Ch.3

I stared at the gold pen, the metal cold against my skin. Five years of my life, reduced to a single line of ink. I thought about the way Logan had looked at me—like I was a disease he was finally curing.

I dropped the pen. It clattered against the mahogany desk.

"I won't do it," I whispered to the empty room. "I won't make it easy for you."

Before the pen even stopped rolling, the study doors burst open.

Logan stormed in, his chest heaving, his eyes entirely black. His wolf was right at the surface, radiating a murderous intent that suffocated the air in the room. Behind him were three of the highest-ranking Council Elders.

And then came Rosser, practically dragging Chloe into the room.

Chloe’s perfect dress was torn at the collar. But it was her face that made my blood run cold. She was pale, gasping for air, and her lips had a faint, terrifying blue tinge.

"Get the pack doctor!" Logan roared over his shoulder, rushing to catch Chloe as her knees buckled. He scooped her into his arms, his face twisted in a panic I had never, not once, seen him wear for me.

"Logan, what happened?" I asked, taking a step forward.

"Don't you dare move," Elder Vance snarled. He stepped in front of me, his hand resting on the hilt of his silver blade.

"What is going on?" I demanded, looking from Vance to Logan.

Rosser marched up to the desk and slammed a silver tea tray down. On it was a porcelain cup and a small, empty glass vial. "You know exactly what is going on, Giuliana. I found this in your apron pocket in the kitchen."

Vance picked up the vial, sniffing it cautiously. His face hardened. "Liquid wolfsbane. Highly concentrated."

The room spun. "What? No! I was making breakfast. I didn't have any vials!"

Chloe let out a weak, pathetic whimper, burying her face against Logan's neck. "Logan, it burns... my throat burns so badly."

"I've got you," Logan whispered to her, kissing her forehead. Then, he turned his gaze to me. There was no hatred left. There was only the cold, mechanical look of a man looking at a corpse. "You poisoned her tea."

"I didn't make her tea!" I screamed, the injustice of it tearing at my throat. "She came into the kitchen to mock me! I didn't give her anything! Logan, you have to know I wouldn't do this. I’m a healer. I don't use wolfsbane!"

"Liar," Rosser spat. "I saw you hand her the cup right before Logan walked into the kitchen. You smiled when she drank it."

I stared at Rosser, completely paralyzed by the sheer audacity of the lie. "You... you framed me. You both framed me so he would have a reason to get rid of me!"

"Enough!" Logan’s voice shook the glass in the windows. He set Chloe down gently on the leather sofa, letting Rosser tend to her. He closed the distance between us in two strides.

He didn't hit me. He didn't have to. He just leaned down, his face inches from mine, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly quiet whisper.

"I told you to sign the papers, Giuliana. I told you to take the easy way out. But you couldn't stand the fact that I chose her, could you? You had to try and take her from me."

"Logan, please, smell the vial! Scent it! My scent isn't on it!"

"My sister found it in your pocket," he said flatly. "The Council has their proof. Attempted murder of an Alpha's mate is high treason."

Elder Vance stepped forward. "The punishment is death, Alpha. We can perform the execution at sundown to satisfy the pack law."

Death. They were going to kill me. I looked at Chloe on the couch. The blue tinge on her lips was makeup. It was smudge-proof makeup. She caught my eye over Logan's shoulder, and for a split second, her terrified expression vanished, replaced by a cold, victorious smirk.

"Sign the papers," Logan said, tapping the divorce decree on the desk.

"If they're going to execute me anyway, why does it matter?" I choked out, tears finally spilling over my cheeks.

"Because I won't have my pack's history stained by executing my Luna," Logan said, his tone dripping with disgust. "Sign the papers. Relinquish your title. In exchange, I will show you mercy. I will commute your sentence to permanent exile. You walk out of here a rogue, and you never come back."

"Exile? Logan, a wolf without a pack in the dead of winter... that’s just a slower death."

"Then you better start running," he replied. "You have one minute. Sign, or Vance takes your head right now."

I looked at the men who had been my family for five years. They looked back at me with nothing but contempt. I had scrubbed their floors, balanced their ledgers, and bled for their borders. And it took one lie from a returning ex-girlfriend to turn them all into my executioners.

My hand shook so badly I could barely hold the pen. I pressed the gold tip to the paper. The ink bled into the thick parchment.

Giuliana. I didn't add the last name. I didn't deserve it, and neither did they.

The moment the pen lifted, Elder Vance stepped forward with a heavy iron stamp. "The bond is dissolved by blood and law."

He pressed the seal against the paperwork.

The snap of the mate bond wasn't a sound. It was a physical tearing inside my chest. It felt like someone had reached through my ribs and ripped out half of my lungs. I gasped, falling to my knees on the hardwood floor, clutching my chest. The pack link in my mind—the comforting hum of hundreds of wolves that I had felt for five years—went dead silent.

I was completely, utterly alone.

"Get her out of my sight," Logan said, turning his back on me. "Throw her past the tree line. If she tries to cross back over, kill her."

The Enforcers didn't let me pack a bag. They didn't let me put on shoes. They grabbed me by the arms and dragged me through the pack house. I saw the omegas I had protected turning their faces away. I saw the warriors I had healed pretending not to notice.

They dragged me down the dirt road, the rain starting to fall in thick, freezing sheets. When we hit the northern border marker, they didn't just let me go. They threw me.

I hit the mud hard, scraping my knees and palms on the jagged rocks of the No-Man's Land.

"Enjoy the woods, rogue," one of the guards spat, turning his back and walking away.

I lay in the mud for a long time. The rain soaked through my ruined dress, freezing me to the bone. My wolf was whining, a pathetic, broken sound echoing in the empty cavern of my mind. I was so tired. I just wanted to close my eyes and let the cold take me.

But then, the wind shifted.

The smell hit me instantly. It wasn't the clean pine and rain scent of the Blackwood pack. It was a harsh, musky scent. Wet earth, dried blood, and raw wilderness.

Rogues.

I tried to push myself up, my bare feet slipping in the mud. I couldn't run. I couldn't even stand.

A low growl vibrated from the thick brush to my left. Then, another from my right.

Shadows detached themselves from the trees. Five wolves stepped into the clearing, their eyes glowing a predatory yellow in the dark. They were massive, their coats matted and scarred from years of brutal survival outside the pack systems.

I backed up against the trunk of a large oak tree, my breathing shallow.

The wolves shifted. Bones cracked and reformed until five humans stood in the rain, pulling tattered cloaks over their naked bodies.

One of them stepped forward. He was huge. Taller than Logan, broader than any Enforcer I had ever seen. He had dark, messy hair and a rugged face covered in scars. But it was his eyes that held me in place. They weren't yellow. They were a piercing, terrifying amber. When he looked at me, I felt a strange heat prickle at the base of my neck.

Even in his human form, I could tell what his wolf looked like. I could smell the dominance rolling off him. He was the one with the distinct patch of brown fur between his brow.

"Look at this," a younger rogue sneered, stepping closer to me. "A little stray wandered out of the rich lands."

What's your name?

I'm Guiliana, I could barely respond.

"We don't know where she's from, we can't just take her," a woman with a scarred cheek said, her voice tight with caution.

"She smells like the Blackwoods," the younger one argued, sniffing the air. "She smells like money."

"What if she's from a rival pack?" the woman countered, looking at the huge man with amber eyes. "What if it's a trap, Ryan? We can't risk it."

Ryan didn't answer them. He kept his eyes locked on mine. He walked toward me, his heavy boots making no sound in the mud. He crouched down in front of me. He was so close I could feel the heat radiating from his chest.

He looked at my bleeding feet. He looked at the mud covering my expensive silk dress. Then, he looked at my eyes.

"She's not a trap," Ryan said, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble that sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold. "She's an exile. Look at her eyes. Her Alpha broke her."

He reached out. I flinched, expecting a strike. Instead, his large, rough hand gently brushed a wet strand of hair from my face. The touch was so unexpected, so shockingly gentle, that a choked sob escaped my lips.

Ryan stood up, his massive frame blocking out the rain.

"Melissa, take her," Malakai ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Ryan, the food shortage—" the woman started.

"I said take her," he growled, a warning rumble vibrating in his chest. "Wrap her up. She's coming with us."

Melissa sighed, pulling a thick, dry woolen blanket from her pack and moving toward me.