"Sorry, Damian, didn't mean this rogue to sour your hunt. We'll drag her to the outskirts!"

one of the wolves snarled, his tone laced with the snappish deference of a lower-ranked pack member as he lunged.

Before I could flinch, he seized a fistful of my hair, yanking so hard my skull felt ready to split.​

"You mangy thief! Swiped pack funds and thought you could slink off? Your kind doesn't get to run!" he roared, fangs flashing in a wolfish snarl.​

I yelped, a sound half-human, half-wolf, as pain lanced through my scalp.

I stumbled backward, hitting the ground hard enough to rattle my ribs, my arm scraping across the rough pavement-blood welling, hot and metallic.​

"Let me go! That's my blood money!"

I shouted, voice cracking into a whimper.

"Pfft! You, with pack coin like that? Don't make me howl!" he spat.​

I tried to twist away, but he clamped a hand on the back of my neck, thumb digging into the pressure point. It was My body locked up, trembling so hard my vision blurred.

That grip, that claim. it mirrored the hold the orderlies used before jabbing me with wolfsbane serum in the hospital.

My lycanthropic nerves had learned to kneel, conditioned to shut down at the first sign of subjugation.

The wolf, nostrils flaring at my submissive stillness, began hauling me off by the scruf,like he'd snared a weak fawn.

The thought of returning to that cage-those iron-barred walls reeking of wolfsbane, the endless jolts of silver-infused electricity-sent a whimper bubbling up.

My eyes glazed over, body going slack as a pup who'd given up, my wolf spirit retreating into a hollow corner.​

"Enough."

Damian's voice sliced through the air.

Damian fished a leather pouch from his coat and flicked it-coins clinking like a dismissive growl.

"Take the tribute and scurry. Don't soil Wolfe land with your stench."​

Before I could catch my breath, Damian's grip closed around my wrist, yanking me into the pack office building. My chest screamed with pain from my broken ribs, my head spinning as he shoved me against a wall. His presence loomed over me, dangerous and suffocating.

"Emily," he growled, his voice dripping with venom. "All these years, and you're living like some mangy stray?"

My heart felt like it'd been stabbed, the pain sharp and immediate. His words came slow, deliberate, each one a blade. "This. Is. Your. Reckoning."

Those hate-filled eyes bored into me, and for a split second, I ached to howl the truth.

But I clamped my jaws shut. I'd sworn to Kathleen, vowed to let her cross to the afterlife with a pure spirit.​

Six years ago, under a blood-red moon, Kathleen and I were taken-thrown into a den of rogue wolves.

She'd planted herself in front of me, and let them drag her off instead.

When I found her again, her legs were shattered , her face marred beyond recognition.

I lit the den ablaze, the flames devouring their foul scents, and hoisted her onto my back, ready to flee into the woods.

But at the last moment, she caught my wrist, her scarred fingers trembling-wolf tears glistening in her eyes.

"Emily, get out. Live well." she'd whispered.

"I want to stay clean in the eyes of my mate, my brother."

She pushed me out and let the flames take her.

Kathleen wanted to stay pure.

Damian, the pack's golden wolf, deserved to stay pure too. I'd been through the filth of that place, marked by it. I wasn't fit to be his mate anymore. One of us being tainted was enough.

So when Damian found me, eyes red with grief, clutching me and begging, "Emily, where's Kathleen? Why didn't she make it out?"

I forced a smile, tears flooding my face.

"She's dead. They said only one of us could carry the pack's light. I chose to survive, so she had to fade."​

I'll never forget the snarl that ripped from his throat-shock sharpening his canine.

Kathleen's mate, his wolfish fury unchecked, backhanded me so hard my head snapped, the taste of copper bursting on my tongue.

Damian's hands locked onto my shoulders,his grip a punishment, a plea, a storm all at once.​

"Emily, tell me the truth! Let your wolf spirit howl it's a lie!"

But I gave him nothing. Just silence.

The Wolfe pack wanted me dead. Damian locked himself away for three days and nights, then handed me a one-way ticket out of the pack's lands. His voice was raw with hate as he said, "Never show your face to me again."

He asked his rich pup friend to make sure I left. What he didn't know was that his friend, to "avenge" him, locked me in a cell for Six years.

The pain in my wrist was sharp.

I looked up at Damian, his eyes blazing with the ferocity of a wolf backed into a bloodied den, and forced a bright, bitter smile.

"This is my reckoning? Kathleen's spirit has left the pack lands, and I'm still drawing breath, aren't I?"​

His face darkened, rage igniting in his eyes like a wildfire tearing through dry pines.

He lunged, his hand clamping around my throat-thumb pressing on the pulse point that marked me as a lycan, squeezing so hard the wolf in me whined.

My face paled. Tears streamed down my cheeks, hot and unstoppable.​

Just when I thought Damian would snuff out the last spark of my wolf spirit, he let go.

I collapsed like a gutted deer, coughing so hard my ribs screamed.

Through the blur of tears, I saw him crouch down, his voice cold as a blade sharpened on moonlit stone.

"I'll make you wish the elders had torn your wolf heart out the day you lied."

He reached for me again, but his hand froze midair, hesitating.

Then, in a flash, he grabbed my collar and yanked. The fabric tore with a sharp rip, and his voice exploded. "What the hell is this!?"

Beneath the fresh red marks from his grip, a deep, black-purple scar snaked across my throat, ugly and jarring.

I swallowed the metallic tang of blood, my trembling hand flying to cover the ragged scar that snaked across my throat-shaped like a wolf tra. They called it "the breaking," a ritual to crush the lycanthropy out of me.​

Day after day, they'd loop a wolfsbane-soaked rope around my neck, hoist me until my toes barely touched the floor, their voices dripping with malice as they snarled,

"Bark it, Emily. You're a mongrel, a curse on the Wolfe line, unworthy of his alpha blood!" Each word was punctuated by a yank, the rope burning through my skin, my wolf spirit howling in agony as they tried to strangle it silent.

At first, I refused to croak that final insult, even if it meant my wolf heart gave out.

By the third year, I was hollowed out, parroting it like a broken pack call:

"Emily. is a vile, worthless she-wolf."​

Damian's palm grazed the wolf-trap scar, and my body went rigid. Tears spilled, but my lips curled into a grin.​

"You know how rogue packs play," I said, voice steady despite the way my claws itched to tear through my skin. "They crave the raw thrill of breaking a purebred-way more satisfying than anything your soft pack life offered."​

His eyes flared, pupils slitting like a wolf about to strike.

He hauled me up, and hurled me onto a bed stuffed with moss.

His rage hung thick as musk, tearing at my clothes with the urgency of a male claiming his right.​

I shuddered, forcing out words through chattering teeth.

"You think this is fair to Brielle?"

He laughed, cold and cruel. "You think you're worth her worry? She's carrying my pup. You're just a tool to burn off steam."

The words carrying my pup and tool hit me like a sledgehammer, freezing my blood. I shut my eyes, my heart ripping apart, and stopped fighting. No kisses, no tenderness-just his brutal, vengeful force, using me like he said. And through it all, his voice, low and vicious, kept demanding, "Is this how they choked you?"

It wasn't until dawn that he pulled away, not sparing me a glance. "Clean this up," he said, voice like ice. "Tonight, you're serving food."

He slammed the door behind him.

I came to later, my body trembling as I knelt on the floor, picking up the mess of torn fabric and bloodstains.

I dragged myself to the bathroom, my clothes in shreds-except for the top I'd clung to with everything I had. That one was still intact. I'd fought so hard to keep it on that it only made Damian angrier, his punishment even harsher.

The pain in my wrist was sharp.

I looked up at Damian, his eyes blazing with the ferocity of a wolf backed into a bloodied den, and forced a bright, bitter smile.

"This is my reckoning? Kathleen's spirit has left the pack lands, and I'm still drawing breath, aren't I?"​

His face darkened, rage igniting in his eyes like a wildfire tearing through dry pines.

He lunged, his hand clamping around my throat-thumb pressing on the pulse point that marked me as a lycan, squeezing so hard the wolf in me whined.

My face paled. Tears streamed down my cheeks, hot and unstoppable.​

Just when I thought Damian would snuff out the last spark of my wolf spirit, he let go.

I collapsed like a gutted deer, coughing so hard my ribs screamed.

Through the blur of tears, I saw him crouch down, his voice cold as a blade sharpened on moonlit stone.

"I'll make you wish the elders had torn your wolf heart out the day you lied."

He reached for me again, but his hand froze midair, hesitating.

Then, in a flash, he grabbed my collar and yanked. The fabric tore with a sharp rip, and his voice exploded. "What the hell is this!?"

Beneath the fresh red marks from his grip, a deep, black-purple scar snaked across my throat, ugly and jarring.

I swallowed the metallic tang of blood, my trembling hand flying to cover the ragged scar that snaked across my throat-shaped like a wolf tra. They called it "the breaking," a ritual to crush the lycanthropy out of me.​

Day after day, they'd loop a wolfsbane-soaked rope around my neck, hoist me until my toes barely touched the floor, their voices dripping with malice as they snarled,

"Bark it, Emily. You're a mongrel, a curse on the Wolfe line, unworthy of his alpha blood!" Each word was punctuated by a yank, the rope burning through my skin, my wolf spirit howling in agony as they tried to strangle it silent.

At first, I refused to croak that final insult, even if it meant my wolf heart gave out.

By the third year, I was hollowed out, parroting it like a broken pack call:

"Emily. is a vile, worthless she-wolf."​

Damian's palm grazed the wolf-trap scar, and my body went rigid. Tears spilled, but my lips curled into a grin.​

"You know how rogue packs play," I said, voice steady despite the way my claws itched to tear through my skin. "They crave the raw thrill of breaking a purebred-way more satisfying than anything your soft pack life offered."​

His eyes flared, pupils slitting like a wolf about to strike.

He hauled me up, and hurled me onto a bed stuffed with moss.

His rage hung thick as musk, tearing at my clothes with the urgency of a male claiming his right.​

I shuddered, forcing out words through chattering teeth.

"You think this is fair to Brielle?"

He laughed, cold and cruel. "You think you're worth her worry? She's carrying my pup. You're just a tool to burn off steam."

The words carrying my pup and tool hit me like a sledgehammer, freezing my blood. I shut my eyes, my heart ripping apart, and stopped fighting. No kisses, no tenderness-just his brutal, vengeful force, using me like he said. And through it all, his voice, low and vicious, kept demanding, "Is this how they choked you?"

It wasn't until dawn that he pulled away, not sparing me a glance. "Clean this up," he said, voice like ice. "Tonight, you're serving food."

He slammed the door behind him.

I came to later, my body trembling as I knelt on the floor, picking up the mess of torn fabric and bloodstains.

I dragged myself to the bathroom, my clothes in shreds-except for the top I'd clung to with everything I had. That one was still intact. I'd fought so hard to keep it on that it only made Damian angrier, his punishment even harsher.