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.

My pack felt heavy on my shoulders, I tried to shift the weight a bit... just in case I had to make a run for it. I told myself to keep walking, keep steady. The sound of boots behind me couldn't help but make me feel uneasy.

I didn't get the chance to turn before an engine growled. Headlights swept across the cracked pavement as it made a U-turn. A black SUV slid up next to me and stopped hard enough to leave tracks on the road.

All four doors opened at the same time. Wolves unfolded out of it-broad, heavy, faces that were focused and mean. Their boots hit the ground and flanked me in seconds.

"Soraya Wane," the tallest said. "You're coming with us."

I squared my shoulders, tried to sound braver than I felt. "Why."

"You're wanted for the Alpha's murder."

The words stunned me and I froze.

Hands were on me before I could answer. My pack straps cut deeper as they hauled me forward. I twisted, kicked once, twice. Useless. They tossed me in the back seat like I was freight. Doors slammed, and the locks clicked. The SUV lunged forward.

The man on my right had a white scar under his ear, thin as chalk. The one on my left jiggled his knee like motion kept him from breaking something. The driver's eyes met mine in the rearview-wolf-hard-then slid away.

Nobody spoke.

The air was thick with tension. My mind raced, trying to make things make sense. The Alpha was murdered, and they think it's me?

"Why me? I didn't do anything to anyone. It doesn't make sense. Let me go."

Through the back window, I caught one last sliver of the block-the diner's lit sign, the reflection in the glass, the alley. A shadow peeled itself off the corner and stayed there, just a shape. The watcher? They had to see what happened, maybe they'll follow and save me.

Then the SUV turned and the street vanished.

We left town. Pines stacked up on either side of the road until they felt like walls. The air thickened the closer we got, tension in the car grew.

Gates swung open for us without a word. The Pack House, where just one day ago, I dreamed I'd live in, loomed at the top of the hill. Flags at half-mast snapped in the wind. Pack lined the steps, not moving, not smiling, not anything.

A guard opened my door before I could reach for it. His hand clamped around my upper arm, hard and painful.

"Ouch," I said.

They marched me up past faces staring with contempt and disgust. A woman gasped as I went by as if my mere presence tainted her somehow. A man smiled like he'd won a bet without paying in.

Inside was quiet even though pack members moved about, carrying out their daily tasks.

We didn't stop for the council chamber. We didn't stop for anything. Scar-under-the-ear steered me down a corridor with no windows, then through a big solid door to stairs that went down. We descended down a few flights until the only light came from torches along the stone walls. The air changed to something dank. Not much life lived down here.

At the end of the last hall, a door waited with a steel bar thick as my arm. A guard lifted it with both hands and shoved the door open.

The cell was a square and small. Stone floor, stone walls, a cot with a mattress thinner than the one in Wane Hall, and a bucket right next to the cot. Nothing else.

The scarred man pushed me in. Locked me to the chains on the wall; then the door slammed, a bolt slide, and then nothing but the sound of footsteps retreating.

I stood until the echo of his boots ran out. Then I walked the perimeter of my chain to see my reach. Not much, barely to the bucket.

With nothing else to do, I sat on the cot. The blanket stank like years of other bodies-sweat sunk deep, grime rubbed in, maybe worse. It seeped into my lungs no matter how I tried to hold my breath.

Time dragged. Orielle wouldn't settle. She pushed forward until I heard through her ears...a door thudding shut, something dropped and hushed too fast, a laugh smothered before it could breathe. Life kept moving above us.

She shrank as boots approached, muffling any sounds I might have heard, any clues as to why I was here.

Keys rattled. The bolt slid. Two guards came in. One set a tray inside and left without looking at my face.

Bread. A small wedge of very dry very stinky cheese. Water in a tin cup. I drank. The water tasted like nothing but reminded my throat how. The bread was dry; the cheese was worse. I ate anyway.

I heard voices outside the door. Not private, just low.

"She did it," one said. "Why else cut out in the middle of the night?"

"She's a Wane," the other answered like that solved a math problem. "That's how she repays the Pack's kindness? Fuck her."

The other grunted his response.

The quiet came back heavier.

Orielle nudged up, cautious. He comes?

Tail flick. Hope.

"He already said no," I told the ceiling. "Once was enough."

Wolves don't trust words the way people do. Wolves trust instinct. Orielle knew his wolf called to her. That's all she needed for hope to linger.

Even though I knew better.

Light under the door dulled as time went on, surely someone would be changing the antiquated torch at some point. Somewhere high up, a horn sounded, low and steady Others answered, thinner with distance.

Keys again. The door opened. The Elder, the one who spoke about order at the bonding ceremony, stepped in with two guards.

He looked me over with a sneer on his lips. "Evil, ungrateful child."

He left. The lock turned.