Prologue

PHOENIX

I trembled, tears of anguish streaming down my face. The roar outside grew louder—wails and the crack of bones echoing through the pristine walls.

I wrapped my arms tighter around my knees, my head resting on them. I shivered, my tears soaking my thin flannel shirt.

I pressed my hands over my ears, trying to block out the sound—but the wails, the screams, the cracking of bones pierced through my fingers and rang in my ears.

I drew a shaky breath and stood, making my way to the front door.

I trembled.

The moment I stepped into the yard, my mouth fell open. I stood frozen—the scene before me was a slaughterhouse.

My fault.

All my fault.

I wove through the bodies—fallen, broken, lifeless—searching for him. My chest tightened as I watched pack members being torn apart, limbs flying through the air.

My throat closed up when I saw Elaine—a young pup I'd met at the community school. Her usual smile was gone. Her sparkling green eyes were empty. In their place, a seven-year-old girl lay with her mouth hanging open, her eyes frozen in shock, dread, and something else.

Reproach.

I ran to her, crouched down, and gathered her in my arms. Her body was cold. Her eyes were still.

A gaping hole where her heart should have been.

She was dead.

My fault.

Gut-wrenching sobs tore through the air. I looked around, searching for the source—until water droplets fell on Elaine's face.

I looked up.

The clear summer sky stared back at me.

I raised my finger to my cheek.

Wet.

The cries were mine.

I cradled Elaine to my chest and let the sobs come—tears streaming down my face in torrents.

More wolves fell—fur tearing, bones cracking, skin ripping. A few feet away, a black, feral wolf tore into a brown one, its yellow eyes merciless. The brown wolf's neck snapped. He convulsed, his blue eyes fading to lifelessness as he breathed his last.

A howl—pain and defeat—rang out. I scrambled to my feet and ran, tears blinding me as I weaved through fallen bodies and half-dead wolves.

The training grounds.

My eyes widened.

He lay at an unnatural angle—his head severed from his body. His grey hair gleamed white in the setting sun. His hazel eyes were empty.

The Alpha was dead.

I screamed.

I stood rooted, sobs tearing from my throat—for what was lost, what could never be, what was destroyed.

Then a thought pierced through the grief.

I turned and ran.

I ran—hot, thick summer air whipping through my hair.

The pack house.

My heart dropped.

I pushed through the destroyed gates and rushed in, past more fallen bodies, silently begging—

Not her.

Not her.

She was fine.

She had to be fine.

I ran—not for my life, but for hers.

I rounded the corner.

I stopped.

A figure crouched over something. The stiff back told me who it was.

My heart pounded.

I stepped forward, coming to stand beside the bent shoulders. He shook, sniffing quietly. I crouched down beside him.

I saw the stiletto on the ground—and recoiled.

Fresh tears burned in my eyes.

She lay with her eyes wide, her neck twisted at an unnatural angle. A few feet away, her heart lay—completely crushed.

Her heart.

I shook my head, remembering her smile. Her bubbly laugh. Her insistence on family dinners. Her insistence I call her by name.

Celina.

She was gone.

Our Luna was dead.

Hot tears sprang to my eyes—but I couldn't break. Not now. Not for him.

I placed my hands on his shoulder. He tensed beneath my trembling fingers. Slowly, he turned.

I shuddered.

His hazel eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, tear tracks carving through the grime on his pale cheeks. I'd looked into those eyes a thousand times—and I'd never seen what I saw now.

Reproach.

Anger.

Pain.

Blame.

Hatred.

All directed at me.

He turned away—too disgusted to look at his parents' murderer.

I shrunk into myself as it all sank in.

Pack members were dead.

His parents were dead.

And it was all my fault.

All mine.