Chapter 1

“Why did you bring her here, Mateo?”

“What was I supposed to do, Henrick? She saw me shift! Was I supposed to let her go back and tell the others?”

“You should have wrung her neck and saved us all the damn hassle, you idiot.”

“Get fucked, Rocco. I’ve never killed a woman, and I’m not about to start now!”

“First of all, THAT is not a woman. It’s an elf. Second of all, what the fuck did you just call me, you little runt?!”

“You heard!”

“Hey! Break it up, assholes!”

“She’s here now, so there’s no point arguing about it. Goddess above, sometimes I wonder if there are enough brain cells in this house to rub together.”

“Shut up, Jarek.”

My consciousness is stirring, yelling at me to wake up.

Slowly, my brain takes in the mishmash of brutal growls, grunts and snarls, slotting them together like pieces of a puzzle. Now, with my wits about me again, I have to decide which situation is worse. The empty nothingness that consumed me only moments ago, or this. The clarity that has now descended upon me, raging through every nerve ending in my tired, weak body.

“You know he will be pissed when he sees this, Mateo? This is an epic fuck up.”

“Conall will understand, Hunter. I had no other option!”

As I listen to their heated discussion unfolding around me, it’s clear that I can no longer deny the cold, hard truth.

I have been captured by them.

Of course, with hindsight, I know that I should have been more careful. I should have taken heed of the countless warnings drummed into me since I was small. However, after going one hundred and twenty-seven years without ever seeing one of them, there comes a time when you grow complacent. And that’s exactly what I was when I stumbled into this mess, complacent with an added sprinkling of stupid.

“Well, Mateo, what should we do with her now? What was your big plan after bringing her here?”

“I didn’t have one, Evan. But like I’ve said, for the millionth time, I had no option!”

“Shhh! She just moved.”

“No, she didn’t. Trust me, I knocked her out cold.”

“No one trusts you, Mateo. That’s the problem.”

Suddenly, the noise level kicks up a notch as the beasts fight amongst themselves like the uncivilized devils they are. Seizing the opportunity, I open one eye to assess the situation.

Werewolves. A whole room full of them.

They were once the most violent, savage and brutal species in our world and one we thought was eradicated long ago. But as the years rolled on after The Culling, it became clear that this perhaps wasn’t the case. Now, unfortunately, I am the one to discover this for certain.

My eyes flick between each of them in turn, and I realize that each one looks different in their own way, with various combinations of skin, hair and eye colors. Some mask their brutality with handsome features, while others wear their scars like a badge of honor. However, despite their apparent differences, there are also some attributes that every single one has in abundance: huge, towering statures, muscular physiques, and perhaps most worryingly of all, powerful auras.

Quickly, I consider my options.

Do I continue to lie here and wait for them to decide what to do with me? Or do I try to escape?

Either way, I’m savvy enough to know that my chances are dire at best. Bouncing onto my feet, I run for the window, which looks out into the sanctuary and protection of the thick, dark forest.

“She’s making a run for it! Catch her!” a voice booms out from behind me.

Frantically, my hand reaches for the window latch, and I twist it just a little before my arm is ripped backward with such force that it sends me spinning.

Then I see it.

The backside of a massive hand as it gets ready to smack me across the face.

“What the hell, Rocco? There’s no need for that!” Mateo, the one I have now identified as my kidnapper, shouts amongst the fray.

I know that I should remain still, but the burning hatred in my heart is not ready to relent just yet. Instead, I lift my head defiantly to look into my would-be attacker’s eyes. My bold glare immediately provokes a reaction, and before I know it, his hand comes toward me as if in slow motion. There is no escaping it now. All I can do is prepare myself for the blow, but when I close my eyes again and wait… I am met with nothing but complete silence.

Every voice in the room has ceased.

All movement around me has stopped.

The sudden shift in dynamics sends a strange, nervous tingle shooting up my spine.

My eyelids flicker open one at a time to take in the sight before me.

There, my attacker stands, his hand still poised and ready but suspended mid-air, held in place by a strong, unmovable fist. My eyes slowly lift to the owner, and as they do, my breathing intensifies. I swear I can hear it amplify tenfold against the tense silence that fills the air.

Then I find him. The owner of the fist and the owner of two intense, penetrating, honey-colored eyes. I can’t help but swallow a strange kind of gasp. I could have sworn he wasn’t here only a few moments ago.

“Fucking let go of me!” the dog I now know to be Rocco growls as he tugs his arm away defiantly from the iron grip that holds him steady.

The man with honey-colored eyes doesn’t react. Instead, his eyes stay firmly on mine for what feels like an eternity. My lips part, and suddenly his intense gaze snaps away, now settling on Rocco.

“Control yourself or leave,” he orders with a deadly kind of calm that has the other men in the room looking at each other in quiet anticipation.

I can instantly sense their uncertainty from the looks on their faces. This man, the one they all seem to be wary of, is unpredictable. Unreadable. They seem just as tense as I am standing in this room alongside him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” Rocco questions furiously.

The man doesn’t bother to reply. Instead, he stares back threateningly, cocking his head to one side while his dark eyebrows knit together. And just like that… Rocco’s question has been answered. Without words, without actions, but with one look alone.

“This is bullshit!” Rocco seethes under his breath, yanking his arm free and stepping backward into the wall of towering, silent onlookers.

My eyes scan them all once again. Only mere moments ago, the competing auras of the men in this room seemed so powerful, but compared with his, the man with the honey-colored eyes, they now pale into insignificance. Standing before him, I feel his power slip under my skin, rushing through me without my consent. I have his undivided attention, yet still, he says nothing. Not a word before his invasive gaze travels over me, leaving a burning trail in its wake. My heart pounds hard in my chest. My breathing turns ragged and uneven as I stand there at his mercy.

I decide I can’t take it any longer and step back to escape his suffocating presence. His eyes narrow slightly, and finally, the silence is broken by his low, composed voice.

“What is your name…elf?”

The authority in his voice almost compels me to answer, but my stubborn nature won’t yield.

“My name?”

He doesn’t respond. In the short time I’ve been in his presence, I have now determined that he won’t ask the same question twice.

“Why the hell should I tell you?” I add hastily, desperate to hide the nerves in my voice.

We continue to stare at each other in disdain, and I try, oh how I try, to match his intensity with my own. He’s a beast, after all. A filthy barbarian, and I need him to see that I’m not afraid.

His left eye twitches. The slight movement is almost unnoticeable to the naked eye, but I don’t miss it. He’s not used to someone talking back to him. The realization makes my confidence grow, and my chin rises higher. He takes a step closer, and I remain steady in my resolve.

Standing so close to him, I now have no option but to take in his appearance, and I have to say, I’ve never seen a creature like him. Elven men typically have a smooth, ethereal beauty. Their skin is unblemished by nature, their features are soft and delicate, and their outfits are strategically placed and considered. But standing in front of me right now, this beast bears no resemblance to this image. In many ways, he is the complete and utter opposite. His jaw is strong and covered with rough-looking stubble. His tanned skin isn’t perfect at all. Small lines penetrate the skin around his eyes and forehead; however, I’m surprised to discover the effect strangely isn’t unpleasant. Instead, they add to the deep, intense look on his face. His hair is neither long nor sleek, like many elves. Instead, it’s short, messy and textured. Then there’s his body… His frame broad and imposing, yet chiseled with well-defined muscles poking through the thin material of his black shirt. As I examine him, I can’t help but think that a high elf wouldn’t be caught dead in such a state of undress.

“She’s just a wood elf,” he then states matter-of-factly, cutting through the thick tension. “Take her back into the forest.” His face moves closer to mine, and every nerve in my body stands to attention. “Take her back...and let her go.”

My heart jolts upon hearing those words leave his lips.

“But Conall, she’s seen this place. She might tell someone!” Mateo protests, stepping out from the crowd.

“Well, you brought her here, Mateo. What would you have me do?” the man with the honey-colored eyes asks casually without moving a muscle. “Kill her?”

I glance to the side anxiously to see Mateo shaking his head in defeat.

“Wood elves are no danger to us,” his calm voice continues. “Just let her go.”

My eyes snap back to meet his, and the room instantly vibrates with intense chatter as the other men speak in hushed voices, but I have yet to hear a word of what they are saying. I’m entirely focused on the beast in front of me.

Then, a blond man leans forward. “Wood elves can still talk, Con,” he whispers cautiously. “Are you sure about this?”

The man doesn’t answer the question. He’s too busy studying me, and after a few seconds of silence, I wonder if he even heard it all.

“Con—”

“Don’t worry about it, Zeke,” he answers, nodding toward me. “Wood elves are the most simple-minded creatures in existence. I can tell this one is no different.”

His taunting words extract an automatic reaction from me. My fist flies out for his face, but instead of reaching him, it lands square in the palm of his hand. Before I can react, his fingers curl around it, dragging me closer. Our bodies clash against one another, our chests pressed together as he holds me tightly in place. His grip is so tight that it borders on painful, yet a strange magnetic energy emanates from the area where our skin touches. The look on his face doesn’t change as he examines our position, but something in the atmosphere around us does.

“You exposed yourself, elf,” he mutters, his breath fanning my face. “You have the looks of a wood elf but the fighting temperament of a high elf.”

I blink quickly but don’t respond to the accusations laid against me. How can I? I messed up and exposed myself, as he said. I fell straight into his trap, and now I feel like a damn idiot.

He lets go of my hand abruptly as though nothing happened, and I tense my jaw, snatching it back to my side. “Zeke, put her somewhere secure until I figure out what I’m going to do with her,” he demands coldly, stepping away to turn his back on me and head for the door.

“You can’t do this!” I scream in protest, the anger inside me reaching new scorching levels. “They will look for me! You won’t get away with this!”

He doesn’t turn around, and the last ugly word leaves my frantic lips just as Zeke takes hold of my wrists. The door closes and the room filled with beastly men watch on as I am led away, kicking and screaming in a state of pure, desperate, unfiltered rage.