Chapter 1

Layla

"You should give your wolf to your sister!"

I watched my brother Cole's mouth open and close, and realized I was back. Eighteen years old, the night of the coming-of-age ceremony.

The pain of dying hadn't fully faded. But something was pouring into the place it left—warm, fierce, filling me from the ribs out.

My wolf. She stirred against my chest, alive and whole. Still mine. Still there.

I'd never forget that night.

I'd grown up on the border with my grandmother, believing I was an orphan. A nobody. Then, just before my eighteenth birthday, my father sent someone to bring me home. I learned I had a brother and a twin sister. I learned I had a pack.

I was so desperate to belong. I swallowed every slight and smiled through every dismissal, convinced that if I tried harder, they would love me back.

Then my wolf awakened. Stronger than anyone expected. Power rolled off me, and every head in the clearing turned.

For one moment I let myself hope. Maybe now. Maybe finally.

But the faces around the clearing hadn't held pride, because my twin sister Aurora hadn't awakened a wolf at all.

She was the golden daughter. I was the wild girl from the border. The one who did not fit.

And I felt it. That ugly, shameful flicker of relief.

If Aurora had no wolf and I did, maybe I could prove I was the better daughter. Maybe, for once, their eyes would stay on me.

I got no praise.

They wanted me to give my wolf to Aurora.

In my first life, I'd said yes.

I let them carve my wolf out of my soul with magic so old it felt like being torn apart from the inside. The pain had been worse than anything I'd imagined. They reached into my chest and tore out the part of me that was most alive.

Aurora got my wolf.

I got nothing. Not their love. Not their gratitude. Not even their acknowledgment.

The magic that severed my wolf shredded my health along with it. I grew weaker by the month.

They did not care.

I was the empty container they'd already wrung dry, and they set me aside.

I'd tried everything to win them back.

I gave them everything I had. The things they saw, and the things they never noticed at all. The days I swallowed it and smiled anyway. The nights I made myself small so I wouldn't be a problem.

They took all of it. They gave nothing back.

In the end, the only value I held in their eyes was as Aurora's blood bag, a body to drain so their real daughter could thrive.

They abandoned me. I died alone and in pain, and nobody remembered me.

And somehow the Moon Goddess gave me a second chance.

I drew a breath. A real, full breath that expanded my lungs without the rattling ache I'd grown used to at the end. My body felt solid. Strong.

My hands were smooth. No scars, no needle marks, no blue bruising up both arms from where they had drained me. Eighteen-year-old hands.

The wolf curled inside my chest. Warm. Awake.

I was alive and whole, and I remembered everything.

"Are you even listening?" Cole snapped. He stepped closer, irritation pulling his mouth tight.

"You should share your wolf with Aurora. That's not a difficult concept."

My brother. Tall and broad-shouldered, and protective of everyone in this family except me.

Behind him, my father stood with his arms crossed, jaw set. "This shouldn't require this much deliberation, Layla. It's a simple decision."

My mother placed a hand on my father's arm, softening the blow the way she always did. "Sweetheart, you and Aurora shared a womb. You shared everything before you were born. Why would sharing a wolf be any different?"

Her voice was warm and concerned. The perfect mask of a mother who cared.

Cole took another step forward. "If you hadn't stolen Aurora's nutrients in the womb, she wouldn't be this weak. She would have awakened her own wolf."

"You owe her, Layla. You don't get to be selfish about this."

Selfish. As if wanting to keep my own wolf was the cruelest thing anyone had ever done in this family.

He reached for my arm. The same rough grab he had used a hundred times before, hauling me along, shoving me wherever they wanted me.

Cole was gentle with Aurora. Gentle with every she-wolf in the pack.

With me, his hand was rough.

I sidestepped. His fingers closed on air.

It was instinct. Border instinct, the kind you build from years of dodging fists in back alleys. To Cole it was something else entirely.

His hand hung there for a second. The shock on his face was almost worth the trip back.

"You—" His eyes went wide. Then furious.

"Cole." Aurora's voice floated in, honey-sweet and perfectly timed. She touched his shoulder, pulling him back with a look of gentle concern.

"Don't be so harsh with her. Layla's always been understanding. I'm sure she'll agree."

She turned those doe eyes on me. "Right, Layla?"

The peacemaker. They all felt sorry for the fragile twin. The pressure landed on Layla, and nobody had to raise their voice.

I looked at them. One by one. And smiled.

It came up from somewhere deep. It came out hoarse, and it kept coming. For how blind I had been. For every year I had spent begging them to love me. For this beautiful little play about family, still running, still perfect. It nearly took my breath.

In my first life, I'd been so desperate for their love that I never saw their faces for what they were. Or maybe I'd seen and refused to admit it.

Nobody laughed with me.

My mother glanced at my father. Cole's mouth opened and closed. Aurora's smile stayed where it was, frozen, her eyes flicking between them.

"Is something funny?" my father said.

Nobody answered.

The bonfire popped. A spark drifted past his shoulder and died on the grass.

His face went dark. "Well? What's your answer?"

I met his eyes. Then Cole's, then Aurora's.

"I refuse."