Chapter 1

It was the thousand and seventh night. When he rolled off me, dawn had not yet broken.

I reached for the back of my neck. Bare. Nothing there.

He had bitten my shoulder, my collarbone, my wrist.

For a thousand and seven nights, he had avoided the one spot at the back of my neck reserved for a Luna's mark.

It was a constant reminder that he wanted only the face that bore a faint resemblance to Celine, not me.

"Go to the east court after dawn," he said, buckling his belt.

My hand stilled. Only then did I nod. "Okay."

A room in the east court had been locked for three years. On the fifteenth of every month, I had to go inside.

I carried the clothes into the courtyard one piece at a time, aired them in the sun all day, then hung them back up before dark.

They were Celine's clothes. I had counted them: 47 pieces in total.

I had spent three years here, taking care of a dead woman's clothes.

He came to the east court that afternoon while I was putting the last piece away.

It was white, with a collar of gray fox fur.

"Put it on," he said.

I obeyed. He sat in the chair by the door and watched me without a word.

He watched until the sun sank low over the courtyard and stretched my shadow to his feet.

"Turn around."

I turned, exposing the back of my neck. I shivered ever so slightly in the wind.

I heard him rise. His footsteps stopped behind me, so close I could feel his breath on the back of my neck.

For the first time in three years, I thought he was finally going to bite me. Instead, he reached out and ripped the cloak from my shoulders.

"Take it off," he said. "You don't look like her."

The next day was the winter inspection.

Every year, after Shadowridge's first snow fell, every adult wolf appeared before the Moon Goddess's altar so the Elder could test the strength of their bloodline.

I stood at the center of the altar, removed my outer robe, closed my eyes, and searched for the creature that was supposed to live inside me.

I had searched for three years, yet found nothing.

I opened my eyes. Someone below the altar laughed. Then another. Soon, the whole crowd was laughing.

"A worthless wolf who'll never shift. No wonder Silvermoon sent her away as a treaty bride."

The Elder closed the register and made another entry, his pen scratching softly across the hide. "Third year. Still no shift."

Theron sat in the highest chair on the altar, watching the entire time without saying a word.

I bent to pick up my robe, but a young man got there first and held it out to me.

I reached for it, but the robe fell back into the snow.

Theron had stepped between us before I even noticed. He caught the young man's wrist and pinned it against the stone steps in front of the altar.

Crack. The bone snapped.

The young man dropped to his knees, letting out a muffled groan.

The crowd below the altar fell silent at once.

"Keep your filthy hands to yourself. She isn't yours to touch."

He released the man, bent to pick up my robe from the snow, shook it out, and draped it around my shoulders again.

Then he walked away.

I stood where I was and watched the young man crouch in the snow, clutching his hand.

Theron was always like that. He would not mark me or acknowledge me as his mate, but if anyone looked at me twice, he would have their eyes gouged out by nightfall.

After three years of living like that, I had had enough.

Before dawn the next day, the horn at the main house sounded three long blasts and two short ones: the highest-level alarm.

In three years, I had heard it only once.

By the time I got dressed and ran out, everyone was running north.

Beta Gordon pushed against the flow of people, his weathered face more lined than usual. "Ms. Ella, please go back inside."

"What happened?"

Gordon looked at me and swallowed hard. At last, he said, "A caravan from the northern border found someone in the snow and brought her back. It's Celine. She's alive."