Chapter 1: The Ash and the Thorns

**Sera**

The fire smelled like cedar shavings and dry straw.

I didn't look back to see if the rafters were catching. I had kicked the rusted iron door of the stove open, grabbed the glowing hearth-tongs, and dragged three red-hot embers into the dry stuffing of my cot. The straw took instantly, crackling like dry bone before bursting into orange ribbons of heat.

Smoke, black and thick with pine resin, rolled toward the roof beams.

My hands shook so hard I could barely wrap my fingers around the iron poker. For ten years, I had stared at the lock on the attic door. The wood around the lower frame was rotten from rain leaking through the shingles every spring.

I wedged the flat tip of the poker into the gap and threw my whole weight against it.

My shoulder slammed into the rough timber. Pain shot down my arm, sharp and hot across the collapsed veins in my left wrist, but the rotten wood gave way with a screech of rusted nails.

The door swung wide.

I dropped the iron rod and ran.

My bare feet made no sound against the narrow spruce stairs, down past the third landing, where the scent of smoke hadn't yet reached, past the closed doors of the warriors' quarters, and down the back servants' stairs toward the scullery.

The kitchen was empty. The whole pack was at the front gates, clearing snow for the evening patrols. A side door stood slightly ajar to let in the winter air.

I pushed through it into the freezing twilight.

The cold hit me like a bucket of well water thrown in my face. My lungs burned as I pulled in the frigid mountain air, my breath puffing white against the dark. I had no boots. I wore only a thin, threadbare linen shift that barely reached my knees.

I didn't head for the main road. The sentry towers were always manned, their braziers glowing red against the timber palisade.

I turned toward the east wing, where the pack boundary ended at the briar thicket and the rocky ridge.

Snow crusted over frozen mud, crunching under my heels. The sharp crust cut into the soles of my feet, but the cold numbed the flesh so fast I only felt the dull, wet sting.

*Keep going,* I told myself. * Reach the tree line.*

Behind me, the iron bell on the watchtower began to clang.

Three heavy, rhythmic strikes. The pack alarm.

They had seen the smoke coming from the attic roof.

Panic turned my legs to lead. I dove into the black shadow of the pine woods, my shoulders crashing through the low branches. Dead twigs whipped across my face, scratching my cheeks and tearing at my hair.

Ahead lay the thorned ditch—a dense wall of wild blackberry canes and mountain briars that marked the edge of Riverfang land. Beyond those thorns sat the frozen gorge, and past the gorge was the neutral wilderness.

If I could reach the other side, my scent would be lost in the running water beneath the ice.

I didn't slow down. I threw myself directly into the brambles.

Thorns ripped through my linen shift like claws. They tore across my forearms, reopening the fresh needle punctures from this morning’s bleeding. Warm blood dripped down my fingers, steaming against the cold snow.

I scrambled forward on my hands and knees, dragging my starved body over frozen roots and tangled vines.

Every breath felt like swallowing crushed glass. My wolf was so weak, so buried beneath years of hunger and binding spells, that she couldn't even lend me strength. She could only whimper inside my chest, curling into a tight ball against the cold.

*Almost there.*

The sound of rushing water grew louder ahead. The gorge was just beyond the last thicket of briars. Freedom was ten yards away. Five yards.

A low, deep vibration shook the snow beneath my palms.

Heavy footfalls.

I tried to lunge forward, but my right foot caught in a loop of thick briar vine. The sudden jerk pulled me down, slamming my chin hard into the frozen earth.

I scrambled, clawing at the dirt, trying to kick my leg free. The thorns bit deeper into my ankle, locking me in place.

Through the trees, a gray shape broke into the clearing.

A wolf. Big, with thick gray fur and yellow eyes that caught the moonlight with cruel satisfaction.

The beast didn't rush in. It slowed to a trot, steam pouring from its muzzle as it circled the edge of the briar patch, watching me thrash in the snow like a snared rabbit.

I reached out, my trembling fingers digging into the crust of ice, pulling myself forward until my knuckles touched the clear ground at the edge of the slope.

Just inches from the descent. Just inches from the drop.

My vision began to swim. The gray wolf shifted behind me, bones cracking and rearranging into the broad, towering shape of a pack enforcer.

The last thing I felt before the blackness swallowed me was a heavy boot pressing down into the small of my back, pinning me flat against the frozen ground.