Chapter 2

Layla

Nobody said anything.

They hadn't expected this. In the three months since they'd brought me home, the Layla they knew had kept her head down, her voice soft, her hands folded in her lap. That Layla did as she was told. That Layla would have said yes.

"I refuse," I said again, slower, so there was no room for misunderstanding.

My mother stared at me like I'd slapped her across the face. "Layla." She pressed a hand to her chest. "How could you—"

"Ungrateful." Cole's lip curled. "We brought you home. We gave you a name, clothes, a room. Do you have any idea what you'd be without this family?"

"I know exactly what I am without this family. That's the problem."

"Enough." My father looked at me with open disappointment. "I expected better," he said. "You've been here months. We gave you every chance to learn how an Alpha's daughter behaves. And still, this."

He shook his head. "You are exactly what they said you'd be. A wild thing from the border, raised among rogues. You have learned nothing but their selfishness."

The old Layla would have apologized. I could feel her in my chest, that girl who would have said I'm sorry, I'll do it, to make his face soften by one degree.

I let her go.

"I grew up not knowing I had parents," I said. "You're right. I was a wild child. I didn't know any better, because no one taught me."

He blinked.

"When I was fighting Rogues just to survive on the border, where were you? When I couldn't fill my stomach, where were you?" I kept my voice level. "Tell me what exactly I should be grateful for."

My father's anger stalled. His eyes dropped from mine. Cole looked away too.

My mother's face changed. Hurt, and guilty, and something she didn't want me to see. She reached for me. "Layla." Her voice was barely there. "Layla, sweetheart—"

Aurora caught her hand first.

She caught the hand and held it. She'd been sitting on a cushioned bench the pack had carried out for her, a blanket over her knees, because of course she had. Everybody was looking at her now instead of me. That was the trick, and it worked every time, and I watched it work.

"Mother, don't." Aurora's voice came out small and tired. "Nobody should be forced into this. I'd rather have nothing."

Beautiful. If I'd still been eighteen the first time, I would have believed her and hated myself.

She stood up. She swayed. She went down.

Not hard. Not enough to hurt. Just enough for the whole family to surge toward her at once, and for me to be standing alone in a clearing full of people.

In the old life I had knelt with them. I had held her hand and fetched the water and apologized to my mother for upsetting her.

This time I didn't move. I was the only person in the clearing who stayed still, watching them perform their family portrait. Like an outsider peering through glass.

"She's cold," my mother said, frantic, pressing Aurora's fingers. "Cole, get the healer. She's always been like this, always frail—" She stopped herself.

My father rounded on me with a finger raised. "Look at her, and look at you, standing there like a stone. She's ill and you can only think of yourself."

"She fainted, Father. She didn't die."

Cole got up off his knees, and his face was ugly. "You did this on purpose. You want us to feel guilty so you can keep what you stole."

I held his gaze. "When you asked me to give up my wolf, did anyone in this family stop to think about what would happen to me?"

Silence.

My mother, still holding Aurora's hand, looked up. "You wouldn't die, Layla." She said it fast and impatient. "Having no wolf won't kill you."

The words hung in the air.

I stared at her. She heard what she'd said a second too late — her mouth opened, but there was nothing to take back.

I had known it. I had died knowing it. And hearing her say it out loud, in front of the pack, in front of the moon, still knocked the breath out of me.

I won't die without a wolf. But Aurora without one. That's unthinkable.

So that's how it was. Good to know.

The whole scene was too absurd. I stepped back toward the edge of the crowd.

The ceremony fire popped. A moth hit the nearest torch and dropped.

"Is something wrong here?"

The voice came from behind me, warm and concerned, and I felt my spine go rigid before I understood why.

Kaelen.

The neighboring Pack's Alpha son stood at the edge of the fire. Handsome, well-mannered, and the only person in my family's circle who had never looked down on me for being rough around the edges. He'd always been kind when nobody else bothered.

My mate. We'd always had something between us. A pull, a warmth, something neither of us had named. Today I would learn why. Today the bond would snap into place.

In the old life, I'd been thrilled.

This time my wolf, silent all night, woke up snarling. Not at him. At me, for ever having wanted him.

Because I remembered what he would do. I would never forget Kaelen shoving me into a pack of frenzied Rogues to save Aurora. That was the second time my life was destroyed, after losing my wolf.

He came around the edge of the circle with his hands open and his head tilted, a young Alpha's son with a beautiful face. He had walked into this pack's ceremony like he owned the fire.

"Layla." He stopped in front of me, "I heard raised voices. Are you all right?"

The mate bond pulled, thin and wrong. His concern was real. It was just worth nothing.

He stared at me, all warmth and steady concern. "I heard about the wolf transfer. Don't worry—once you go through with it, I'll make sure you're taken care of."

The nausea hit before the anger did.

I looked past him. Aurora was awake. She'd come back to herself the moment she heard his voice, and she was looking at him with her chin lifted and her lashes wet. And Kaelen's eyes flickered toward her, just for a second, a soothing look he thought nobody caught.

But I had spent a lifetime learning to look.

I laughed, and it was not a nice sound.

Kaelen turned back to me, frowning. "What?"

"You should go comfort my sister." I kept my voice light. "You two can barely keep your eyes off each other."

He went very still. "Layla, I don't know what you think you saw—"

"Oh, I almost forgot." I tilted my head. "Aurora already has a betrothal to the Lycan King, doesn't she? I wonder just how far you're willing to go for her, Kaelen."

Kaelen's composure cracked for the first time. Aurora's face went white.

The clearing went dead quiet.

My father exploded. "Enough!" It came out as a roar, and he was already gesturing, and two of the pack's servants were moving toward me. "Take her inside. Lock her in her room. She will not ruin this night for her sister."

I didn't wait for them to reach me.

I stepped into the gap between them and the fire, turned, and walked. When a hand caught my elbow, I broke the grip with the heel of my palm and kept walking, and the man behind me made a startled sound and did not try again.

I heard my mother call my name once. I did not look back. Nobody follows a person who doesn't look back.

The pack house was blazing with light. Servants streamed across the lawn with trays and cases of wine, and the smell of roasting meat rolled out of the open doors and hit me.

Crystal on the tables, silk runners. The lamps alone cost a warrior's month.

This pack spent like a kingdom and had done for half a year now. Everyone here thought they were rich. Everyone here had a nice story about how well their Alpha invested.

Nobody asked who was paying. I looked at all of it the way I used to look at the border's winter stores: what it cost, who paid, what it would have fed.

But I wasn't going to stay and watch. I had more important things to do.

My phone buzzed against my hip. Unknown number, one line, no name. I knew the digits by heart.

Boss. The monthly transfer to Thorne Pack goes out tomorrow. On your word?

The gravel path curved down toward the eastern gate. Beyond the gate the forest started, black and old.

I typed one line back.

Cancel the funding.