Marked, Not Kept
He crossed the room and crouched in front of Wilder's still body, and looked back at her, and his eyes were bright and warm and empty.
"Him," Dane said. "The mark. The second that dog put his mouth on you, you started to turn, and a turning Firstblood puts out a signal you can smell from three states away." He patted Wilder's cheek, twice, gently. "Your mother kept you invisible for nineteen years, Maya. Your Alpha undid it in four days. He didn't save you in that park. He rang the dinner bell."
And Maya sat in a chair with silver burning her wrists and felt the whole floor go out from under her, because she'd spent four days learning to hate the mark for taking her freedom.