Chapter 2: Amelia

The kitchen steam clung to my skin, reopening the wounds on my back with every movement. I scrubbed at a pot that refused to come clean, each circular motion sending fresh ripples of pain across my shoulders where Julian's whip had carved its message. Fifteen lashes. A birthday gift, he'd called it. The memory burned brighter than my wounds, but I kept scrubbing, kept breathing, kept existing.

What else was there to do?

Lily worked beside me, her movements efficient but gentle whenever she passed near my injured back. She hadn't mentioned the punishment directly. There was no need. She'd been the one to help me clean the cuts afterward, her face a mask of controlled rage as she dabbed antiseptic on skin torn to ribbons.

"You should rest," she whispered, low enough that only I could hear. Even in the relative privacy of the kitchen, walls had ears in Silver Lake.

"And give Victoria the satisfaction?" I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. "I'd rather bleed on her dinner plates."

Lily snorted, a flash of genuine amusement breaking through her concern. "Save some blood for her wine glass. Might improve the taste of her personality."

I laughed despite myself, then winced as the motion pulled at my scabs. The kitchen was quiet otherwise, most of the pack already fed and the other servants dismissed for the night. Just Lily and me, left with the mountain of dishes that accompanied any meal for thirty ravenous werewolves.

"At least it's almost over," Lily said, nodding toward the dwindling stack of dirty pans. "Then we can—"

The kitchen door swung open, cutting off her words. The change was immediate, Lily's shoulders tensed, her eyes dropped to the floor, her entire posture transforming from friend to servant in the space of a heartbeat. I followed suit, keeping my gaze fixed on the sudsy water before me.

"I'm starving," Victoria's voice, high, demanding, perpetually dissatisfied. "There must be something edible left in this place."

"I told you we should have eaten earlier." Alexander's voice was deeper, controlled in a way that spoke of power held in reserve. "The Alpha expects that report by morning."

I kept my head down as they moved further into the kitchen, Victoria's heels clicking sharply against the tile floor. My back throbbed in time with my heartbeat, a painful reminder to stay invisible, to breathe shallowly, to will myself into the background like a piece of furniture.

And then it hit me. A scent unlike anything I'd ever experienced. The forest after rain, smoke from a winter fire, something primal and magnetic that pulled at something deep inside me. My head jerked up before I could stop myself, my eyes finding Alexander instantly across the room.

His nostrils flared. For a split second, his eyes widened, something fierce and hungry flashing across his face before a cold mask settled back into place.

Mate.

The word exploded in my mind with absolute certainty. Alexander Rookwood, the Beta, Victoria's boyfriend, the man who had stood silently by while I was cast out of the family… was my fated mate.

Horror and desire crashed through me in equal measure. My hands trembled so badly that the plate I was holding slipped, shattering against the edge of the sink. The sound was deafening in the sudden silence.

Victoria's head snapped toward me, her eyes narrowing. "What's wrong with you?" she demanded, then froze. Her gaze darted between Alexander and me, understanding dawning with terrible clarity.

"No," she whispered, then louder: "No."

Alexander remained still, his face carved from stone, but his eyes, those cold blue eyes that had never really looked at me before, were fixed on mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

Victoria stalked toward me, each step deliberate. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't break the connection that hummed in the air between Alexander and me.

"You smell that, don't you?" Victoria's voice was deadly quiet as she stopped in front of me. "You think he's yours?"

I said nothing. What could I say? The truth was written on my face, in my racing pulse, in the way my body unconsciously leaned toward his.

Her hand shot out, fingers tangling painfully in my hair, yanking my head back until my wounded back screamed in protest. "He's mine, bitch," she hissed, her face inches from mine. "Remember that."

She released me with a shove that sent me staggering backward. My feet tangled and I fell, landing hard on the kitchen floor, pain exploding across my back as the fresh cuts made contact with the cold tile.

Alexander stepped forward then, his face a perfect mask of indifference. Only his eyes betrayed him, a flash of something that might have been regret, quickly buried beneath layers of cold calculation.

"I, Beta Alexander Rookwood," he began, his voice formal and empty, "reject you, Amelia Blackwood, as my mate."

Each word was a physical blow. Something tore inside me; not my heart, but deeper, more primal. The mate bond, forming and severing in the same terrible moment. I gasped, curling inward against a pain that made Julian's whip feel like a caress.

Victoria watched, satisfaction curving her lips, her hand possessively gripping Alexander's arm.

The words were forced from my throat, a script I had no choice but to follow: "I, Amelia Blackwood, accept your rejection." My voice broke on the last word, shame and grief tangling in my throat.

Lily stood frozen by the sink, horror etched across her face. I couldn't bear her pity, couldn't bear another second in this kitchen with the scent of the man that should have been my mate filling my lungs.

I scrambled to my feet and ran, shoving past them both, ignoring Victoria's laugh and Alexander's silence. The hallway blurred through my tears as I raced toward the front entrance, toward air that wasn't saturated with his scent, toward an escape from the humiliation burning through me.

I burst through the front doors and down the wide stone steps of the house that had once been my home. Each breath came ragged and painful, my lungs unable to get enough air. The rejection clawed at me from inside, tearing, burning.

Until something snapped.

I fell to my knees halfway down the stairs, a scream tearing from my throat as fire raced through my veins. My vision tunneled, darkness creeping in from the edges as my body convulsed. Bones cracked and reformed, muscles tore and rewove themselves, skin stretched and sprouted fur in a transformation I had dreamed of for years but had long ago surrendered hope of experiencing.

The pain was excruciating, and then suddenly it wasn't. Strength flooded through me, senses sharpening to impossible clarity. I stood on four paws, my body larger and more powerful than I could have imagined.

I caught my reflection in a window; a massive copper wolf with green eyes staring back in shock. My wolf. The one they said would never come. The one whose absence had cost me everything.

Without conscious thought, I turned and ran, powerful muscles carrying me away from the pack house and into the dark embrace of the forest. The wind rushed through my fur, the earth solid beneath my paws. For the first time in two years, I felt something like freedom.