Chapter 3

The smile freezes on Serena's lips.

Her nails dig into Damien's hand. He doesn't react.

She shoots me a glare — then her free hand flies to her mouth and she gasps at Garrick. "Boyd?! You're supposed to be dead! No wonder Wren wouldn't come home with us!"

Damien's eyes go bottomless cold.

"Don't stay here," I snap at Garrick. "Ride for Alpha Calder. Or the Grand Gamma. Now."

Both of them wear the Lycan King's personal mark on their shoulder. Every wolf in three kingdoms knows their scent on sight. Damien cannot mistake them for rogues.

Garrick blinks. Turns to bolt — already shifting mid-stride to run for backup.

Then Damien snaps.

Before any of us can move, his fangs drop, his hand half-shifted into claws — and he lunges, slamming Garrick down before the shift can finish, claws driving straight for his throat.

"Damien — stop! He's a borderlands warrior!"

He doesn't hear me.

Garrick rolls, dodging the first strike. But he's outnumbered. Serena's warriors swarm him — and a dozen blades sink into him at once.

Hot blood sprays across my face. My mouth falls open. My mind goes white.

"Don't hurt him! He doesn't deserve this!"

Nobody believes me.

They rip their swords back out. Garrick drops to one knee in the dirt, gritting through it. A warrior stomps his boot down on the back of Garrick's neck and grinds his forehead into the ground.

Damien withdraws his claws like he's touched filth.

"What borderlands warrior, Wren? He raised fangs at the Heir Alpha. He's an assassin."

Serena's smile blooms wider. The blade beside me lifts. Catches the cold light.

"Better think fast, sweetie. These eight pups — you saving them, or not?"

"I save them."

Eight cuts won't kill me. These pups' parents kept me alive these eight years. I owe them.

The first four blades come down.

Iron-thick blood floods the air. Every wolf in the clearing flinches.

Rowan rips a sword from a warrior's hand, veins bulging at his temple.

"Wren! You're STILL going to save them?!"

Somewhere behind me, a tiny pup chokes on a sob.

I'm drenched in cold sweat. Twitching.

"I save them. And I'm not coming back."

Rowan snaps.

Four more blades carve down across me. His voice is cold as winter iron. "That's not your call. You haven't paid what you owe Serena. You haven't paid what you owe the Ashford line."

I swallow the scream. Plant my hands in the dirt. Slowly — slowly — push myself upright.

My wolf is whimpering somewhere far away. Drowned under the pain.

Serena watches and glows.

"Rowan — look at her. Gods, she's bleeding everywhere. She's… she's carrying a litter, isn't she? Bringing a pregnant belly back home? What would Mother say? Oh, this is my fault. I shouldn't have pushed her so hard."

I look down, dazed.

It's Little Eight's blood. Pooled on my lap from where I've been clutching him.

Damien's head whips around. Two words grind out between his fangs.

"Get rid of it."

The warriors seize my arms, wrench them behind me, drag me back — force my stomach exposed.

A fist slams into me with the full weight of Heir Alpha strength.

I choke on a muffled cry. Every organ inside me feels shifted out of place.

Can't speak. Can't breathe. Can't even shift — my wolf is too weak under the blood loss.

"Lies — all of it — Lady Wren's never been marked! Her neck is clean — where would a litter even come from?!"

Garrick spits the words through a mouthful of blood, still defending me. Still.

Serena slowly lays a hand on the neck of the pup nearest her. Her fingers curl.

"I'm lying?" She catches the panic flaring in Garrick's eyes and lets out a soft, mournful sigh. "If they're not Wren's pups… then why do you care so much, hmm?"