CHAPTER 3

"Where the hell were you?"

The voice hit Emily before she even cleared the heavy oak door of the Carter manor. Her mother, Lisa Carter, stood by the hearth, her silhouette jagged against the dying embers. The scent of sour wine and unspent shift-frenzy hung thick in the air.

"I was at the Academy, Mother. Studying for the—"

"Studying? You useless, scentless whelp." Lisa surged forward, her hand blurring as it connected with Emily’s cheek. The blow sent Emily staggering into a hall table. "Your brother is the pride of the Five Great Packs, and you? You can't even shift to hunt a rabbit, yet you have the nerve to disappear when the household needs tending? We had to eat cold leftovers because you weren't here to skin the elk."

Emily didn't look up. She focused on the copper taste of blood in her mouth. "Dad said he'd handle the—"

"Don't you dare bring your father into this!" Lisa’s eyes flared a dull, sickly yellow. "Get to your hole. I can't stand the sight of your flat, human face."

Emily retreated. She didn't walk; she shrank away, moving toward the back of the manor where the servants' quarters met the cold-storage vaults. Her 'room' was a stone cell meant for curing meat, devoid of the thermal runes that warmed the rest of the house.

She collapsed onto her thin cot, her body a map of bruises from Tyler’s boots and her mother’s hand. Her phone buzzed in the pocket of her torn tunic.

The Watcher: The moon is high, Princess. Did you find the gift?

Emily stared at the screen. Her fingers, cracked from the Silver-Run frost, trembled.

Emily: Who is this? How did you get into the storage vaults at the Academy?

The Watcher: I go where the light doesn't reach. Drink the chocolate before the frost takes it. It’s spiked with honey-root for the pain.

Emily reached into her bag, pulling out the silver flask she’d found on the 10th floor. She unscrewed the cap. The steam smelled of cocoa and medicinal herbs. She took a sip, the heat blooming in her chest, dulling the ache in her ribs.

Emily: Why? I'm a Latent. I'm 'The Hollowed.' Why waste your time on a girl who has no wolf?

The Watcher: Maybe I prefer the girl to the beast. Sleep, Emily. The sun comes early for those who work.

The next morning, the kitchen was a tomb. Emily was at the stove by five, the iron pans heavy in her grip as she prepared the pack-sized breakfast.

Her father, Mr. Carter, trudged in. He didn't look at her. He never did. To him, Emily was a broken ledger—an investment that yielded zero return.

"Your mother lost her position at the High Council," he grunted, staring at his coffee.

Emily paused, the pancake batter dripping from her spoon. "The Council? But she's been a lead strategist for—"

"They fired her. Stagnant blood, they called it." He finally looked up, his eyes weary. "She’s a powder keg, Emily. Stay out of her path today. If she shifts in the house, I won't be able to stop her from tearing you open."

"Is that all you have to say?" Emily’s voice was a dry rasp. "Not 'are you okay'? Just 'don't get murdered'?"

"I'm giving you a warning. That's more than most Omegas get." He stood up, grabbing a piece of toast. "Don't be here when she wakes. And don't come back until the moon is up. I can't protect a child who has no teeth to protect herself."

He left without a backward glance.

Emily finished the lunch prep, her movements mechanical. She packed a tin of pasta for her mother—extra spices, just the way she liked it to mask her bitterness—and shoved it into the cooling charms of the larder.

She ran for the transit-beast.

She was late. The massive, furred transport was already pulling away from the village square. Emily sprinted, her breath hitching, but the beast gained speed, its paws thundering against the permafrost.

A sleek, black-lacquered carriage pulled up alongside her. The windows were tinted glass, etched with the sigil of the Carter High-Blood.

The window slid down. Ryan, her twin, lounged in the velvet interior. Beside him sat Lucas Montgomery, looking bored, his silver eyes tracking the frost on the trees.

"Missed the bus again, Em?" Ryan smirked. He looked like a god in his Academy furs, his Essence-Aura glowing a healthy, arrogant gold.

"Ryan, please," Emily panted, her hand on the carriage door. "I have a Rune-Warfare exam. Just let me jump in the back."

Ryan’s smile didn't reach his eyes. "And have the Alphas smell a Latent on my upholstery? No thanks. Bad for the brand, sis."

He tapped the driver's shoulder. The carriage surged forward, splashing slush onto Emily’s old boots.

She stood in the middle of the road, shivering. Her phone buzzed.

The Watcher: Good morning, Princess. Don't let the curs get you down. Look behind the well.

Emily turned. Tucked behind the village stone well was a mountain-runner—a small, agile beast used by messengers. It was saddled and ready. A note was pinned to the bridle: Ride hard. Don't look back.

The Academy was a hive of predatory energy. Emily slipped into the back of the lecture hall, trying to be invisible.

"Late, Carter?"

Lucas Montgomery didn't turn around, but his voice carried. He was sitting three rows down, his posture perfect.

"The transport was full," Emily lied, sliding into her seat.

"Liars should learn to hide their scent," Lucas said, finally turning. He leaned back, his eyes narrowing as they landed on her neck—where the bruises from last night were turning a deep, ugly purple. "Or maybe you were too busy playing with Tyler Brooks' friends in the dark?"

The room went silent. A few Betas in the front row snickered.

"I wasn't playing," Emily whispered, her knuckles white as she gripped her stylus.

Lucas stood up, walking toward her desk. The air around him grew heavy, the pressure of a True Alpha making the students nearby duck their heads. He leaned over her, his hand slamming onto the wood of her desk.

"Then what were you doing, Emily? Because Tyler says you bit him. He says you were begging for it until he realized how 'hollow' you really were."

"He's a liar."

"Is he?" Lucas leaned closer, his scent—sharp mint and cold iron—flooding her senses. He reached out, his fingers hooking under the collar of her baggy sweater, pulling it back just enough to reveal the silver-rope burns on her collarbone.

The gasps from the other students were like stabs.

"Looks like he left a mark," Lucas hissed, his voice dropping to a dangerous, intimate level. "Tell me, Emily. Did you enjoy the weight of him? Or do you prefer it when they're sober?"

Emily's hand moved before she could think. She slapped him. The crack echoed like a gunshot through the obsidian hall.

Lucas didn't move. His head was turned, a slow, dark grin spreading across his face.

"There’s the wolf," he whispered, his eyes glowing a predatory violet. "I was wondering if you were actually empty inside."

He grabbed her waist, his hand pulling her flush against him. The heat of his body was a physical assault. Emily's breath hitched, her legs suddenly heavy, the raw, primal pheromones of an Alpha in heat hitting her like a wave.

"Get off me," she gasped, though her body betrayed her, her pulse racing against his palm.

"Make me," Lucas challenged, his grip tightening, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin just above her hip. "Or maybe you want to show the whole class what 'The Hollowed' is really capable of."

The door to the lecture hall slammed open.

"Montgomery! Unhand her!"