The girl ahead of me whispered a prayer into her fist and stumbled into motion. She was all nerves and pearls, nearly tripping on the third step before catching herself.

He touched her wrist. Waited. Shook his head.

She made it all the way back to her mother before she cried.

"Next."

My mouth tasted like metal and wax.

The room went quieter than it had been all night.

I moved because stopping wasn't allowed. Just five steps. I could do it.

I kept my focus on the lowest step and lifted my foot.

Lucien Veyrac looked at me, and for a fraction of a second, everything else disappeared. Not because he was beautiful, but because the weight of his attention felt like a hand wrapped around my ribcage.

He didn't smile. He didn't frown. He watched.

I reached the top step. The dress suddenly felt tight and ugly. I stopped an arm's length from him.

The elder shifted closer, the ritual book open, lips pressed thin.

Lucien didn't meet me half way, he waited until I stood right in front of him and raised his hand to lay two fingers against my left wrist.

Skin to skin.

If the bond had a sound, it would have been the gong sound going off in my brain.

Something in my chest tightened, snapped, flared. My wolf surged, clawing to reach him, certain this was ours. And in his gray eyes, for a heartbeat, I saw his wolf answer-wild, unhidden, undeniable.

It was too much. I tore my gaze away before I fell to my knees, staring instead, at the hollow of his throat-his pulse. Suddenly wanting to lean in and take a long sniff.

Instead, I stood frozen, waiting to be told what to do.

The future Alpha took a step back, shaking his head.

"Lucien," Elder Ansel whispered, voice cutting across the stillness. "You feel it. She is your mate."

The words swallowed a hundred whispers whole. The air shifted as people leaned forward. Somewhere in the crowd, someone said, "No."

Someone else laughed once, then stopped when no one joined them.

I looked up into Lucien's eyes because I couldn't not.

A muscle jumped in his jaw. His lip curled.

He blinked, slow, without surprise or joy. This was not a male celebrating finding his mate. His gaze slid past me as if pulled on a string and caught on the crimson silk waiting at the edge of the head table.

When he spoke, his voice carried to every corner. No one could pretend they hadn't heard.

"I, Lucien Veyrac of the Silverpine Pack, heir to the Alpha Corren, reject you, Soraya Wane, as my mate."

The last word cracked across the marble like a whip.

For one fleeting instant, my wolf had felt his-raw and fierce, reaching for me. Then the bond snapped under his words. My wolf cried out, a soundless keening inside my chest, before recoiling as if struck. The burn twisted into something crueler, not just denial but rejection, a beating-down in front of the entire pack and every other pack in the area.

I gasped, and pulled my hand away from his.

Laughter burst and overlapped, bright, sharp, delighted. Not everyone laughed. Some people sucked in breath and held it, as if struck too. Some of the older men looked away.

The woman in crimson silk didn't smile because the smile never left her lips in the first place. Regardless of the ceremony, she knew he would choose her. It was obvious to me now.

Elder Ansel stepped forward as if to protest, then stopped with his mouth open, eyes moving between Lucien and the rest of the council, and me.

The bond didn't snap back. It didn't shatter like glass. It just... burned.

I stood there silent, in front of everyone I would have to see tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after.

There was only one way for me to save face. Orielle jumped and snarled once she knew my intent. I threw up walls to block her from taking control.

"I, Soraya Wane, accept your rejection." The words tore out of me. "I, Soraya Wane, Wane of the Silverpine pack, reject you Lucien Veyric as my mate."

When the bond seared him in turn, I saw it-the faintest wince he couldn't hide-and I clung to that sliver of satisfaction.

I didn't want to cry in front of them, but the tears welled anyway.

I didn't want to give them that, but I didn't have a choice.

Tears spilled and rolled down my cheeks, hot and mortifying.

I felt the weight of a hundred eyes waiting. Waiting for the entertainment of it.

I lifted my chin because it was the only thing I could lift.

And then I turned before anyone could see anything else break.

My shoes struck the floor. In a mirror, I caught my reflection-eyes wide and wet, mouth pressed into a miserable line-and looked away just in time to avoid colliding with a server carrying a tray full of bubbly.

At the far side of the ballroom, between two pillars, an archway stood empty. Staff used it to move from kitchens to the great hall. I'd used it too, carrying platters like most Wanes and Omegas.

I slipped inside without a word. I leaned back, letting the sturdiness of the wall hold me up.

The noise of the ballroom halved the instant stone closed around me. Far ahead, a scuff of footsteps echoed and then faded. I crept along the hallway, doors lined the passage, one ajar with steam curling out and someone swearing softly over a spilled sauce for the decadent dessert.

I pressed a palm flat against my chest and told my heart to be quiet.

It thudded harder, as if it didn't know how.

The next sobs hurt worse than the rejection.

I clapped my hand over my mouth to stop the next, but it still came, shaking my shoulders, clawing at my throat. Tears spilled fast and faster, staining the bodice.

From the hall, laughter rose again. Muted by stone now, but still sharp enough to find me.

And then Lucien's voice carried through the open doors, clear and certain:

"I claim her as my mate."

A roar of cheers shook the walls.

Against my will, I glanced through the arch at the very end of the ballroom. Through the crack in the door, crimson silk shimmered in the candlelight-already at his side.

The crowd cheered again. I swallowed hard and ran toward the last door between me and the outside.

The door stuck. I put a shoulder into it, and it gave with a groan.

The courtyard beyond lay dark except for the moon's soft glow. Thankfully, the music didn't reach me here, only the sounds of frogs and crickets.

I stepped outside and breathed in a huge gulp of the night air.

The fountain in the center of the courtyard sprayed water as the droplets hit the pool at its base. Around me the pack lands spread for miles and miles.

Orielle!

His wolf. Reaching.

Orielle surged up inside me, ears pricked, tail high, ready to run back. Mine! Let me go to him.

My chest lurched with her.

"We can't," I whispered out loud, clutching the fountain's edge until my knuckles ached. "He doesn't want us Ori."

His wolf wants me. Ori's voice rang fierce with certainty. He called my name.

My tears blurred the fountain's shimmer. "But his human mouth rejected us,"

I choked. "There's nothing we can do."

Orielle whined, the sound so full of longing, before she curled small again. Tears cooled on my cheeks and left my skin tight.

When I could finally breathe, my hands were shaking. I flattened them against the stone.

The door to the ballroom opened, and music spilled into the night, voices raised in laughter. I turned my head toward the festivities that already forgot about me.

Footsteps followed. Hard, confident steps. Another set, light and quick, keeping pace. Murmurs drifted between them: joy, relief, the sound of two who had found each other.

I stayed very still. They didn't even glance my way as they passed into the night, too wrapped up in their own happiness.

When their voices faded, I pushed myself up on unsteady legs.

Orielle sulked silent in the corner of my chest, and I didn't try to rouse her.

Wane Hall, the only place that had ever taken me in. The benches out front were worn smooth by years of bodies seeking rest, and I sank onto one, pulling my arms tight around myself.

The door beside me opened softly.

I scrubbed the last of the tears from my cheeks with the heel of my hand and pressed my mouth flat.

"Sori? Are you-do you need water?"

It was only another Wane. A girl about ten, hair pinned in a practical knot, flour dusted on her sleeve. She held a cup as if to offer it, then hesitated and hugged it closer to her apron. The effort in her eyes said she wanted to help, even if all she had was a glass of water.

"I'm fine," I said. The words came out thin and wrong.

She nodded.

"Thank you," I managed, trying to acknowledge her kindness.

Her gaze flicked to my hair, my face, my bodice, then politely away. I must have looked as run over as I felt.

"The night air's colder than it feels," she said rubbing her arm with her free hand, and left before I had to find anything else to say.

I stood until my legs steadied.

I slipped through the door behind her and tiptoed into the hallway that led to the stairs. It smelled of soap, old pine, and the stew the matron made.

A lamp burned low on the table by the front door because she always left one lit when anyone was out late. A basket of mending sat beside it, the topmost shirt pinned neatly where a cuff had torn.

From the far room came the murmuring of voices. A chair creaked. I stepped carefully, avoiding the boards that creaked under my feet.

In the narrow mirror by the stairs, a girl in a silver dress looked back. Her eyes were swollen at the corners. Her lips pursed. The bodice was blotched where tears had dried. The hem was marked where dirt scraped it.

"You're back early," the matron said softly from the end of the hall, as if she had been there the whole time and I'd simply been too full of my own misery to see her.

"Yeah," I said.

She squinted. She didn't ask anything else. She just opened her arms, the way she had for every child who needed someone.

I went, because I could. Because I had to.

Her shoulder smelled of flour, wool, and the cinnamon she hid in the top cupboard for special baking. I didn't cry again. I had used that up. The emptiness after wasn't better, but it was quieter.

"Kitchen," she said after a minute, patting my back once, brisk again. "You'll eat. Then you'll sleep. In the morning you won't go to work; I'll tell Gamma Rellan you've a fever. In two days, you'll decide whether to be angry or sad. You may do both if you can manage the time."

I huffed something that might have been a laugh if anything in me could lift.

"I have time," I replied.

She kissed my hair, then turned me toward the kitchen as if I were a lost little pup. The little stove glowed low. A bowl and spoon waited on the table as if she'd set them before I left.

Food tasted like nothing, but it filled a void.

When I climbed the narrow stairs to the dormitories, my eyes got heavy. Maybe sleep would be kind to me and pull me under so I couldn't think anymore.

Something burned under my ribs. It felt like it would for a while, I had no idea how long it took for a bond to go away. My wolf lay there too, bruised and beaten down, silent. I didn't know what I would do with either tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that.

I lay on my side and stared at the slice of moon that fit between the sill and the eave and tried to picture the ballroom now, with the lights and smiles. I couldn't; only laughter and humiliation were etched in my brain.

My throat ached. My eyes burned for one more second and then calmed, and sleep finally pulled my lids closed.

But then memories haunted my dreams:

"I, Lucien Veyrac of the Silverpine Pack, heir to the Alpha's line, reject you, Soraya Wane, as my mate."

Laughter followed.

I ran and ran, then ran again.

Over and over.

I woke before dawn. The sky outside my window slowly turning gray. A glance at the clock on my nightstand said I had an hour or so until sunrise. For a second, it felt like any other morning...then the night came back in a rush.

With a heavy sigh, I got out of bed. I knew what I had to do. What 'we' had to do in order to survive the degradation and humiliation from last night. I wasn't naïve enough to think it would end here; it would continue every single time I stepped out of Wane Hall.

I found the least frayed clothes from the few I owned, and then packed the rest.

I looked at the bed I called mine for almost all of my eighteen years, even though it really belonged to the pack. In one sweep, I cleared the sheets and piled them in a heap near the door.

I moved slow, careful not to wake anyone. The kitchen was dark. Stove cold. No voices. No clatter. I stopped at the back door and gave the room one last look.

Cold air hit as I stepped outside. The sky was a dull gray that hinted snow would arrive sooner than later. I hauled the pack high and tight. I cut toward the trail behind the shed. The road would be easy to follow so I went off trail.

Not that anyone would follow. Maybe. Going rogue broke rules. Some alphas dragged you back. Some sent trackers. Some just pretended you didn't exist. I didn't know which kind Silverpine would be.

He is ours, Orielle whispered, sharp and sudden. He will miss me.

No. He chose.

He lied.

He spoke. We both heard it Ori.

She tucked herself down, sulking. I wanted to reach for her. I didn't know how.

The trees thinned. Scrub gave way to the back lots of town.

I stopped and put my backpack on the ground to count my cash; sixty-seven dollars, forty cents. Too bad I didn't wait to go get my paycheck from the library. That money would have been a nice cushion. What I had now, wasn't enough for a room. Maybe enough for a bus. Enough for food if I only got the basics for a few days.

I made my way into town through an alley with a hole in a chain link fence. It housed the back door of a bakery that poured out heat and smelled like yeast. The baker's wife leaned in the doorway.

She didn't know my name, didn't know 'pack'. Didn't know "Wane." Just another girl passing through. Her eyes did a quick assessment then she moved back inside.

That was the best part about town. Humans didn't realize wolves were their neighbors. Just people who worked shifts and paid taxes.

They smell us, Orielle muttered.

They don't care what we smell like. As long as we don't stink.

My stomach pulled tight. I told it to wait.

Outside the alley, around the corner sat a small diner. A large sandwich board already faced the street. Bacon. Eggs. Toast. Pie by ten. Coffee by the pot.

Warmth and smells wrapped me at the door, bacon, coffee, butter, toast, and syrup. The woman behind the counter looked up, then down. Her fingers pressed buttons on the register while she looked at me.

"Morning," she said.

"Morning." My voice worked.

"Table or to go?"

"Table." I replied as I took a seat at the counter.

"What can I get you?"

"Toast and tea." Please came late. "Please."

She nodded.

The waitress brought tea in a little pot, toast on a plate, butter soft at the edges, a little jam packet set off to the side.

"Thank you," I said.

She gave a short nod before adding gently, "You need anything, you ask."

I realized that with my threadbare clothes, backpack, puffy eyes, and in a diner at dawn on a Sunday, I looked like a runaway or someone on the run from something.

I lifted the lid on the pot and took a sniff. Strong. Good. I cupped the pot, letting the heat seep into my hands. It felt good. Butter melted easily into the toast, I wish she's doubled the amount, but it's what I got. The first bite was dry, even with butter.

The bell on the door jingled, and the waitress looked up and told the new customer to sit anywhere.

Orielle pressed close enough to make my breath catch.

Meat.

We can't afford meat.

You starve us.

We're not starving. We're careful.

Lucien would give us meat. Orielle's voice came low, raw. He would feed us.

No. Ori. He's feeding someone else.

Her silence after wasn't acceptance, it felt obstinate.

The hair on my neck lifted. Someone was watching. I couldn't see who without turning.

Silverpine. It had to be. No one else would know me. No one else would care.

Maybe they came to take us home, Orielle whispered, soft, almost hopeful.

No. Not home. We can't go back. I replied a little sharper than I intended.

She went quiet after that.

I forced calm. Finished the scraps of breakfast, and left the amount she wrote on the bill, plus a small tip.

"Thank you," I told the woman.

"Anytime," she said. Her eyes cut to me, then back down. "Keep to this side of the street. Stay away from Pine Street. Ridge boys were out late."

"I'll keep right," I said.

"You keep where you want." Her words were plain, but they carried something like concern. "But you look alone. Alone can be dangerous for a girl."

I stood and nodded. I walked to the door, every step a fight not to glance around the room.

The bell over the door clinked as I pulled it open. Cold air slapped my face, but it was refreshing after the heat of the diner.

I stopped for a second to adjust, make myself steady, eyes scanning the street.

A chair scraped behind me. Footsteps followed, slow and patient.

I felt the hair rise on the back of my neck again.

The watcher was behind me.