I didn't come here for a rescue mission.

For half a month, I tracked the illegal wolfsbane shipments across the northern border. The trail led straight to this rotting cellar. My goal was simple: map the compound, gather the ledger evidence, and leave no trace.

Then I looked through the iron grate.

The woman chained to the damp wall was a mess. Blood soaked her torn clothes. Her wrists were heavily blistered beneath the rusted cuffs, the skin raw and weeping. Below her knee, the flesh around a massive trap wound had turned a sickly, infected black.

Her eyes were swollen. She had been crying.

Yet, she wasn't making a sound.

I crouched lower, narrowing my gaze. I had seen countless fighters face their end. Usually, they screamed. They bargained. They cried out for their mothers or their mates.

She just stared at the oak door.

Her head tilted a fraction of an inch. Her eyes tracked the shadows shifting under the doorframe. She seemed to be timing the guard's footsteps.

My brow furrowed. She internalized the agony, locking it away behind a wall of pure silence.

*She's hasn't finished,* I thought.

A sudden draft pushed through the narrow cellar window, carrying her scent straight to me.

Cedar. Post-rain earth. A sharp tang of fresh copper.

My chest tightened. My pulse skipped a single, strange beat. I rubbed my sternum, blaming the reaction on holding my breath in the damp air.

*Why do I want to get closer?*

It wasn't a mate bond. I would know if it was. It was just an irrational, magnetic pull. A warning bell ringing in the back of my skull.

I needed to walk away and stick to the mission.

Instead, I stepped away from the grate and moved toward the cellar entrance. I couldn't let her die down there.

Footsteps scuffed the dirt outside the heavy oak door. The guard shifted his weight. He hummed a tuneless song, tossing a rusted key ring in his palm.

I picked up a loose stone and flicked it down the dark corridor. It clattered against the far wall.

"Who's there?" the guard grunted.

He dropped his hand to his hilt. He took two steps into the shadows. I stepped out from the blind spot behind him.

I clamped my hand over his mouth and swept his legs out from under him. He hit the stone floor hard. Before he could struggle, I drove the pommel of my dagger into his temple. He went limp.

I snatched the keys from his belt.

I slid the largest iron key into the lock. It clicked heavily.

I pushed the door open.

The moment the hinges groaned, the woman lunged.

Her leg was crushed, her veins pumped full of poison, and she was chained to the wall. But she threw her entire upper body forward. The rusted links whistled through the damp air. She swung her chained wrists in a vicious arc aimed right at my throat.

I ducked under the heavy iron. I grabbed her forearms, pinning them together before she could strike again.

"Easy," I ordered, keeping my voice low. "I'm not one of them."

She fought against my grip. Her muscles trembled with exhaustion, but her glare was pure ice.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"Your way out," I answered.

"I didn't ask for a rescue."

"Good. I didn't come here to give one."

I forced her arms down and shoved the key into the rusted cuffs. The locks gave way with a harsh grind. The heavy chains hit the floor.

She immediately shoved my chest, trying to put distance between us. Her injured leg buckled. She pitched forward.

I caught her by the waist.

"Don't touch me," she hissed, swiping at my arm.

I ignored her protest and lowered her gently to the stone floor.

"You're bleeding out," I told her. "If you walk on that leg, the infection will spread to your heart within the hour."

"I can walk."

"You can barely stand."

I crouched in front of her, keeping my face level with hers. I offered no pity. Pity was an insult to a warrior.

"Don't move," I said flatly. "You'll make it worse."

She clamped her jaw shut, her eyes darting to the open doorway.

I pulled a small glass vial from my tactical pouch.

"What is that?" she asked, her eyes tracking my hands.

"Purifying elixir. It strips the wolfsbane out of the muscle."

"Will it work?"

"It will burn."

"Do it," she challenged, not blinking.

I uncorked the glass and poured the clear liquid directly over the blackened flesh of her calf.

The solution hissed on contact. White smoke curled off her skin.

She didn't scream. Her fingernails dug into the dirt, scraping against the stone until her knuckles turned white. A single tremor violently shook her shoulders, then she forced herself completely still.

"Impressive," I noted, wrapping a clean bandage tightly around the wound.

"Are you going to talk, or are we going to leave?" she snapped.

I tied off the linen and stood up.

"We're leaving."

I leaned down and scooped her into my arms.

She stiffened instantly. Her hands hovered awkwardly near my chest, refusing to hold on. Her entire body remained rigid, coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. She kept her gaze fixed on the dark corridor ahead, scanning for threats.

"You're a lot of trouble," I muttered, adjusting my hold on her waist.

"Put me down and you won't have to deal with it," she retorted.

I didn't put her down. I didn't want to.

"Keep your voice down," I warned, stepping over the unconscious guard. "We have three minutes before the next patrol."

I carried her up the damp stone steps, moving quickly toward the forest edge. The night air hit us, freezing and sharp.

We reached the tree line just as a loud, piercing horn shattered the silence of the compound.

"They found the guard," she whispered, her fingers finally gripping the fabric of my shirt.

"Hold on," I said, breaking into a run.

Before we could clear the first row of pines, a massive silver wolf stepped out from the shadows, blocking our path.

The beast bared its teeth, a low growl vibrating through the earth.

"Well," a familiar, mocking voice called out from the darkness behind the wolf. "Look who finally decided to show up."

The stranger with the icy eyes cut through the silver wolves like they were nothing. One moment we were surrounded, the next he was dragging me into the deep woods and the compound was already far behind us. He left without a word.

Now, three days later, I stood at the edge of Ashgrove.

I leaned heavily on a thick oak branch. My right leg throbbed with every heartbeat.

The pack hall loomed ahead, its massive double doors cracked open. Light spilled onto the dirt path. A low hum of voices drifted outward.

I dragged my injured leg up the stone steps.

"We cannot leave the position empty," Elder Thorne's voice echoed from inside.

I paused by the heavy doorframe.

"Ivy has proven herself," Thorne continued. "She spent the last two years tending to the pups. She cares for the elders. She is gentle. Submissive. She knows how to follow."

My grip tightened on the rough bark of my makeshift crutch.

"Isn't it too early to discuss this?" Declan asked. His tone carried a sharp edge.

"The pack needs stability," Thorne countered. "Especially now, with Elara's status in question."

*Status in question.* I leaned against the doorjamb. They thought I was dead. Or worse, a traitor who never returned from patrol.

Inside, Declan stood at the center of the raised platform. He turned his head, his golden eyes sweeping over the gathered crowd. He was looking for someone. For two seconds, his gaze searched the shadows near the back rows.

Then Ivy stepped to his side. She wrapped her hands around his bicep, anchoring him in place.

"The Alpha needs a Luna who understands her place," Thorne announced to the room. "Ivy is ready."

It hit me then.

Ivy didn't just panic in the woods. She didn't simply stumble into a trap. She spent two years playing the perfect, obedient caretaker, waiting for the right moment to eliminate her only competition—me.

I pushed the heavy door open. The hinges whined.

The entire pack turned. Silence slammed into the hall.

Ivy saw me first. Her eyes widened. The color drained from her cheeks, leaving her pale and rigid. For a fraction of a second, raw terror twisted her features.

Then she smiled.

"Elara!" she cried out.

She released Declan's arm and took a step toward me.

Declan reacted instantly. He threw his arm out, planting himself firmly between me and my sister. His broad shoulders squared. He braced his weight, treating me like a threat.

I stopped walking.

My own mate shielded the woman who set me up to die.

"Elara," Declan said. His jaw flexed. "You survived."

I didn't scream. I didn't demand an explanation. I just stared at the space between them. A cold, empty laugh scraped the back of my throat, but I swallowed it down.

"I did," I answered flatly.

"You're injured," Ivy whispered, peering out from behind his shoulder.

"Step aside, Declan," I told him.

He didn't move. "We are in the middle of a council vote."

"I heard." I shifted my weight onto my good leg and limped down the center aisle.

Pack members scrambled out of my way. They averted their eyes. No one offered a hand. No one welcomed the First Warrior home.

I reached the base of the raised platform. The wooden stairs looked like a mountain. I forced my ruined right leg upward. Agony flared from my knee to my ankle. I dragged my left foot up to meet it.

"Elara, stop right there," Thorne ordered from his high seat.

I ignored him and took another step.

"Three years ago, you rejected the Luna candidacy," Thorne's voice boomed across the silent room. "You chose the First Warrior title yourself."

"I did," I agreed.

"You abandoned your post." Thorne pointed a weathered finger at me. "You vanished during a border patrol, leaving your sister unprotected."

"Is that what she told you?" I kept my eyes on Declan.

Declan held his ground. "She told us you were overwhelmed. She barely escaped."

"She barely escaped," I repeated.

Ivy shrank back, pressing her hands against her chest. "I tried to get help, Elara. I really did."

I finally looked at her. Her perfect, tear-filled eyes. Her spotless dress. Not a single scratch marred her skin.

"Save the tears, Ivy," I said. "You're going to ruin your makeup."

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

"Watch your tone," Declan warned, taking half a step toward me. "She mourned you."

"She replaced me."

I reached into the collar of my torn jacket. My fingers found the heavy silver chain resting against my collarbone. At the end hung the First Warrior insignia—a snarling wolf cast in iron.

I yanked the chain. The metal links snapped.

"What are you doing?" Declan demanded.

I tossed the broken necklace onto the wooden planks. It clattered against the floorboards and slid directly to the toe of his boot.

"Keep it," I told him.

He stared at the iron wolf. "You can't just throw away your honor."

"I never need the title to know who I am."

"Elara," he started, his voice dropping an octave.

"Congratulations on your new Luna, Alpha."

I turned my back on him.

The pain in my leg flared into a blinding white heat. I leaned hard on the oak branch and started back down the aisle.

"Where are you going?" Thorne shouted. "This meeting isn't over."

I didn't answer. I didn't stop.

The heavy wooden doors stood open at the end of the hall. The night air rushed in, carrying the scent of pine and coming rain.

"Let her leave," Declan ordered.

His voice sounded strange. Tight.

I kept my eyes fixed on the tree line outside. I refused to limp. I forced my spine straight, biting the inside of my cheek until copper flooded my mouth.

I didn't look back.

If I had, I would have seen Declan ignore Ivy's reaching hand. I would have seen him crouch down and pick up the iron wolf. I didn't know his fingers curled around the metal so tightly his knuckles turned entirely white.

I didn't care.

I crossed the threshold and stepped into the dark.

A shadow detached itself from the side of the pack hall.

"That was dramatic," a low voice murmured from the dark.

I stopped. The stranger from the cellar leaned against the stone wall, spinning a silver dagger between his fingers.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Collecting a debt," he replied, stepping into the moonlight. "You need a new pack. And I need a mate."

"I can hold the flank."

The mercenary captain slammed his wooden mug onto the sticky tavern table. Foam sloshed over the rim, pooling near my knuckles.

"You can barely stand, sweetheart," he mocked.

"I killed three rogues to get to this border. Hand me a sword and I will prove it."

"You dragged yourself here." He pointed a thick, grease-stained finger at my right leg. "Your balance is completely shot."

"I adjust."

"You die. And you get my men killed in the mission."

"I do not need your men to protect me," I fired back. "I need the coin."

"Not my responsibility." He jerked his chin toward the tavern door. "Get out. The Sterling Pack border does not run charity."

"Give me one spar. First to draw blood."

"I do not fight cripples."

I pressed my hands flat against the wood. "I am not a cripple."

"Did you hear me?" he barked. He stood up, knocking his chair backward. It scraped harshly against the floorboards. "Roll out before I throw you out."

"Try it," I challenged.

I dropped my hand to the empty sheath at my hip. I had sold my blade yesterday for a loaf of bread.

He laughed. "You do not even have a weapon."

"I do not need one to break your jaw."

He stepped around the table. Two of his men stood up behind him, resting their hands on their hilts.

I did not argue further. I turned away. My right knee buckled instantly.

Loud, ugly laughter erupted from the table behind me.

"Watch your step, First Warrior!" someone shouted.

I caught myself on the heavy oak doorframe. I ground my molars together until a sharp ache shot up my jaw. I shoved off the wood and limped into the freezing rain.

The innkeeper at the edge of the Sterling Pack territory took my last silver coin. He handed me a rusted key and a torn linen towel.

"Room four," the old man muttered. He did not look up from his ledger. "Checkout is at dawn."

I pushed the door open. A single candle flickered on a wobbly wooden stool. The floorboards groaned under my weight.

I dropped onto the edge of the lumpy mattress. Dust plumed into the air.

"Okay," I whispered to the empty room. "Just the bandages."

I gripped the edge of the blood-soaked fabric wrapped around my calf. The wolfsbane was gone. The stranger's purifying elixir had burned it away. But the trap's iron teeth had chewed straight through muscle and tendon.

I pulled the first layer.

A sharp hiss escaped my teeth. The linen stuck to the raw, healing flesh.

"Come on," I urged myself.

I yanked the rest of the cloth free in one sharp motion.

The wound lay exposed in the dim candlelight. The skin had knitted together, leaving a jagged, violent groove stretching from my knee down to my ankle. The flesh was raised. Angry.

A permanent scar.

I traced the bumpy ridge with my index finger. The skin felt numb, yet a dull ache radiated straight to the bone.

A single drop of water hit my knuckle.

I blinked. A tear. I swiped the back of my hand across my cheek.

The sharp sting in my leg dragged me backward in time.

The scent of pine and fresh blood filled my memory.

"Hold still," Declan ordered.

His hands pressed a thick cloth against my ribs.

"It is just a graze," I told him, trying to push his wrists away.

"The rogue's blade was coated in silver, Elara." He pressed harder.

I flinched. My nails dug into the dirt.

"Stop moving," he scolded gently.

Declan wrapped his arms around my shoulders. He pulled my back flush against his chest. His chin rested on top of my head.

"You stepped in front of me," he whispered, his voice rough. "You took the hit."

"I am the First Warrior. It is my job."

"You are my mate." He turned me around. His golden eyes locked onto mine. "Look at me."

I met his gaze.

"I promise you," Declan swore. He traced the edge of the fresh cut on my collarbone. "You will never bleed while you stand by my side."

"I heal fast," I argued.

"I do not care. I will not let anything hurt you ever again."

I smiled at him then. "I hold you to that, Alpha."

The memory shattered.

I sat alone in the drafty room. No Declan. No pack. Just a ruined leg and an empty pocket.

A heavy knock rattled the thin wooden door.

I grabbed the iron poker from the cold fireplace. I stood up, ignoring the flare of agony in my calf.

"Who is it?" I demanded.

"Brought you hot water," a raspy voice answered.

"I did not ask for any."

"Comes with the room."

I cracked the door open. The old innkeeper stood in the hallway, holding a steaming wooden bucket. His eyes darted to the iron poker in my hand. He looked down at my exposed leg.

"Move," he instructed.

I stepped back. He walked inside and set the bucket on the floorboards.

"That is a nasty bite," he noted, pulling a small tin of salve from his apron. "Wolf trap?"

"Something like that."

"You did not clean it right." He placed the tin next to the bucket. "It is going to rot if you just wrap it."

"I know how to treat a wound."

"Clearly not." He crossed his arms. "Who did this to you, girl?"

I stared at the closed door. I thought of the rogue leader's silver blade. I pictured Ivy's perfect, tearless face in the pack hall. I saw Declan's broad back as he walked away with her.

"An accident," I answered.

The old man scoffed softly. "Accidents do not leave people sleeping with iron pokers."

"It is the truth."

"Suit yourself." He wiped his hands on his apron. "You are a long way from Ashgrove."

I stiffened, raising the poker an inch. "How do you know where I am from?"

"Your accent. And the way you stand."

"How do I stand?"

"Ashgrove fighters always keep their shoulders squared. Even when they are wounded."

He turned the rusted doorknob.

"Keep the salve. You will need it if you want to walk by morning."

"I do not have money for it."

"Consider it a welcome gift to the border."

The door clicked shut.

I limped toward the narrow window. The glass was caked with grime. Through the smudge, the distant peaks of the Ashgrove mountains cut into the night sky.

I pressed my forehead against the cold pane.

No one here expected me to be fine. That was the only mercy this place offered.

I turned away from the window and reached for the hot water.

A shadow detached itself from the darkest corner of the room.

"I told you I needed a mate," a familiar, icy voice said. "I did not say you could run off to Sterling territory without me."

I spun around, raising the iron poker.

The stranger from the woods stepped into the candlelight. He caught the heavy iron rod with one bare hand.

"Put the toy down, Elara. We have work to do."