Chapter 2

I rip a strip off my sleeve, press it hard against Little Eight's bleeding arm.

"Serena. You just spilled pure Lycan blood. That's a death sentence."

Rowan barely glances at me. "Lycan blood? Little Wren — your acting's getting sloppy."

Serena lifts her chin like she just won a war. Loops her arm through Damien's. Smug. Triumphant.

I lock eyes with him across the clearing. Look at me. Really look at me.

For one long second, he doesn't blink.

Then his face goes blank.

"Wren. You've learned to lie."

I almost had him.

Serena bites her lip — the fake, wounded little pout she's spent eight years perfecting. "If word reaches the Lycan King, every wolf carrying the Ashford scent gets put down. Every single one. And she'd still do it — that's how much she hates me."

Rowan and Damien's brows snap together at once.

"I'm right here. Don't be scared." Damien's arm wraps around her, lips brushing her forehead. Soft. Tender.

Sickening.

Rowan's rage finally cracks.

"Eight years and you still haven't learned? What do you want from us, Wren? Serena's the real Ashford blood — you're not. You don't get to fight her. You don't even get the right to resent her."

The words land like blades. Straight through the ribs.

A tiny warm hand wraps around my freezing fingers.

"They were rotten to you. Every wolf in three packs knows it."

Alpha Harlan's daughter. My tiny demon. My tiny mercy.

I force a smile down at her, then pull my face cold again.

"Fifteen more minutes. Then you'll know if I'm lying."

Fifteen minutes. That's when the pup-runners come — pack escorts collecting their precious little charges. The same hour I usually kick off my boots and head home empty-handed.

"Are you done stalling?!"

Rowan's hackles are up, fury bleeding red into his eyes.

Serena slides forward, sweet as ever. "The Ashford pack can feed eight more mouths. If Wren wants to keep these strays alive… fine. Keep them."

Damien's face flickers — annoyed.

But he sighs, looking down at her with all the tender Heir Alpha softness in the world. "Whatever you want, Serena. I'm with you."

That settles Rowan too.

I crush Little Eight tighter against me until my knuckles go white.

"We'll call them orphan strays. Beggar pups." Serena smiles, gentle as poisoned milk. "But Wren — sweetie — you're going into Damien's wing of the Silvercrest pack house. You can't stay tangled up with mongrels. Not one paw out of line."

She drifts close. Slow. Lazy. Eyes glittering with something ugly.

"So just so you remember — every little life you save, we carve one cut into you."

The pups close ranks around me before her words even finish.

"You three — enough!"

"Wren is brilliant! Even my royal Lycan father praises her! This is how Silvercrest treats her?! I'm telling my father the second I get home — she's coming back with me! No one gets to bully her!"

"My mama's still waiting for Wren to teach her the harp! Don't you dare hurt her!"

"Got the guts to wait fifteen minutes?! You're using us to threaten her?! Cowards! When my dad gets here, none of you will have a paw left to stand on!"

In a heartbeat, every one of them is pinned. Mouths gagged. Knees forced into the dirt.

And then —

Fifteen minutes hits.

"Lady Wren!"

A pack warrior bursts out of the treeline still half-shifted, fur and fangs receding mid-stride, eyes blown wide with fury.

"Stand down! Who are you people?!"

I look past his shoulder.

No one else.

My stomach drops.

"You came alone?"

His voice goes rough. Guarded.

"Rogues are causing chaos at the borders. Alpha Calder ran out with the rest of the pack. He's not back yet."

Rogues at the borders. Which means the Ironvale escort coming for the two Lycan princes can't get through either.

"Stop pretending."

Damien's eyes are dark — something ugly and complicated churning in them. His voice drops, scrapes raw at the edges.

"Wren. The rogue's whelps — you love them that much? You'd bleed out for them? Move heaven and earth?"