CHAPTER 2

Ciara's POV

I tried my best. What did I do to deserve this?

That was the thought that circled through my mind as the cold seeped deeper into my bones.

I had studied pack law until my eyes burned. Practiced healing until I could set a bone and stitch a wound without flinching. Learned six different languages, the history of every major pack in the territory, the proper protocols for everything from treaty negotiations to funeral rites.

I did all of this for a man who had never even spared me a glance.

Maybe he was right. Maybe all those years of training had not made me special. Maybe they had just made me good at pretending to be something I was not.

The cold stopped hurting after a while. My body just went numb, heavy, like I was sinking into the snow rather than kneeling on top of it. My thoughts grew fuzzy, distant.

This was not so bad, really. Going numb. Feeling nothing.

Laughter spilled from the house.

My stepmother and my father were talking, laughing over something that didn't include me. Just like the day she first came here, when my mother was dying.

My mother's voice whispered through the fog in my mind.

Little star. My brave little star.

Tears ran over my frozen skin, scorching and sharp, making me tremble.

No, Mom. I was not brave. I had never been brave.

No one would protect me like you once did.

No one was coming.

Boots appeared in my fading vision. Black leather, expensive. Military style with silver buckles.

I stared at them dully, too cold to look up, too tired to care who they belonged to.

"Well." The voice was dark, smooth, like smoke over deep water. "I did not expect to find anything interesting on my walk tonight. But here you are, the rejected bride, kneeling in the snow like a penitent."

Something in that voice cut through the numbness. Something sharp and aware and awake in a way that made my sluggish heart beat faster.

I forced my head up.

Draven Stormclaw looked down at me with eyes like black ice.

The Alpha's bastard son. Kaden's half brother. The one people whispered about in fearful voices—ruthless, cunning, dangerous. The one who had clawed his way up from nothing through blood and brilliance.

The one no decent she-wolf would ever approach.

He tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he might or might not bother solving. "You are the Beta's daughter. Ciara, is it not?"

I could not speak. My lips were too numb, my throat too tight.

"Tell me, does hypothermia hurt? Or does it just make you quietly fade away like your mother?"

The question should have frightened me. Instead, it sparked something—some tiny flame of anger in the frozen wasteland of my chest.

He shouldn't have brought up my mother. And I was not ready to fade away.

I shot him the fiercest glare I could manage, though I could feel the last of my strength draining from me.

Yet he smiled.

"So you're not as boring as they claimed," he murmured. "A feisty little wolf."

"Don't talk about my mother." My voice was so faint it barely carried above the wind.

He chuckled, then slowly dropped into a crouch in front of me, clearly entertained. Snow dusted his dark hair, but he seemed entirely unbothered by the cold—as if it were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

"Off-limits?" he said, tilting his head. "The Alpha's daughter of the Obsidian Pack. High-born. Gave everything up for love, only to be destroyed in the end."

His eyes shifted back to me. Studying. Weighing.

"And you. The Luna heir who was raised to be perfect. Rejected by someone who never cared about you, and now on your knees in the snow, just waiting to die here." He paused, letting the words settle like the snow around us. "Tell me, what's the difference?"

Anger surged through me.

I hated what he was saying.

But that didn't stop it from hitting exactly where it hurt most.

Tears slid down my cheeks, burning trails through the cold. I couldn't tell if they came from grief or rage anymore. Maybe it was both. Maybe there was no longer any difference between the two.

My voice came out rough, scraped raw. "So do you think I still have any other choice? Run?"

A bitter smile crossed my lips.

"My father cared more about his reputation than anything else. I'd never make it to the border." I swallowed, the words tasting like ash. "He'd have the guards bring me back. And once I was... it wouldn't be this gentle."

The snow kept falling. Silence stretched between us, broken only by the soft hiss of flakes hitting the ground.

He chuckled again, clearly amused by something I could not see.

"So if there were a better way out, you'd definitely take it. Right?"

I looked up at him, stunned.

His eyes were dark and unreadable, offering nothing—no warmth, no pity, no indication of what lay behind that question.

Was he offering me a way out?

Why would someone like him help me? Someone like Draven Stormclaw did not extend mercy without reason. Everyone knew that. The whispers, the fearful glances, the way wolves parted when he walked through a crowd—none of it spoke of kindness.

And yet he was here. Crouching in the snow in front of a dying girl, asking questions that sounded almost like an invitation.

My mind was racing, grasping at possibilities even as my body continued to betray me. The cold had drained what little strength I had left. My fingers had gone completely numb, curled uselessly against my legs. My vision began to swim, the edges darkening, the world growing soft and distant.

He stood slowly, brushing the snow from his coat with unhurried precision, his gaze fixed on me as if waiting for my answer.

As if I had any time left to give one.

My body gave up.

I fell forward, my hands barely catching me before my face hit the ground. My throat wouldn't let me speak. Not even a full syllable.

But my eyes gave me away.

I wanted to survive. From this freezing night. From this hell I used to call home.

"Help…" I forced the sound out, reaching for him.

Then everything went black.