The stone floor of the Great Hall was cold enough to seep through the thin soles of my worn boots, but the lye in my scrub bucket was worse. It burned the cracked skin of my hands, a sharp, rhythmic reminder that I was still alive. Barely.
I didn't look up as the heavy oak doors groaned open. I didn't need to. The scent hit me first,the overwhelming, metallic tang of
fresh kill and the suffocating musk of dominant Alphas. The Silver Moon Pack was returning from the dawn hunt.
"Move, defect."
A heavy boot clipped my shoulder, sending me sprawling across the wet stones. My bucket tipped, the gray, soapy water swirling around the boots of Beta Miller. He didn't even stop to see if I was hurt. To him, I wasn't a pack member. I was a structural hazard. A glitch in the perfect lineage of the Silver Moon.
I pulled myself up, my wet hair clinging to my face, and began to scrub again.
I was Thora. Twenty-one years old, and the only wolf in the northern territories who hadn't shifted. In a society built on the glory of the moon and the strength of the fang, I was a ghost before I had even died.
"Is the Hall ready, Thora?"
The voice was like silk wrapped around a razor blade. I froze. Alpha Silas stood at the head of the long dining table, his golden hair catching the morning light. He looked every bit the hero the storybooks promised. Tall, radiant, and utterly heartless.
"Almost, Alpha," I whispered, my voice raspy from disuse.
He stepped closer, the clicking of his polished boots echoing like a countdown. He stopped just inches from my kneeling form. He didn't look at me with hate; he looked at me with the mild annoyance one might feel toward a persistent stain on a rug.
"The Blackwood Pack will be here by sunset," Silas said, his voice dropping to a low growl that vibrated in my chest. "Kaelen Blackwood does not tolerate weakness, and I will not have my pack shamed by the sight of a limping, unshifted human-thing. You will stay in the kitchens. You will not be seen. You will not be heard. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Alpha."
"Good." He reached down, gripping my chin with a strength that made my teeth ache, forcing me to look into his pitiless blue eyes. "If I see so much as a shadow of you during the Summit, Thora, I'll give the Omegas permission to finish what nature started. I'll let them hunt you."
He tossed my head aside as if I were trash and walked away, his laughter joining the boisterous roars of the other hunters.
I stayed on my knees long after they left. My chest felt tight, a strange, cold hum vibrating deep within my marrow. It wasn't the heat of a wolf's rage. It was something else. Something older. Something that felt like the stillness of a graveyard at midnight.
The sun began to dip behind the jagged peaks of the Frost-Tooth Mountains, casting long, bloody shadows across the courtyard. From my vantage point in the darkened kitchen pantry, I watched the arrival of the Blackwood Pack.
They weren't like us. The Silver Moon Pack loved gold, marble, and prestige. But as the Blackwood SUVs rolled to a stop, the air itself seemed to grow heavy. These were wolves who lived in the dirt and the blood.
Then, he stepped out.
Kaelen Blackwood. The Monster of the North.
He didn't wear a suit like Silas. He wore a heavy, fur-lined tactical coat over a frame that seemed too large for the world around him. His hair was black as a raven's wing, and even from this distance, I could see the golden fire of his eyes. He didn't walk; he prowled.
The air in the pantry suddenly dropped ten degrees. I shivered, my breath hitching in my throat. As Kaelen stepped onto the porch, he stopped.
He didn't look at Silas, who was waiting with a fake, practiced smile. He didn't look at the beautiful Sienna, who was preening in her best silks.
Kaelen Blackwood turned his head slowly, his nostrils flaring as he caught the wind. His golden eyes locked onto the small, barred window of the kitchen pantry.
He looked exactly where I was hiding.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. He can't see me, I told myself. The glass is frosted. The room is dark.
But Kaelen didn't look away. A dark scowl crossed his face, and for a terrifying second, I thought he was going to leap over the railing and tear the wall down just to find me.
"Alpha Kaelen?" Silas's voice was tight with forced politeness. "Is something wrong?"
Kaelen's voice was a low, tectonic rumble that made the jars on the pantry shelves rattle. "Your pack territory has a strange scent, Silas."
"Scent?" Silas laughed nervously. "It's the pine. Or perhaps the feast."
"No," Kaelen said, his gaze finally breaking from mine to look Silas in the eye. "It smells like a funeral. It smells like something that died a long time ago is still walking these halls."
The feast was a blur of terror and toil. True to Silas's word, I was kept in the shadows, passing trays of roasted boar and wine to the higher-ranking servants. I was a phantom in my own home.
But the cold hum in my blood was growing louder. It was a rhythmic drumming, synchronized with the moon rising outside. Every time I passed near the Great Hall, my skin tingled. My vision would flicker, the world turning into a haze of greyscale and silver.
"More wine, girl! Move it!"
Sienna, the Alpha's favored female, snapped her fingers at me. She sat at the high table, her tawny hair glowing. She looked at me with a smirk, her eyes glinting with malice. As I reached out to pour her drink, she "accidentally" shifted her weight, kicking my shin with her heavy heel.
The pain was sharp. My hand slipped. A splash of dark red wine landed directly on her white silk dress.
The Hall went silent.
Silas's face turned a dangerous shade of purple. Sienna let out a theatrical gasp of horror.
"You clumsy, pathetic..." Sienna started, but Silas was already standing.
"I warned you, Thora," Silas whispered, and the sound was more terrifying than a roar. He turned to the room, his voice booming. "It seems our resident defect has forgotten her place. Perhaps she needs a reminder of what happens to those who cannot contribute to the pack."
He grabbed a silver ceremonial dagger from the table. "Since you cannot shift, Thora, you have no use for a wolf's pride. Perhaps a brand will help you remember who you serve."
The pack members cheered. They loved a show. I looked around the room, desperate for a friendly face, but I saw only hunger.
Except for Kaelen.
The Blackwood Alpha was leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his massive chest. He wasn't cheering. He was watching me with a terrifying, predatory intensity. He looked like a scientist watching a fuse burn down to a crate of dynamite.
Silas grabbed my arm, his grip bruising. He heated the silver blade in the hearth's flame until it glowed a dull, angry red.
"Hold her," Silas commanded.
Two guards grabbed my shoulders, pinning me to the cold stone floor. The heat of the blade neared my shoulder—the same shoulder Miller had kicked earlier.
"Please," I gasped, the cold hum in my chest reaching a breaking point. "Silas, please—"
"Quiet, human," Silas hissed, bringing the glowing silver down.
The moment the hot metal touched my skin, the world didn't explode in pain.
It exploded in silence.
A shockwave of violet light erupted from my chest, throwing the guards backward. The torches in the hall flickered and died, leaving us in a haunting, silver twilight.
I didn't scream. I felt my bones begin to stretch, but there was no cracking. There was no blood. I felt myself becoming light. Weightless. Cold.
I looked down at my hands, but they weren't hands anymore. They were paws, made of shimmering, translucent smoke. I could see the stones of the floor through my own limbs.
I wasn't a wolf of flesh. I was a wolf of starlight.
The entire pack was frozen, their mouths open in silent screams. They couldn't move. It was as if time itself had turned to ice.
I looked up. Silas was on the floor, his face pale with a terror I had never seen before. He tried to shift, but his fur wouldn't sprout. His wolf was cowering.
I stepped toward him, my paws making no sound. I leaned in, my violet eyes inches from his. When I spoke, my voice didn't come from my throat; it echoed from the shadows themselves.
"You said I was a ghost, Silas," I whispered. "Now, I'm going to haunt you."
I turned to run, to vanish into the night, but a massive hand suddenly clamped around my spectral scruff.
The touch was electric. It was hot, solid, and impossibly heavy. It was the only thing in the room that felt real.
I looked back. Kaelen Blackwood was standing, his gold eyes blazing. He was the only one not frozen by the violet light. His grip on my neck was like iron, anchoring my ghostly form to the floor.
"Not so fast, little Wraith," Kaelen growled, a dark, dangerous smirk tugging at his lips. "You're coming with me."
Behind him, the doors to the Great Hall burst open, and the sound of a hundred drawing swords flooded back into the room.