Chapter 1

Silvermoon Pack's big training day. I gritted through the shift fever and the blood sickness—still hit the dirt anyway.

My Alpha mate Lucian Greyback didn't even reach for me.

He handed the only rest pass to his childhood friend Anya Silverfang instead.

"She's got asthma. You don't. Get up and fall in."

Anya piled on: "Luna was in the group chat betting she'd fake a collapse to skip the run."

Lucian bought it. He hauled me into that weapons shed, 122 degrees and climbing.

"Serena, you're treating training like a joke. Stay in there and think about it."

I dropped onto the rust-caked floor, blood already coating my throat.

"Lucian... I'm not faking... please, let me out—"

"Stay until the heat burns that nonsense out of your head."

He walked. Didn't look back.

Blood kept coming, thick and hot. Between the heat and the bleeding, my heart gave out.

But in the dark, the wolf inside me opened her eyes.

My Alpha? You're about to pay for every single thing you did to me.

---

Blood. Still coming. Hot and thick.

I stared at the line of light under the door. My heartbeat slowed down. Slower. Slower.

One last beat. Then nothing.

When I opened my eyes again, I was floating.

I looked down. There was my body—pale, twisted, crumpled in a pool of blood. Not moving.

Not far off, Lucian was holding a big piece of hide over Anya, blocking the sun.

"Let her starve for half a day. See if she still fakes it after that."

I opened my mouth to scream. Nothing came out.

Gamma Liam stepped forward from the formation. He had a water bottle in his hand.

He hesitated, then walked up to Lucian.

"Alpha… it's way too hot in there. Maybe we could at least pass some water in to Luna?"

Lucian turned.

His Alpha aura hit Liam like a punch.

"Pack drills aren't a game. Rules are rules."

"She made a bet about faking sick to get out of training. She can live with the consequences."

His voice was quiet. But every word hit like a hammer.

"If anyone feels bad for her? Go ahead. Get in there with her."

Silence.

A few young wolves had been about to speak. They shut their mouths fast. Didn't even breathe too loud.

Anya gasped behind him.

She put a hand to her chest, scrunching her face up, breathing hard.

"Alpha, don't get so mad—you scared me…"

She leaned into his arm, all syrupy sweet.

"Honestly, Luna's being so dramatic. She's not even hurt. She's probably in there taking a nap right now. You spoil her too much."

Lucian looked down at her. Gave her back a pat.

"Relax. I know what I'm doing."

Then he walked over to the tool pile, grabbed a rusted iron bar and a heavy silver padlock.

He jammed the bar through the loop on the handle—locked it solid.

Then he looped the silver padlock around the handle and the outer ring. Wrapped the chain twice.

Click.

Locked tight.

The heat inside kept climbing.

I hung there in the air, staring down at the body in the corner.

Skin gray. Training gear soaked in sweat and blood, plastered to my body.

The smell of blood and rust kept getting thicker.

He dusted off his hands and pulled out his phone.

Our chat was still open on the screen.

The last message was the one I'd sent him last night—the report from Pack Hospital. Big bold letters: SEVERE BLOOD SICKNESS.

Lucian stared at it for a couple seconds. Snorted.

"Serena. You can't even shift. What are you faking a shift fever for?"

He deleted it. Didn't even blink.

Put his phone away and turned to face the young wolves on the training ground.

"Nobody goes near this shed until drills are over."

"Let her bake that attitude out of her head."

"She can come out when she's ready to admit she was wrong."

He was sure I was just throwing a tantrum.

Sure that if he pushed hard enough, I'd fold—just like I always did. Belly down. Throat out. Begging.

But Lucian—

Dead wolves don't apologize.