Scarlett’s POV Hot hands grasped my shoulders, dragging me, bleary-eyed, out of the dark room. I squinted against the onslaught of daylight. Heavy chains dragged my sore limbs down. My stomach growled; I fought to ignore it. This was my new normal. Ever since I’d stood up to Alpha Ryker – how many days ago was it now? Three? Four? Five? It was hard to tell in the darkness – I’d been kept in a dimly lit room in the ass-end of the pack house, a room Ryker fondly referred to as his oubliette. A French word meaning to forget. But he’d not forgotten about me. God, life had to be fucked when being left to starve in a pit was preferable to my present reality. My time alone in the room, with my wrists and ankles chained in cold iron, was actually the highlight of my lonely existence. Sure, I ached all over, and sure, I couldn’t ever get comfy, bound upright as I was to the solid frame at the heart of the otherwise empty room, and sure, there was no food, no heat, no reprieve – but at least

Scarlett’s POV My breathing stopped. No. No, I didn’t want to hear it. It was a truth that had lurked in the back of my mind, watching me from the corner of my eye; one I’d never dared poke for fear of what would happen to me if I did. Of course Alpha Ryker had killed my parents. Of course he had. Almost two years’ worth of memories flashed before my eyes: the vague description of their death, which I’d accepted all too easily; the way Enzo had eyed me strangely when I’d recounted it to him; the fact that they’d disappeared and Ryker had been the one to tell me that they’d died… I’d known all along, really; I just hadn’t let myself think about it for long enough to accept it. Ryker himself had basically told me in Shady Grove, when he’d said he couldn’t take my family from me again. I’d shoved it aside, ignored it, done everything I could to pretend it wasn’t true to save myself the agony of accepting the truth. Even the notes my parents had written one another, tucked into the old

Scarlett’s POVAlpha Ryker never knocked. The pack house belonged to him, as did every soul living under its roof. Me more than most.His piggy blue eyes narrowed as he took in my prone form, the duvet pushed back from my body to let my too-hot leg, still stuck in its cast, stick out into the cool spring air. The windows were thrown wide, and the early time of his visit meant that the sun was yet to spill over the horizon.“Well?” he barked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I kept my word. Now it’s time for you to make good on your side of the deal, Omega.” He ground his teeth together. “Scarlett.”“Old habits die hard,” I said, stalling. I couldn’t give him what he wanted and I had no way out. I could lie to him. Tell him I’d made him immortal and then say, hey, I know how I can prove it – let me try to kill you. I swear it won’t work. But, even if he went along with it, I knew I’d never be able to do it. No matter how much he’d hurt me – no matter what he’d done to my parents – I

Scarlett’s POVEvery thump of my crutch against the floor made my heart race. Even though it was well past midnight there would still be Omegas awake and rushing around, preparing place settings and breakfast and clean towels for the following morning, as well as the odd Warrior Wolf drinking late into the night. It was better than the day, but there truly was no perfect time to sneak out of the pack house in an attempt to find my freedom.Freedom. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or cry at the thought. I felt as though I’d never known it, even being told as a child that I couldn’t study art or literature or history, or anything interesting at all, because I was a werewolf, and I had a pack to serve. Being a creature of loyalty and friendship sounded great – until the idea met the reality and both came crashing down.Tension bracketed my spine as I slunk around corner after corner, my breath hitching every time I heard a noise. Shadows morphed into people, their hands elongating int

Scarlett’s POVThe monolith rose into the star-speckled sky. Even at dusk it gleamed red, sunlight playing across its steep planes and painting it in blurred hues of gold and pink and navy. I sagged at the sight of it, my back sore, my feet aching, my heart hollow. My cast was wearing through on the bottom, as was my now-bowed crutch. I didn’t know how long I’d been walking for, but it didn’t matter. Not now. I’d made it.I fell to my knees, burying my fingers in the red sand. Scraggy, dry grass scratched my palms. Bolts of agony shot up my leg. I took the good with the bad; it was all beautiful to me, because it was all my choice. My lips were chapped and my throat was so dry I doubted I’d be able to talk if I tried, and yet knowing that I’d done something on my own – knowing that I’d saved myself – made my splintered lips break into a ragged grin. Strands of wavy auburn hair tumbled into the sand. I stared at it, barely able to recognise it as my own. The scars on my hands did not