortable.

It pulsed with warmth, like it had its own heartbeat.

"Perfect." Marcus kissed my forehead, the gesture so achingly familiar it made my throat tight. "Mom would be proud. You look just like her."

I caught my reflection in the black window of the house behind us. The pendant did suit me, the silver bright against my pale skin. But it was Marcus's words that made me glow, not the jewelry.

People were already starting to arrive for the party, voices and laughter carrying across the yard. The pack had been planning this for weeks, and half the university would probably show up.

Including Damon Cross.

My stomach flipped at the thought. Damon, with his messy brown hair and amber eyes that would make me melt.

Damon, who'd been Marcus's best friend since childhood and the star of every embarrassing wet dream I'd had since I turned sixteen.

Maybe tonight I'd finally work up the courage to tell him how I felt.

I was tired of surviving on stolen glances and dreams that left me wet and aching for him.

Yes, I was that naughty.

The bonfire was already crackling in the center of the yard, surrounded by pack members and university students who had no idea they were partying with werewolves.

Music pumped from speakers someone had dragged outside, competing with laughter and conversation.

And there was Damon, looking like every fantasy I'd ever had wrapped in faded jeans and a dark green henley that brought out his eyes.

"Ivory!" He spotted me across the crowd and raised his beer in salute, that crooked grin spreading across his face. "Happy birthday, beautiful."

Heat crawled up my neck and I ducked my head, pleased and embarrassed in equal measure. Beautiful. He'd called me beautiful.

I removed my gloves dumping it on the table.

"Thanks," I managed, accepting the beer he pressed into my hands.

"Great party. Marcus really went all out." Damon gestured to the decorations strung between trees, the carved pumpkins glowing with candles.

"He's good at taking care of people." I sipped my beer, using the pause to study Damon's face. He was even more gorgeous up close.

Damn to have this man all over me…

"So are you." His voice was softer now, almost thoughtful. "The way you help with the younger pack members, how you always make sure everyone's included. You're going to make an amazing Luna someday."

My heart hammered against my ribs. Was he hinting at something, or just being nice? With Damon, I could never tell.

"Ivory!" Marcus appeared at my elbow, his cheeks flushed from beer and bonfire heat. "There you are. We need to get started."

"Started with what?"

"The ritual, of course." He draped an arm around my shoulders, grinning at Damon. "Tell her it's not that bad."

Damon laughed. "It's really not. Just tradition."

I looked between them, confused. "What tradition?"

"When pack members turn twenty, we do a hunt ritual. It's like initiation into the adult group." Marcus gestured toward the fire, where I could see other pack members watching us. Familiar faces from Marcus's year, people I'd grown up with. "Nothing dangerous, just fun."

"What kind of fun?"

"We paint you up with traditional hunt markings, you get a head start, then we chase you through the woods. Whoever catches you first wins bragging rights." Marcus shrugged like it was no big deal. "It's basically an elaborate game of tag."

I glanced at Damon, who nodded encouragingly. "I did it when I turned twenty. So did everyone else here. It's actually pretty fun.”

I smiled at them, nodding. "Okay. Sounds fun."

Marcus whooped and grabbed my hand, pulling me toward a table set up near the tree line. Paintbrushes and buckets waited, along with something dark that smelled metallic and wrong.

"Pig blood," Marcus explained, seeing my expression. "Traditional hunt paint. Makes the scent trail more authentic for tracking."

I wrinkled my nose. "That's disgusting."

"Beauty is pain, pipsqueak." He dipped a brush into the blood, testing the consistency. "Besides, you'll wash it off afterward."

The pack members gathered around us in a loose circle, their conversations quieting as Marcus began to paint.

He started with my arms, drawing circles all of them.

The blood was cold and sticky, making my skin crawl.

"Hold still," Marcus murmured, moving to my face. He painted lines across my cheeks and forehead, his touch gentle but sure. "These symbols are important. They mark you as the hunted."

Something about the way he said it made my wolf pace restlessly beneath my skin, but I ignored the unease.

Marcus would never hurt me. This was just tradition, harmless fun.

"There." He stepped back, admiring his work. "Perfect."

I looked down at myself, blood covering my arms and streaking my face in intricate patterns. The metallic smell was overwhelming now, making my stomach turn.

"Beautiful work," someone said, and I looked up to see several pack members nodding appreciatively.

"Ready for your head start?" Marcus asked.

I glanced toward the forest, dark and inviting beyond the firelight.

My wolf stirred, eager for the run.

"How long do I get?"

"Five minutes. Then we come after you." Marcus pointed toward the trees. "Try to make it interesting."

I grinned, adrenaline starting to sing in my veins. "Don't cry when you can't catch me."

The group laughed, Damon calling out, "Good luck, birthday girl!"

I jogged toward the tree line, excitement filling my veins.

"Ready?" Marcus shouted.

I turned back one last time, seeing all those familiar faces lit by flames. Damon gave me a thumbs up, his smile making my heart race faster than any chase could.

"Ready!"

"Go!"

I sprinted into the darkness, laughter bubbling up from my chest.

The forest floor was soft under my bare feet, cushioned by years of fallen leaves. My wolf connecting with my inner self, lending me speed and grace as I move between trees.

This was incredible.

The cool night air on my face, the thrill of the hunt, the knowledge that somewhere behind me, Damon was probably following my scent.

Maybe when he caught me, I'd finally work up the courage to kiss him.

Best twentieth birthday ever.

I ran deeper into the woods, following deer paths I'd known since childhood.

Behind me, I could hear the first howls starting up, the pack beginning their chase.

The pendant grew hotter against my skin with each step, but I pushed the discomfort aside. Nothing was going to ruin this night.

I vaulted over a fallen log, landed gracefully, and kept running. My breathing was steady, my stride strong. I could do this for hours.

Then my foot caught on something, a root or rock hidden in the shadows. I pitched forward, off balance, and hit the ground hard. My ankle twisted beneath me with a sickening crack, pain shooting up my leg like lightning.

"Shit!" I gasped, rolling onto my back. My foot was bent at an impossible angle, definitely broken.

I tried to reach for my wolf, to access the healing that came with shifting, but something was wrong. She felt distant, muffled, like she was trying to reach me through thick glass.

The pendant was burning hot now.

I clawed at the chain with shaking fingers, but it wouldn't budge. The silver was too hot to touch, melting into my skin.

Weakness flooded my system, making my vision blur and my limbs heavy. Whatever was happening to the pendant, it was stealing my strength, cutting me off from my wolf.

"Marcus!" I screamed into the darkness, panic rising in my throat. "Damon! Help me!"

Two massive wolves emerged from the undergrowth, their eyes reflecting the moonlight like twin flames.

Relief crashed through me as I recognized their scents, familiar and comforting.

"Marcus, thank god." My voice was barely a whisper now, the pendant's heat spreading through my entire body. "Something's wrong with the necklace, I can't shift, I can't—"

The larger wolf, my brother, bared his teeth in a snarl.

My blood turned to ice. "Marcus? What's going on?"

At that moment, he lunged.