01 Sent Out To Die

Maren

My stepmother's voice was a knife in the dark, sharp and cold. "We can't afford you anymore, Maren. You're twenty-five years old. It's time you earned your keep."

I stared at the floorboards of my father's study, counting the splinters. "I work hard. I've always worked hard. I'm not a burden."

"Not as hard as your sister," my father said. "And your sister is marked. She has a place in the pack. You don't."

My breath caught in my throat. For one, my sister wasn't marked. She was just like me. So they were definitely mistaken. 

But I knew what was coming. I had known, really, as soon as I was called in. But still I heard myself say: "No. You can't. I won't —"

He cut me off. "I'm sorry, girl. I've fought for you. I've fought hard, every season. But you're too old. You're not a cub anymore. We have to think about the pack now, and you cost us more than you give. The list comes out tomorrow at dawn. I couldn't keep your name off it again this year."

"You never wanted to keep me here," I said, looking up at him. My vision was blurred. "I've always been the easiest thing to cut loose."

He sighed, running a hand over his face. "Maren, come on. This is for the good of —"

"I won't go out," I said, cutting him off, standing up. "I can't. The zombies will —"

He reached across the desk and grabbed my wrist. His grip was hard, and it hurt. "You'll go where you're told, Maren, and that's final. If the King doesn't want you, we'll send you somewhere else. Somewhere you'll be useful."

My stepmother leaned in behind him. "Maybe the Lycan King will breed her and we'll get a good trade back," she said. "He might have a taste for fat little bitches. He might like her."

I looked at her, and I felt sick. My father did not reprimand her. 

"Where am I going?" I asked him. I felt the first hot sting of tears. "You're not actually thinking of—"

His jaw tightened. "The North Maren. To the Lycan King. It's a better deal than you deserve. The North still has meat, and medicine, and they need more women. The King might keep you for himself, and if he does, we'll be fine for another year."

"No," I laughed, but it lacked humour. "You can't send me there, you can't—"

"You know why we pay it, Maren," he said. "It's how we survive. The Lycans won the war a hundred years ago. We pay them what they demand, and we get to keep what we have left. Food, medicine, shelter — things you take for granted."

The Lycans. My stomach rolled again. They ruled everywhere now — every pack, every scrap of land left after the war — but the King kept his court in the North, and Ashwood sat far enough south that most of us had never seen one firsthand.

 We only knew what they were: stronger, faster, crueler, more magical, more monstrous. They kept wolves like pets, or like livestock. And sometimes, when the shelter had nothing else to offer, they took our women.

There's a legend, whispered around campfires late at night, about the Lycan King. They say he made the rogues, turned entire packs into monsters to leash the rest of us, keep us paying our tribute. 

Some say the rogues are just a plague, a fluke of bad luck that happened at the worst time, when our packs are weak from the drought. 

But I've seen the bodies they leave behind, mangled and ravaged and twisted in ways that defy explanation. 

I've watched my own packmates dragged from our walls, screaming, only to come back as something else entirely. 

Something dead-eyed. Something hungry. Something that remembers us well enough to hate.

The Lycan King is real. His rogues are real. And I can't — I can't be a tribute to him. I can't be marked for death and sent north to become one of those things. 

It's not fair, not fair, not fair, the words beat in my chest like a pulse. It's not my fault that I'm fat; it's not my fault I'm so clumsy and slow and weak—

"We can't afford to feed you anymore, Maren," Father said bluntly. "You're twenty-five. You're unmated. You have no skills, no prospects, and no pack to support you. You're not useful to us. The Lycans want women, and you're a woman. There's no other way to justify keeping you here."

I shook my head. "But Julian — we're — we're..." My voice broke. My boyfriend. Julian had been the only person in this shelter who had ever been kind to me. The only person who didn't care about how I looked.

"We told you years ago not to waste your time with him," my stepmother snapped. "He never intended to mark you. Look at yourself. Do you think you're fit to bear a pack heir?"

I had no answer to that. They all thought I was ugly, unremarkable, and useless. I'd heard it enough times that a part of me had learned to believe it. But still, the cruelty stung.

Father sighed. "We can't protect you from this anymore, Maren. I'm sorry. I tried."

That was not true. I don't think he tried enough.

"You'll leave on the truck in few minutes," Father said. "Be ready."

My vision blurred, hot tears spilling down my cheeks as I stumbled out. I had to find Julian. He could fix this. If he marked me, if he made me his Luna tonight, the pack could not send me away. I would be his mate, his responsibility, and not a name on the list.

The door to Julian's room hung slightly ajar. I hesitated with my hand on the handle, heart thumping in my throat. Julian never left his door unlocked. But Julian never left his door open either, and the sounds seeping out of the crack sent a flush of heat up the back of my neck. 

I pressed the latch and pushed slowly, letting the door open itself, and the sight before me made my blood run cold.

Julian was on top of Vera, fucking her raw. Vera's head was thrown back, dark hair spilling across the pillow, breasts bouncing with each hard thrust of Julian's lean hips. I felt sick, bile rising, and I must have made a sound because Julian looked up and met my eyes.

And smiled. He didn't stop, just kept riding Vera with his hands braced on either side of her ribs. "Maren," he said, like I'd stopped by to say hello. Vera's eyes opened, and she smirked. "Come to watch?" 

"Julian, stop." My voice felt too small in my ears. Vera laughed.

Vera pushed Julian's shoulder until he rolled off her. I watched her sit up and stretch, naked, catlike and triumphant, before turning her neck to me. Fresh bite marks scored her skin, still oozing blood. Julian's mark.

"See?" Vera said, voice dripping venom. "I'm what he wants. Not you."

Now my parents' words from before started to make sense. My sister was marked. 

My legs wouldn't move. "You're my sister." 

"Oh, stop that." Vera stood. "Don't do that to yourself. Did you think you were special, Mare? Did you think he was going to mark you?" 

"He promised me. We had an arrangement." The words sounded stupid coming out of my mouth, like I was a child trying to bargain for a toy. 

Julian stood. His hair was damp, and a sheen of sweat coated his skin. Vera walked to him, pressed herself against him, and ran a hand down his chest. Julian caught it, brought it to his lips, kissed her knuckles. Then he turned his eyes to me. 

"You disgust me," he said. "You're a fat, useless bitch who eats our food and doesn't even have the decency to stay out of sight. Did you think I was actually going to mark you?" He laughed. "You were a backup plan in case I couldn't get Vera. Now I don't need you at all."

I shook my head. "I'm your mate." The lie fell dead between us. 

"I never said that. You thought that." Julian pushed Vera off him and strode past me to the bathroom. "Go home and wait for the truck like everyone else," he said without turning back. "You're not my problem anymore."

I stumbled after him but closed the bathroom door on my face, leaving me alone in his bedroom with Vera, who was still laughing. 

I ran. Down the stairs, through the crowded hall, out into the yard, my heart pounding, Vera's laughter echoing. I reached the gate, and found it already open, the truck waiting, its engine humming.

My father and stepmother stood there with the guards, who were loading my bags into the bed. I blinked at them, disbelieving, and then turned to my parents.

"Mom," I said, because I'd been trying not to cry but my stepmother's face was hard and blank. "Dad—"

"Maren Ashwood," my father said, and he sounded angry. "You are hereby banished from Ashwood pack. You will never return."

I opened her mouth but no sound came out. My stepmother looked away. The guards grabbed my arms. I struggled, twisting, and one of them slapped me hard across the face. bursting my lips. 

"Wait," I said desperately, ignoring the pain. "Wait, what about the zombies? I can't go out there—"

"You should have thought of that before you tried to seduce your sister's intended mate," my father said. "Get in the truck."

The guards shoved me forward. I fell onto the steel bed, scraping my knees. I rolled onto my back, staring up at the grey sky, and screamed.

* * *