Chapter 2

The cemetery at the edge of the pack borders was freezing.

I placed the white chrysanthemums in front of the two cold headstones.

My adoptive parents smiled warmly in their photos, looking exactly as they did the year they brought me home.

"Dad, Mom, Amara is here."

I crouched down and wiped the mud off the names with my sleeve.

"Brother didn't come this year. He was too busy."

"But that's okay. He'll probably visit by himself from now on."

The rain poured harder. Freezing water slid down my hair and neck, chilling me to the bone.

As the deadline to return to the Underworld approached, my inner wolf had grown so weak she was fading away, unable to keep my body warm.

My legs went stiff from the cold until I could barely stand. I finally forced myself up, leaning against the headstone.

By the time I walked back to the packhouse, the sky was completely dark.

The house was brightly lit. Loud cheers and laughter spilled through the large windows into the rainy night.

I pushed the door open. A blast of warm air hit my face, but it couldn't chase away the chill of death in my bones.

The living room table was piled high with luxury gift boxes.

Chloe sat in the middle of the couch like a princess, wearing a flashy rhinestone tiara.

"Amara, you're finally back!"

She saw me and immediately ran over to grab my hand. But the second her fingertips brushed my soaked coat, she yanked back with a gasp.

"Oh my god, why are you soaking wet?"

Declan turned at the sound. Seeing my dripping hair, he furrowed his brow in annoyance.

"Amara, couldn't you grab an umbrella? Why are you making yourself look pathetic just to play the victim?"

He stayed where he was. He didn't grab a towel, and he didn't take a single step toward me.

Instead, he blocked Chloe behind him. It looked like he was protecting her from the rain and cold clinging to me.

"I didn't check the weather."

I kicked off my wet boots and walked toward the kitchen.

Because the second wish in my journal was to eat a cranberry scone baked by my brother.

In the past, whenever I was upset, Ryker would always head into the kitchen.

He used to say that as long as she had a sweet treat, his Amara would stop crying.

The moment I pushed the kitchen door open, the rich, sweet scent of butter filled the air.

Ryker walked out holding a plate of freshly baked scones.

They were golden and warm, smelling absolutely wonderful.

My empty stomach clenched.

"Brother, did you bake these for me?"

I asked, reaching out.

Ryker abruptly dodged. He held the plate away and slapped my hand hard. My skin instantly turned red.

"Don't touch that."

His tone was pure ice.

"Chloe's interview was a huge success. I made these specifically for her."

"You were tough enough to run out into the storm. Since you're acting so brave, don't come begging for food."

I froze in place, staring at the red mark on my hand.

It really hurt. The kind of hurt that almost brought tears to my eyes.

But it seemed this flesh wound was the only thing my broken body could still feel.

"But Brother, I haven't eaten all day."

"I'm so cold, and I feel sick."

I stared into his eyes, looking for any trace of the brother he used to be.

Ryker avoided my gaze.

He brushed past me with the plate, leaving a cold remark behind.

"If you want to eat, make it yourself. You're an adult. Stop acting like a spoiled pup."

Chloe's dramatic gasp echoed from the living room.

"Oh my god! Ryker, you baked my favorite mango scones! You're the best!"

They weren't cranberry. They were mango—the one fruit I was severely allergic to.

I forced a bitter smile. Good thing I didn't eat them.

I numbly retreated to a corner, pulled out my journal, and crossed out the second wish.

I found a piece of dry bread in the basket, huddled in the corner of the living room, and took tiny bites.

Suddenly, a plate was shoved roughly in front of me.

The plate hit the table, scattering charred meat covered in a grayish-green powder.

It was wolfsbane powder. The pack usually used it to smoke out Rogues. It was so bitter it would numb your tongue.

Julian pulled out the chair next to me and sat down, crossing his arms.

"Eat it. Isn't this exactly what servants of the Underworld are supposed to eat?"

A mocking smirk hung on his lips, but his eyes were dead and cold.

In the living room, Declan and Ryker flanked Chloe, helping her cut a cake. Not a single person looked my way.

I put down the bread and stared at the bitter, charred meat.

"Do you really have to humiliate me?"

"Humiliate?"

Julian scoffed. He leaned forward, getting right in my face.

"Amara, get this straight. You were the one who disgusted us with those ridiculous stories first."

"Just to compete with Chloe, you cursed yourself, saying the Reaper would take you. Did you think that would work?"

"Since you love acting so much, I'll play along."

He picked up a piece of charred meat on a fork and pressed it against my lips.

"Eat it."

I stared at the nauseating meat and didn't bother fighting him.

I just opened my mouth, chewed mechanically, and swallowed.

The bitter wolfsbane instantly churned in my weak stomach.

I forced it down until half the plate was gone. Suddenly, a violent cramp hit me.

Nausea surged up my throat. I shoved the chair back and bolted for the bathroom.

I gagged violently.

Everything I just swallowed came back up, burning my throat with bitter acid.

Tears streamed from my eyes.

Julian's mocking voice drifted through the door.

"How boring. Throwing up after two bites. Who are you acting so weak for?"

I flushed the toilet and watched the water swirl down.

Gripping the sink, I looked up at myself in the mirror.

My eyes were bloodshot, my face as pale as a corpse.

The Dark Goddess of the Underworld was right. Hearts change.

When your pack stops loving you, even your breathing becomes a crime.