Aria's POV
The wolf attacks before I hear it coming.
Teeth snap inches from my face. I roll sideways, screaming. The rogue wolf—massive and scarred—lunges again. Its breath smells like rot and death.
I scramble backward, my small hands scraping against rocks. "Please! I'm just a kid!"
The wolf doesn't care. Rogues don't care about anything except survival and territory.
Its jaws open wide, going for my throat—
A roar splits the air.
Another wolf crashes into my attacker. They tumble across the ground in a blur of fur and fangs. I press myself against a tree, shaking so hard my teeth chatter.
The fight ends quickly. The attacking wolf runs off, bleeding and limping. My rescuer shifts back to human form.
It's a woman, maybe thirty years old. She's thin and dirty, wearing torn clothes. Her eyes are hard but not cruel.
"You're packless," she says. It's not a question.
I nod, unable to speak.
"How old?"
"Eight."
She curses under her breath. "Eight years old and already exiled? What did you do, kill someone?"
My silence is answer enough.
The woman sighs. "Look, kid. I'll give you some advice because you saved my life once without knowing it. Never show weakness. Never beg. And never trust another rogue. We're all one bad day away from becoming animals."
"You saved me," I whisper.
"Don't make me regret it." She tosses me a half-eaten apple from her pocket. "That's the last kindness you'll get out here. Learn fast or die young. Those are your only choices."
She shifts back to wolf form and disappears into the forest.
I eat the apple in three bites, core and all. My stomach still hurts with hunger.
That was six hours ago. Six hours since Dad exiled me. Six hours since I became nothing.
Now night is falling and I'm completely lost.
Every sound makes me jump. Every shadow looks like a monster. I've never been alone like this. Never been without pack protection.
I'm just a kid.
And I'm so, so scared.
I find a hollow tree and crawl inside. It's better than being in the open. I pull my knees to my chest and try not to cry.
Crying is weak. The woman said never show weakness.
But I'm eight years old and my whole world ended. How am I supposed to be strong?
Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howls. Others answer. I hold my breath, praying they don't come this way.
My stomach growls. The apple wasn't enough. I'm still hungry. Still thirsty. Still cold.
I think about home. About my warm bed and Mom's cooking and Lily's laugh—
No. Don't think about them. They're gone. All gone.
I'm alone now.
I must fall asleep eventually because I wake up to sunlight and voices.
"—saw her around here somewhere."
"Just a cub. Easy pickings."
"She's got a backpack. Might have something valuable."
I peek through a crack in the tree. Three rogue men stand nearby, searching the area. They're big and mean-looking, with scars and missing teeth.
My heart pounds. If they find me—
One of them sniffs the air. "There. The tree."
No, no, no.
I scramble out the back of the hollow tree and run. Branches slap my face. Roots try to trip me. Behind me, the men laugh and give chase.
"Run, little rabbit!" one shouts. "Makes it more fun!"
I run faster than I've ever run in my life. My lungs burn. My legs scream. But I don't stop.
I can hear them getting closer. They're not even trying hard. They're playing with me.
I burst onto a dirt road and freeze.
A black SUV sits parked there, the same one from last night. The silver-eyed man leans against it, watching me with those strange, glowing eyes.
"Help!" I gasp. "Please! They're—"
The three rogues crash out of the forest. They see the man and stop dead.
"Stormfang," one breathes, his face going pale.
The silver-eyed man straightens. He's not that tall, maybe twenty-five years old, but something about him makes the rogues step back.
"You're hunting children now?" His voice is cold and sharp. "How pathetic."
"We didn't know she was yours," the lead rogue stammers.
"She's not mine." The man's eyes flick to me. "But I don't tolerate child killers in neutral territory. Leave. Now."
The rogues run.
Just like that. One word from this man and they run like scared puppies.
I stare up at him, my chest heaving. "Thank you—"
"Don't thank me." He opens his SUV door. "I didn't save you. I just don't like messy kills on my route."
"Who are you?" I ask.
"No one you need to know." He starts to get in the vehicle, then pauses. "You're the Nightshade girl. The one who killed her sister."
My stomach drops. "How did you—"
"Everyone knows the story. Alpha Marcus's daughter, exiled for murder." His silver eyes study me. "You don't look like a killer."
"I'm not," I whisper. "It was an accident."
"Accidents don't usually end with two deaths and an exile." He shrugs. "But it's not my business. I've got my own problems."
He gets in the SUV.
"Wait!" I run to his window. "Please. I need help. I don't know how to survive out here. I'm just eight years old. I—"
"Exactly." His face is stone. "You're eight. Weak. Helpless. A liability."
"I can learn! I can be useful! I'll do anything—"
"Listen, kid." He leans out the window, his face inches from mine. "Out here, there are two types of wolves. Predators and prey. You're prey. That's just how it is."
"But—"
"You want to survive? Then get stronger. Learn to fight. Stop begging and start becoming the kind of wolf others fear." His eyes bore into mine. "Because right now, you're pathetic."
The word hits like a slap.
"Little rogue," he says, his voice almost gentle now. "You won't survive a week out here. That's not cruelty, that's reality. Go find another pack. Beg for mercy. Because staying rogue will kill you."
He starts the engine.
"I can't go to another pack," I say desperately. "I'm exiled. No pack will take me. Rogues aren't—"
"Then I guess you'll die." He shrugs. "Not my problem."
The SUV pulls away, leaving me alone on the empty road.
I stand there, watching his taillights disappear. My chest feels tight. My eyes burn with tears I won't let fall.
Pathetic. Weak. Prey.
He's right. I am all those things.
But maybe I don't have to be.
I look down at my small hands. They're scratched and dirty but they're mine. My body is small but it's strong enough to run, to fight, to survive.
The woman said learn fast or die young.
The silver-eyed man said become the wolf others fear.
Fine.
I'll learn. I'll become stronger. I'll survive.
And someday, when I'm not a scared little girl anymore, I'll show them all what I'm made of.
I walk back into the forest, heading deeper into neutral territory. Away from pack lands. Away from everything I knew.
The first rogue camp I find is brutal. They take my backpack, beat me for fun, and make me sleep outside their shelter.
I survive it.
The second camp is worse. They make me fetch water, cook food, clean up after them. They hit me when I'm slow. Kick me when I complain.
I survive that too.
Days turn into weeks. Weeks into months. I learn to steal food without getting caught. Learn to fight dirty when I have no other choice. Learn to hide, to lie, to do whatever it takes to stay alive.
I turn nine. Then ten. Then eleven.
The years blur together into one long nightmare of pain and survival.
I get scars. I get hard. I get mean.
But I survive.
And I never forget the silver-eyed man's words: You're pathetic.
Someday, I'll prove him wrong.
Someday, I'll be strong enough that no one dares call me weak.
Someday.
Present day
I open my eyes, back in the present. Back to being eighteen and hiding behind a dumpster.
Ten years have passed since that day. Ten years of hell.
But I'm still alive.
That has to count for something.
I touch the scar on my neck—the one from that first rogue attack. It reminds me how far I've come. How much I've survived.
Tomorrow is my eighteenth birthday.
The thought hits me suddenly, making my breath catch.
Tomorrow, if I have a mate out there somewhere, I'll feel the bond for the first time.
Most wolves wait for this day their whole lives. The mate bond is supposed to be magical, beautiful, the Moon Goddess's greatest gift.
But I know better than to hope.
What kind of mate would want someone like me? A rogue. An exile. A girl everyone thinks is a murderer.
Still, somewhere deep in my chest, a tiny spark of hope flickers to life.
Maybe tomorrow will be different.
Maybe tomorrow will bring something good.
Maybe—
A familiar scent hits my nose. Pine trees. Rain. Wild power.
Silver eyes.
My whole body goes still.
That scent. I know that scent.
After ten years, I'd recognize it anywhere.
The silver-eyed man who left me to die is here.
And he's coming closer.