CHAPTER 1

WINIFRED HAWTHORNE POV

"Do you really believe he will mistake you for her when the blood moon rises?"

Winifred Hawthorne grips the edge of the stone basin, staring at her twin sister’s reflection in the water. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribs. She does not look away from Dorothea Whitcombe. They share the exact same face, the exact same silver-grey eyes, but Dorothea wears silk robes while Winifred wears the plain linen of a pack outcast.

"He has to," Dorothea whispers, her lips trembling as she adjusts the crimson mantle over Winifred’s shoulders. "The Whitcombe pack owes the Alpha a Luna vow tonight. If I do not present a bride at the gathering, Alpha Edmund will slaughter our entire council. You have to take my place, Winifred. You owe our bloodline this much."

"I do not owe the Whitcombe pack anything," Winifred says, her throat tight with a sudden surge of heat. "You threw me to the orphaned rogue pack the moment we were born. You hid me away like a shame."

"Mother and Father begged you on their knees two days ago," Dorothea snaps, her voice dropping into a desperate hiss. "You agreed! You said yes the second they offered you the chance to stand beside Edmund Ravenscroft!"

Winifred closes her eyes, her inner wolf whimpering in the dark corners of her mind. She cannot deny it. For twelve long years, ever since she first caught the scent of cedar and crushed winter pine at the border territory, she has carried a silent, pathetic crush on the Alpha. When her birth parents found her three years ago, she remained discreet, soft-spoken, and desperate for a crumb of their affection. When they begged her to stand as the substitute Luna to save their family from Edmund's wrath, her foolish heart leaped. She wanted to be needed. She wanted to stand near him.

"The vow is bound," Dorothea says, stepping back into the shadows of the chamber. "The mate bond scent will cover your trace until sunrise. Do not touch his claws. Do not speak unless spoken to."

Now, the midnight bell tolls across the courtyard of Ravenscroft Alpha Manor.

Winifred sits on the edge of the carved wooden marriage bed, staring down at the thick silver band on her ring finger. Coldness seeps through her bones. Alpha Edmund Ravenscroft left the banquet hall the second the ceremonial wine was poured. He did not offer her a single word. He did not even look at her face before vanishing into the dark forests of the pack lands.

A heavy engine roars outside the stone gates. The car purrs to a halt in the courtyard below.

Winifred springs to her feet. Her hands shake as she smoothes down the heavy velvet of her red bridal robe. She rushes out of the bedchamber, her bare feet gliding over the polished stone corridor, and hurries down the grand spiral staircase.

She pulls a pair of soft leather slippers from the wooden rack near the entrance. She stands by the iron-reinforced doors, holding her breath, forcing a small, dutiful smile onto her face.

The heavy oak door swings open with a low groan.

"Husband," Winifred says, bowing her head slightly as he steps across the threshold. "You have returned—"

The words die instantly in her throat.

A sharp, suffocating scent hits her like a physical blow. Heavy alcohol mixed with the intoxicating, sweet perfume of a wild female wolf fills the entrance hall. Her nose twinges with an unbearable, stabbing pain.

Winifred clenches her fingers into the leather slippers. She knows where he was. The scent of another pack's female hangs thick on his dark cloak. She knows her duty. This is an arranged match on paper, a substitute vow meant to keep the peace between the Whitcombe Pack and the Ravenscroft Pack.

She swallows down the bitter taste in her mouth and forces her eyes upward.

Edmund does not stop. He ignores her presence entirely, brushing past her with cold, terrifying authority. His massive shoulders are tense under his tunic.

"Edmund," she calls softly, turning to follow his long strides up the staircase.

He steps into the master bedchamber and strips off his dark linen shirt with one fluid, violent motion. The golden light of the torchfire catches the broad expanse of his back, highlighting thick muscle and old battle scars from pack wars. He looks dangerously powerful, every inch the Alpha of the northern territories.

Winifred blushes, her cheeks burning hot. She instantly turns her back to him, covering her eyes. "Forgive me, I will wait outside while you change—"

Before she can take a single step toward the door, a heavy, iron-like grip fastens onto her shoulder from behind.

An incredible force lifts her completely off the stone floor. Air rushes out of her lungs as she flies through the space and crashes down onto the center of the massive fur mattress.

The bed is soft, but the impact rattles her bones. Her spine aches from the force of the throw.

She scrambles to sit up, her breath coming in fast, shallow gasps. Edmund stands over the edge of the bed, towering like a mountain of pure threat. The pale moonlight streaming through the high arched window casts sharp shadows across his angular face. He looks down at her with a condescending, predatory coldness that makes her wolf cower inside her chest.

"What is your name?" Edmund demands, his voice a low, gravelly snarl that vibrates through the floorboards.

Winifred freezes. Her pulse hammers violently against her throat. "My... my name?"

"Speak," he growls.

"Dorothea," she lies, her voice trembling as the fake name leaves her lips. "Dorothea Whitcombe..."

She is Winifred Hawthorne. The hidden sister. The nameless outcast. But if she speaks her true name, the treaty shatters, and her family dies.

Edmund leans down instantly, his massive frame pinning her against the mattress. Before she can draw breath to scream, his large hand shoots forward, tangling deep into her dark hair. He wrenches her head back violently, forcing her silver eyes to meet his.

"Are. You. Dorothea. Whitcombe?" he rasps out, placing every single syllable like a strike from a blade.

Winifred stares up into his pitch-black eyes. There is no warmth in him. There is no recognition of a mate. There is only a deep, ancient hatred carved into his very bones.

When his lips form her sister’s name, a terrifying, unhinged madness flares within his dark irises.

Even though it is the middle of the summer heat, an ice-cold sweat breaks out across Winifred’s forehead. Her heart hits her ribs like a trapped bird. The grip on her hair is so tight her scalp burns, locking her in place. She can only stare back into his lethal gaze, forcing herself to give a small, frantic nod.

"Yes," she whispers, her throat dry. "I am."

A dark, cruel smile curves Edmund’s lips, but his eyes grow colder than winter frost.

"Since you dared to step into my den tonight," Edmund snarls against her skin, his breath burning hot against her cheek, "you should know what I am. I have never been a merciful Alpha!"

A sharp, violent sound echoes through the silent chamber as he grips the collar of her crimson dress and rips the heavy fabric straight down the center.

Winifred opens her mouth to scream, her hands frantically shoving against his iron chest, but her human strength is nothing against an Alpha. He ignores her frantic writhing entirely. With a low, possessive growl that shakes the stone walls of the manor, Edmund drives himself forward, forcing his overwhelming presence onto her body and claiming her in the dark.