LOGINThe truck smelled like leather and rain and him.
I didn’t even know his name then. I just knew his truck was warm and my dress was soaked through and I was shaking so hard my teeth were clacking. “You’re bleeding,” he said. I touched my neck. My fingers came away with a little blood. Where Kaden’s rejection had burned. The mark that never got to be a mark. “I’m fine,” I whispered. My voice was gone from screaming. He didn’t say anything. He just reached into the back seat, grabbed a flannel shirt, black and red, huge, and dropped it in my lap. “Put it on. You’re freezing.” I did. It swallowed me. It smelled like pine and smoke. Like him. He drove. Fast, but not scary fast. The windshield wipers slapped hard against the rain. We left Wolf Creek Ranch in the rearview. I watched the fairy lights in that barn get smaller and smaller until the trees swallowed them. “What’s your name?” I finally asked. “Zayn Blackwood.” My stomach dropped. Even I had heard that name. Blackwood Mountain. The pack that owned half of Montana and didn’t let anyone onto their land without permission. The Alpha they said killed a bear with his bare hands when he was sixteen. He was supposed to be cruel. “I’m Amelia,” I said. “I know.” Of course he knew. Everyone knew the wolfless girl of Wolf Creek. We drove for almost an hour. The rain let up a little. The road climbed. The trees got thicker, taller. Then the gates appeared, big black iron gates with a wolf head carved into them. They opened on their own. Blackwood Mountain Ranch wasn’t a ranch. It was a kingdom. The main house was three stories of dark wood and stone, lights glowing warm in every window. Barns bigger than Wolf Creek’s whole property. Horses in the fields, even at night. And quiet. No gossip, no laughing. Just the wind. He parked in front of the house and came around to open my door. Like a gentleman. A terrifying gentleman. “I can’t pay you,” I said quickly. “I don’t have anything.” “I didn’t bring you here to pay me, Amelia.” He led me inside. It was warm. A huge fireplace was roaring. Someone had left a blanket on the couch. He didn’t touch me, but he stayed close enough that I felt steady. “Sit.” I sat. The blanket ended up around my shoulders. He crouched in front of me so we were eye level. Up close, his eyes weren’t just gray. They had a little gold around the edges. Alpha eyes. “You’re not wolfless,” he said. I laughed. It came out broken. “Everyone saw tonight. I didn’t shift. I’m eighteen. If I was going to…” “You were poisoned.” The word sucked all the air out of the room. “What?” “As a pup. Wolfsbane, small doses. Long enough to suppress your wolf so she couldn’t surface. Whoever did it knew what they were doing.” He looked at my neck, at my hands. “I can smell her. Underneath. She’s there. She’s been fighting to get out for years.” My hands went cold. “Poisoned? By who?” “I don’t know.” His jaw tightened. “But it had to be someone close enough to get near you as an infant. Someone who could hold you. Feed you. Someone inside Wolf Creek.” Inside Wolf Creek. Mrs. Holloway who made my bottles? Alpha Stone who used to pat my head? Kaden’s mother? The room spun. “No,” I whispered. “No, no one would…” “Someone did,” Zayn said flatly. “And you’re rare. I can smell it. White wolf blood. Do you know how rare that is, Amelia? One in ten thousand. Your pack should have worshipped you.” White wolf blood. The bedtime stories. The true Luna bloodline. I thought they were just stories old wolves told to make omegas feel better. He stood up. He walked to the fireplace, his back to me. “Stay here thirty days,” he said. “I’ll awaken her. I know how to burn the wolfsbane out. It’ll hurt like hell, but she’ll come.” Thirty days with the most dangerous Alpha in Montana. “What do you get out of it?” I asked. My voice shook but I made myself ask. I wasn’t going to be handed around again. He turned. A small smile, not nice. “My pack needs a strong Luna. And I need a Luna who isn’t after my money.” “That’s it? You want to use my wolf for your pack’s power?” He stared at me. Then he nodded like he respected the question. “That’s part of it. I’m not going to lie to you.” The old Amelia would have just said yes. Thank you for saving me. The new Amelia, the one still bleeding on her neck from rejection, felt something sharp wake up in her chest. “Then I have a condition,” I said. His eyebrows went up. No one sets conditions for Zayn Blackwood. “Find out who poisoned me,” I said. “Not just awaken her. Help me find who did it. Your word. Not your pack’s power, not your money. Your word you’ll help me find them. Or I walk back down that mountain tonight, even if I have to crawl.” Silence. The fire crackled. Then he walked back to me. He held out his hand. Big, rough, scarred. “You have my word, Amelia Quinn. We find who tried to kill your wolf.” I took his hand. It swallowed mine. Warm and calloused. “Deal.” He let go. “The Luna cabin is yours. Behind the main house. No one will bother you.” He started to walk away but I was already so tired of being handed things. “No,” I said. “I’m not taking a cabin I didn’t earn. I’ll work. I’ll earn my place. Like everyone else.” He looked at me for a long moment. Then that not nice smile came back, a little softer. “Fine. You start in the stables tomorrow. Five a.m. The cabin’s still yours tonight though. You can argue with me about it once you’ve slept.” “Fine.” That night, he left me in the Luna cabin anyway. I was too exhausted to argue further. The bed was huge and soft and smelled clean. I fell asleep in his flannel shirt. I woke up burning. Not the neck burn. Deeper. In my spine, my ribs, my teeth. Like my bones were breaking and reforming. I fell out of bed onto the wooden floor, gasping. My skin was too hot. My vision went white at the edges. And then, a sound I had waited eighteen years to hear. A howl. Inside my own head. Not sad. Furious. Powerful. My hands hit the floor and they weren’t hands anymore. White fur, thick and bright, sprouted up my arms. My dress ripped. I shifted. For the first time in my life, I shifted. I stood on four legs in the moonlight coming through the cabin window, shaking, panting. I looked down. White. Snow white, from nose to tail. No gray, no brown. Pure white. A legend. Outside, from the main house, I heard a low, shocked growl. Zayn. He had felt it.Old Oak that scattered me was not dead.I thought it was dead when it threw me. In Wolf Creek, old wolves say Old Oak is dead because Council cut it into pieces in White War to make fire that kills Whites. They cut branches, they cut roots, they cut heart wood that is blacker than dead body wood. They took pieces away on trucks to deep storage where fourth branch heart wood waits for crowned White blood that can light black flame that drinks even white flame.But Baba said Old Oak living heart is still alive mile back through woods behind White Village, behind Old Oak that scattered you, heart pool where First Mother was made when Moon was lonely. Heart pool inside Old Oak living heart that is still alive.How can heart be alive when body is cut into pieces.I found out when Jax White Guardian carried me through White Village on White ice that cracked a little as heart wood trailer on far bank took light even without flame.White Village cabins with fur roofs groaned as heart wood too
Fourth branch was not a branch.When black tarp was pulled off flat bed trailer on far bank by silver gloved fire keepers who had run from Under Lake white claws and glowing blue water and three white flames warm that gave heat and melted White ice a little, what lay on trailer was not dead black wood like first branch and second branch and third branch that smoked black smoke that sank even before lit and burned black cold flame that drinks light and then white warm flame that gives heat after I anointed fire white through White ice and root water and Under Lake guard.What lay on trailer was heart.Old Oak heart wood is blacker than dead body wood, Baba had whispered once by fire when she thought I was asleep, blacker than dead body wood because dead body wood is branch that died, heart wood is heart that still beats even after tree was cut into pieces by Council in White War to make fire that kills Whites, heart that still beats under snow somewhere deep where Oak roots go deepest
The white claw that broke through White ice at the fishing hole was not a wolf claw.Wolf claws, even White wolf claws like mine now to shoulders with white fur that glows, even White Guardian claws like Jax now white fur and white eyes blazing with white lines that cannot slide off, even First Mother white claws that I saw in water reflection when Mara smiled sad, are curved and sharp and made to tear.This claw was straight. Long. Thick as my waist. White as White ice that I had anointed with full anointed blood and White Moon light. But not fur. Scale. Or ice that grew like scale. Or scale that grew like ice.It grabbed edge of White ice at fishing hole where glowing blue water bubbled and melted a little from warm white flames that now burned on two branches on far bank, and it pulled.White ice cracked, not like ice cracks under black smoke that drinks light, but like ice cracks when something underneath that has slept for hundred years wakes up because gray flame called it.Gray
Mara in water reflection smiled but her eyes were sad.She knew what it cost to anoint fire white. She had anointed ice once to save baby Eliza when Silas Guardian died holding black flame off with his body. She had become empty White after, Baba told me by fire when she thought I was asleep. Empty White who cannot anoint again for long time, who cannot make White ice, who cannot heal burned palms fast, who is just White with white hair and white eyes but no First Mother light inside chest.Empty White can still be loved. But empty White cannot save village and lake and Guardian whose wolf is going quiet because moon is gone.I knelt at edge of White ice island where my palms were in white smoke that had turned black smoke white, where White ice under knees melted a little into glowing blue water that smelled like snow and moon and Mara hands, where reflection showed young Mara twenty five years ago with Silas behind her.Behind me, Jax four lines dimmed to almost nothing, yellow eyes
Water that has waited under White ice for hundred years does not taste like water.It tastes like snow that never fell, like moon that never set, like Mara hands when I was six and she washed my hair in basin and sang old tongue song that mother said was nonsense but was not nonsense, was First Mother song.I drank.One handful, then another, because once mouth touches First Mother water under lake that is connected to Oak roots, white wolf inside stops howling fight and protect and howls more.Cold hit my throat, then heat, then cold again, then light.Light poured down throat into chest into belly into hands that had been burned by silver net and silver knife and were healing and burning and healing.Light poured into moon mark on neck where Jax had left Guardian moon to keep me alive when I should die in warm lands where anointed Whites get sick.Light poured into white hair down to waist that had been half anointed after I poured over head inside Oak instead of drinking.Light pou
I had never anointed anything before.I poured light over my head inside the Old Oak and that made my hair go all white and my eyes go white and my claws come out up to elbows. I gave light to Jax through a bite on his neck and that stopped his bleeding and made his four lines glow steady instead of bleeding light. But anointing ice was new. White wolf inside me howled the words and my hands knew before my mind knew and now my palms were flat on cracking ice island that was shrinking under me and Jax and light was spreading.Not bright light like moon mark on neck. Thin white light, like watery milk, running across ice in veins, following cracks, filling cracks, freezing cracks shut again.Where white light touched black smoke that sank from Old Oak fire branch on far bank, smoke hissed and pulled back a little, like it did not like light that came from anointing instead of from burning.On far bank, Elder Selene in white cloth council coat, white hair cut short like Council, not long







