Chapter 3

Yvarn flicks his wrist and his warriors release Elara.

She gathers her skirts and runs to my brothers.

"Caelan!"

She throws herself into his chest, sobbing like a pup who's been beaten.

Caelan catches her and wraps his cloak tighter around her shoulders. His mouth presses into her hair.

"You're safe, little moon. You're safe now. We're going home."

Marek closes in on her other side, hands cupping her face, checking, checking, checking.

"Did they touch you? Did they hurt you? Tell me, Elara —"

Sable's hand is at the small of her back, steady, possessive, the way a mate's hand sits on his mate.

Three brothers. One Omega. One mate-bond strong enough to break a sister's legs over.

Nobody looks at me.

Not one of them.

I lie in the dirt at the edge of their circle. The trade is done. I'm just the broken thing they left behind.

My wolf is silent. My legs are screaming. And I have never seen anything in my life uglier than this — the way my brothers fuss over her while their own blood bleeds out four feet away.

Yvarn watches it all. He's enjoying himself.

"Take her," he says.

Two Bonecrag warriors hook their hands under my arms and start dragging me toward their line. My legs leave two long red trails in the snow.

As they pull me past my brothers, I turn my head. I use the last of my strength.

"Caelan Ashwood. Marek Ashwood. Sable Ashwood."

Three names. Three blows.

All three of them go still.

Elara, tucked safe in their arms, looks at me over Caelan's shoulder. Her smile widens.

"You traded me," I say, and my voice carries across the snow like a death-howl, "for an Omega who can't fight her way out of a den."

Caelan's hand fists in Elara's cloak.

"One day," I tell them, "Ashfall lands will burn. Bodies will line every border. And it will be because of what you did here today."

Marek will not meet my eyes.

Sable's face has gone dead white.

"Get her out of here!" Caelan roars. Not at me. At Yvarn's warriors. "Get her out of here."

They drag me faster.

The Bonecrag line closes around me. The Ashfall gates groan shut behind me. I hear them lock.

My pack is gone.

They bring me to Yvarn's war tent.

He is already seated when they throw me down on the rugs. The tent smells of pine smoke and oiled steel.

He's cleaning his curved silver blade, slow, the way Caelan cleaned my blood off his face.

"Three winters ago," he says, not looking up, "at Stonehollow Pass, you killed ten thousand of my warriors. You took my Beta. He was my brother."

He lifts his eyes. They are pale and flat and full of something patient.

"I swore on his bones I would make you wish you'd died on that field."

He stands. He walks to me.

He crouches. The silver blade comes up under my chin and he tips my face toward his.

His smile is gentle. That's the worst part.

"And now, little Iron Wolf," Alpha Yvarn murmurs, "I have you."