CHAPTER 1

## ISMAY BELLWEATHER’S POV

“I’ll transfer fifteen thousand silver marks directly into your pack account if you help me ruin my father’s prospective mate.”

Ismay’s lips curled into a sharp, venomous smile as the tall wolf stopped in his tracks on the cobblestone path. He slowly turned his head, his amber eyes narrowing beneath the overcast sky of Ravenridge City. His handsome face remained cold and unreadable, concealing whatever pain his troubled past might have left behind.

For weeks, he had ignored her whenever she appeared near the edge of the pack territory. Ismay wasn’t accustomed to being treated with such indifference.

Nobody ignored the daughter of the Bellweather Alpha.

Yet this man had exactly the brooding, dangerous charm her plan required, so she was willing to exercise a little restraint. By restraint, she meant not ordering her family’s enforcers to tear out his throat and leave his body for the scavengers beyond the city walls.

Besides, fifteen thousand silver marks was pocket change compared to her family’s wealth.

“You’ve mistaken me for someone who can be bought, Ismay Bellweather.” Tobin Calder’s deep, gravelly voice carried across the path. He smelled of leather and mountain pine, his voice smooth yet edged with something rough and dangerous. “I’m not some tavern whore you can pay to do your bidding.”

Ismay stepped closer until she could feel the heat radiating from him. She studied his dark, wavy hair and watched the golden flecks in his eyes flash with anger.

His temper was a dangerous flame, ready to catch fire at the slightest provocation. She knew he had grown up outside the pack system, and his rigid posture suggested that he had learned to defend his pride the hard way.

If Ismay had cared about the inner struggles of ordinary wolves, she might have stopped to ask him about them.

She didn’t.

Her only concern was getting her father’s ambitious prospective mate out of the picture, and Tobin was going to help her do it.

He was exactly Prudence Harrowby’s type: broad-shouldered, muscular, and carrying the dangerous air of a wild predator. His rugged good looks could turn the head of almost any woman in the territory.

He was perfect for the trap. All Ismay had to do was persuade him to play his part.

“Let me put it another way,” Ismay said, her voice turning sweet as her claws itched beneath her skin. “I’m offering you fifteen thousand silver marks to make it look as though you’re trying to claim her as your mate. Whether you actually touch her or leave a mark on her neck doesn’t matter to me.”

Tobin let out a short, harsh laugh. The low, rough sound made Ismay’s inner wolf stir uneasily.

It was nothing more than irritation, she told herself.

If her wolf dared to react to a man like him, she would bring it under control herself.

The stretch of road between the Bellweather estate and the Silverpaw Café was usually quiet. The Moonlit Hearth stood across the square, a rustic gathering place for young pack members. Tobin spent most of his time at the café, clearing tables and serving customers.

Ismay knew little about his background, only that he had no recognized family crest. As far as she was concerned, he was just another wolf trying to survive in a city governed by Alpha law.

“You’re out of your mind, Alpha’s daughter. I’m not going anywhere near Prudence Harrowby.” Tobin tilted his head, suspicion flashing in his golden eyes. “If this is some twisted loyalty test cooked up by the council, you’re wasting your time. I don’t get involved in political games.”

Ismay’s jaw tightened. She hated his tone almost as much as she hated his refusal to show her the respect she expected.

His complete disregard for her father’s authority—and her own standing as the Alpha’s daughter—infuriated her. She rarely needed to assert her dominance over other wolves, but she expected them to obey when she gave an order. Her pale eyes, dark hair, and commanding presence usually made men think twice before challenging her.

Tobin, however, looked at her with nothing but contempt.

Anger surged through her.

“This has nothing to do with the council,” Ismay snapped, her voice dropping into a growl. “I don’t have time for this nonsense. My father, Edmund Bellweather, intends to take Prudence as his mate before the next full moon. He refuses to listen to reason, so I’ll deal with her myself. She’ll be driven out of the territory with nothing but the clothes on her back.”

“And your brilliant plan is to hire me to fake a mate bond?” Tobin asked, crossing his massive arms over his chest. His voice dripped with sarcasm.

“I’ll make sure my scouts capture enough evidence to make the betrayal believable,” Ismay replied smoothly. “Prudence would betray the Bellweather pack the moment a stronger Alpha offered her more power. I’m simply saving my father from making a terrible mistake.”

She cared about her father, Edmund, even if his responsibilities as Alpha often kept him distant. She knew he was too blind to see through Prudence’s deception.

More importantly, Ismay hadn’t forgotten how Prudence had persuaded her father to lock her out of the pack vault during the previous winter solstice. Edmund had eventually given in and restored her access to the family treasury, but Ismay never forgave an insult.

Prudence would pay for it—with blood and exile.

“How can you be so sure she’ll fall for it?” Tobin asked. Some of the hostility had left his voice, replaced by cool amusement.

Ismay raised a hand and counted off the reasons on her fingers.

“First, she likes young, powerful men, and my father is getting older. Second, she has no real loyalty to the pack. Third, I’ve seen the way she watches the younger warriors during the blood hunts.”

Her gaze swept over Tobin’s broad chest, strong jaw, and thick wrists.

“She wants a man with raw, dangerous power. Someone like you.”

He was nothing like the polished, well-mannered wolves of Ravenridge City. There was something untamed about him, something rough and unrefined that set him apart from the noblemen she knew.

Ismay suppressed a faint shiver.

She had spent far too much time around the city’s outskirts if she was beginning to analyze the physical attributes of a café worker.

“I’m deeply touched,” Tobin replied dryly. A cold mountain breeze swept across the square, ruffling his dark hair. “But my answer is still no.”

Ismay stared at him in disbelief. “Are you deaf? It’s fifteen thousand silver marks. You don’t even have to touch her. Just arrange a secret meeting and make it look suspicious. You perform at the pack festivals during the solstice, don’t you?”

Tobin frowned, his amber eyes darkening. “How do you know about that?”

“Every desperate wolf in Ravenridge tries to earn pack protection by performing at those festivals,” she scoffed.

“Right.” Tobin rubbed his jaw, his thick fingers brushing the stubble along his chin. “Then why pick me out of all the desperate men in the square?”

“Because you’re exactly her type.”

Ismay stepped closer, lowering her voice. She would never admit that his refusal to acknowledge her over the past three weeks had piqued her curiosity. Ever since she started visiting the Silverpaw Café, every man she encountered had tried to catch her attention. Tobin simply wiped the tables and walked away without saying a word.

Her gaze briefly shifted past his shoulder to an old iron carriage parked beside the alley. Its rusted frame and squeaking wheels made her wrinkle her nose. It looked utterly out of place within the city walls.

“And as I said, I’m nobody’s hired hound,” Tobin murmured.

The atmosphere between them grew tense as their wolves reacted to each other’s presence. The hairs on the back of Ismay’s neck rose. Her inner wolf stirred, sensing a strength beneath Tobin’s calm exterior that she couldn’t quite explain.

Now she could smell him more clearly—an intense, ancient scent that carried an unmistakable hint of danger.

“We’re running out of time,” Ismay said, forcing herself to remain calm. “You won’t have to sleep with her. This is about deception, nothing more. Lure her into a secluded spot in the forest, let my scouts gather the evidence, and walk away with enough money to buy your way out of the lower wards. It’s the easiest offer you’ll ever get.”

Tobin leaned against the rusted carriage and folded his arms. With his sharp profile and relaxed, untamed posture, he looked like a man who had weathered too many storms to be impressed by anything.

“Make it twenty thousand silver marks, and I might consider it.”

Ismay stared at him, momentarily speechless.

“You dare negotiate with the Alpha’s daughter?”

Who did this man think he was?

“Fifteen thousand was already too much for an hour of work. I could order a dozen pack members to do this for free.”

“Then go order them.” A slow, dangerous smile spread across Tobin’s lips as he watched her remain where she was. “If it were that simple, you wouldn’t be bargaining with a café worker in an alley, princess.”

He said the last word as though it were a quiet threat.

Ismay clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white. She wished she were wearing her silver-spiked ring so she could smash it into his jaw right there on the cobblestones.

“Fine,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “Twenty thousand. Do we have a deal?”

“I said I’d think about it.”

Ismay pulled a small parchment scroll and a charcoal stylus from her cloak.

“Give me your hand.”

Tobin held it out without hesitation, keeping his steady gaze fixed on hers.

She scribbled her personal pack mark onto the parchment and slapped it into his palm.

“My name is Ismay Bellweather, daughter of the Bellweather Alpha.”

“Tobin.”

“Tobin,” she repeated, letting the name linger on her tongue. “You have forty-eight hours, until the dusk horn sounds. If you haven’t sent your answer through the pack link by then, the money goes to someone else—someone smart enough to accept an offer from the Alpha’s family.”

“Princess,” Tobin murmured, stepping dangerously close.

His amber eyes dropped briefly to her lips. The sudden change in his posture sent an unexpected rush of heat through her body.

“You’ll have to offer a lot more than money if you want to control my wolf.”

He turned away, opened the door of the heavy iron carriage, and climbed inside.

The vehicle rattled down the cobblestone street, leaving Ismay standing alone in the cold, furious and humiliated—and strangely breathless.

Before she could turn back toward her own carriage, the heavy silver signet ring on her middle finger began to glow a sharp, burning red.

An emergency blood summons from Bellweather Keep.