Chapter 1

Noa’s POV

“Mom says don’t wear white,” Talia said. “You’ll look like a cloud.”

I didn’t look up from the dough. My hands were buried to the wrists in it, warm and soft and springy, the only thing in the whole kitchen that was kind to me.

“Then I’ll wear gray,” I said. “And rain on everyone.”

Talia laughed. She’s my little sister, and she has a lovely laugh. It rings like a spoon on a glass. Most of the pack thinks she’s the prettiest wolf in Silverlake. She’s twenty-one, tall and lean, with golden hair that swings when she walks.

She leaned on the counter and picked a raisin out of my challah dough. “Seriously, Noa. Alpha Stone is coming tonight. The whole Ironwood delegation. Mom wants us to look our best.”

“I always look my best.”

“You look like you.” She popped the raisin in her mouth. “That’s not the same.”

I kneaded harder. Push, fold, turn. Push, fold, turn. Flour puffed up around my fingers like smoke.

“There she is,” my mother said from the doorway. “The baker.”

Liora Bennett does not walk into a room. She arrives. She wore a green silk dress and a face that said she had already decided how the evening would end. Her eyes went over me, from my flour-dusted apron to my hips to the loaf pan on the counter, and I felt every inch of it.

“Good morning, Mom.”

“You’ve made enough bread for an army.”

“It’s for the ceremony. The pack likes it.”

“The pack likes it because it’s free.” She sighed. “Noa. Listen. Tonight is important. Every unmated wolf over eighteen will stand at the lake. Ironwood’s Alpha will be watching. You are twenty-four years old and you have not shifted once. People talk.”

“I know.”

“So do us a kindness. Skip the food tonight. Don’t be near the tables.”

My throat went tight. “I bake the food, Mom.”

“Then don’t eat it.”

Silence. In the corner, my father lowered his newspaper an inch, looked at me over the top, and lifted it back up. Eli Bennett is the pack’s treasurer. He has opinions about everything except his daughters.

“Do as your mother says,” he said, to the sports page.

I nodded. My mouth had gone dry. I turned back to the dough so nobody could see my face, and I began to hum. It’s a habit. I hum when I’m scared. It’s one low note, like a kettle just before it boils.

“Ugh, that noise,” Talia said, and left.

~

“Ignore them,” Shira said.

“I am.”

“You’re humming.”

“I’m humming in a very peaceful way.”

She hooked her arm through mine. Shira Cole has been my best friend since the third grade, when she punched a boy for calling me Marshmallow. She wore a bright yellow dress and a crown of daisies, and she looked like a sunrise that had made a bad decision.

We stood at the edge of Silver Lake at dusk. Behind us, the Cascade Mountains turned blue and purple, and the air smelled like pine and woodsmoke. A great bonfire crackled on the shore. Two hundred wolves in their finest clothes circled the water, talking low, laughing, glancing sideways at the line of unmated girls and boys near the flames.

Me, among them.

Twenty-four. Silent. Wolfless.

In Silverlake, wolves wake up at sixteen or seventeen. Their beasts rise inside them, and the world turns silver and sharp. Mine never came. The healers said late bloom. My mother said shame. Everybody else just watched me, curious, like I was a very slow flower.

“There he is,” Shira whispered.

The crowd had gone quiet.

Three black SUVs rolled down the gravel road and stopped by the water. Doors opened. Men in dark jackets stepped out, broad and silent, and then a fourth man, and every hair on my arms stood up.

I had heard of Alpha Asher Stone. Everybody had. Thirty years old. Alpha of the Ironwood Pack in Montana, the biggest in the Northwest. They said he’d taken the title at twenty-two after his father fell ill. They said he’d killed six rogues in one night. They said he never smiled.

He didn’t smile now.

He was taller than the men around him. Black coat, dark hair, a hard jaw with a shadow of stubble, and a scar that ran up the side of his neck and disappeared under his collar. He moved like a blade sliding out of a sheath. His eyes swept across the crowd, gold in the firelight, and every wolf lowered their head.

“Breathe,” Shira murmured.

“I am.”

“You’re not.”

He was ten feet away. Then five.

Then he stopped.

The whole world went quiet. Not the crowd. Me. The bonfire and the wind and the hum of two hundred conversations, all gone, as if someone had turned a knob. A smell reached me. Pine. Cold rain. Warm cinnamon. It wrapped around my ribs and squeezed.

His eyes locked on mine.

A thin gold thread flashed in the air between us. It was bright and fine as a spider’s silk, and it stretched from his chest to mine. My heart gave one enormous knock, like a fist on a door.

“Mate,” somebody whispered in the crowd.

“Did you see that?”

“The Bennett girl?”

“The fat one?”

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t look away. His gaze burned. For one wild second, all the fear went out of me, and I thought, oh. It’s him. It’s really you.

Then his face changed.

I watched it happen. The shock went first. Then a colder look slid down over it, like a shutter over a window. His jaw went tight. His hands closed at his sides.

He crossed the last five feet. Wolves scattered out of his way.

“Name,” he said.

“N-Noa. Noa Bennett.”

“Age.”

“Twenty-four.”

“Wolf?”

I swallowed. “I don’t have one yet.”

A ripple of laughter went through the crowd. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t have to be.

Asher Stone looked down at me for a long time. His eyes went over my face, my shoulders, the round softness of my arms, the gray dress my sister had said was too plain. I stood there in the firelight and felt every single one of those stares. My mother’s. Talia’s. Two hundred of them.

I lifted my chin. I don’t know why. It was the only thing I had left.

“Say it,” I whispered. “Whatever it is. Just say it.”

His lips parted.

“Noa Bennett,” said Alpha Asher Stone, in a voice that carried across the whole lake. “I, Alpha of the Ironwood Pack, reject you as my mate.”

The world dropped out from under my feet.

I felt the thread snap. It wasn’t a sound. It was a wrenching, tearing pain that went right through my chest, as though someone had reached inside and yanked out a rope. My knees buckled. Shira caught me. The crowd gasped, then murmured, then, from somewhere near the back, laughed.

Talia’s laugh. I’d have known it anywhere.

I fought for air. Tears burned. Through the blur, I saw his face. He was looking at me. Only at me. And for one strange, tiny second, a flash like agony crossed his eyes.

Then he turned and walked back to his car.

I knelt on the cold gravel. My chest was on fire. I pressed my palm flat against it and tried to breathe.

And in the dark behind my ribs, for the very first time in my life, a pair of golden eyes opened.