Chapter 1

The blood moon hung above me. I crouched behind cacti, watching a jackrabbit. My stomach ached. Two days without food.

Always hungry. Always running. Just like the old days.

I was eight when they sold me to Hell's Entertainment. Lyra found me that first night, curled in a corner, too terrified to cry. She was older, maybe sixteen, with scars hidden beneath her smile.

"Little Willow," she'd whispered. "I'll teach you to survive."

Twelve years later, I was still surviving. Still running. Still alone.

The jackrabbit's ears twitched. I drew back my makeshift spear.

Then I heard it. A howl of pure agony. Gunshots followed.

Silver bullets.

The memory hit me like a punch. Lyra writhing on the ground. Those gleaming instruments of torture. The way her eyes went wide with recognition before the pain took her.

I should run.

But that sound. Someone was dying the way Lyra had died.

I followed the scent of blood. Bodies scattered across the sand. Five of them.

A man propped against a boulder. Fine leather vest. Dark hair matted with blood. Even wounded, even dying, power radiated from him like heat from a forge.

His amber eyes found mine across the distance.

Those eyes. Desperate. Dying. Just like Lyra's.

My hands shook. Lyra's voice echoed in my mind: "Remember these herbs, little Willow. Someday you'll need them to save someone important."

I could leave him. Should leave him. What's one more dead wolf-man to me?

But I was already sliding down the slope.

"Stay quiet," I whispered, kneeling beside him. "There might be more hunters."

The silver bullet sat just below his collarbone. Poison already turning his skin gray-green.

He's dying.

"What are you doing?" he mumbled, consciousness flickering.

"Saving your life." I pulled out my herbs. "If you're lucky."

I dragged him to a shallow cave. The moon's light filtered through the opening. His weight was solid against me, muscles and bone that spoke of strength and authority.

Definitely not like me. Probably never slept in dirt or fought for scraps.

"Mix the sage with your own saliva," Lyra's voice guided me. "Our kind carries healing properties in our blood and spit."

I ground the herbs between stones. Memory flooded back without permission.

Lyra teaching me which plants could heal and which could kill. How she'd sneak me extra food when the camp bosses weren't looking. The way she'd hold me during the worst nights, when the customers were particularly cruel.

She said, "You're stronger than you know, little one. Every life you save helps heal the world a little."

"She died protecting me," I whispered to his unconscious form, applying the herbal paste. "Lyra died because she wouldn't let them sell me to a rich bastard from Tucson."

The silver fought against my healing touch. But gradually, the herbs worked their magic. His breathing steadied. Color returned to his face.

Maybe Lyra was right. Maybe saving someone does save your soul.

Dawn crept into the cave. Hoofbeats echoed in the distance, growing closer.

The hunters. They were coming back.

The man's amber eyes opened, locking onto mine with an intensity that was both mesmerizing and unnervingly clear.

He said, "You saved me."

I backed toward the cave entrance. "You're alive. That's what matters."

"Wait." He struggled to sit up, wincing. "Who are you? Why risk yourself for a stranger?"

"Who are you?" The question burned. A nobody. A half-breed. A former slave.

I replied, "I'm just a drifter. I saved you because I've seen too much death."

He studied me with those penetrating amber eyes. Like he could see through flesh and bone to the broken pieces inside.

He said, "I'm Cole. Cole of the Thunder Pack."

Thunder Pack. My blood turned to ice water. I'd heard stories. One of the most powerful wolf clans in the territory. Bloodlines stretching back generations.

Wolf royalty. And I was nothing.

"I owe you my life," he continued.

I replied, "You don't owe me anything. Just forget this happened."

"I could never forget this." His voice grew stronger. "And I won't let you wander the desert alone anymore. Come back with me to Thunder Pack territory. I'll protect you."

Protection. Safety. A home.

Everything I'd dreamed of during those long, cold nights under the stars. But dreams like that weren't for creatures like me.

I responded, "You don't understand. I'm not worthy of your protection."

The hoofbeats grew closer. Voices carried on the wind.

"The hunters," I said. "They're coming back. You need to leave."

His hand shot out. Grasped my wrist with surprising strength. His skin was warm, fully alive again thanks to Lyra's teachings flowing through my hands.

He continued, "I meant what I said. I won't forget you. I won't let you keep surviving alone."

My heart hammered against my ribs. Accept his offer and finally have a home. But my past, my mixed blood, my time at Hell's Entertainment—how could someone like him ever accept someone like me?

"Come with me to Thunder Pack lands," Cole said. "I'll protect you there."

The voices were closer now. "Blood trail leads this way. Someone helped him."

Time's running out. Trust Cole and risk everything, or flee back to the familiar loneliness?

"If I come with you," I whispered, "and your pack discovers what I really am—what I've been—will you still protect me then?"

Cole's amber eyes never wavered. "Tell me what you are."

He didn't know. How could he? The scars didn't show on the outside.

"I'm mixed blood," I said quickly. The words tasted like ash. "Wolf and human. And I was sold to a place called Hell's Entertainment when I was a child. They used us for... entertainment. Your pack won't want someone like me."

The admission tore out of me like a confession ripped from my chest.

Yet, Cole's expression didn't change. No disgust. No recoil.

"You're a survivor," he said. "That's all I need to know."

Could it really be that simple? Could twelve years of shame wash away with four words?

"They're close," I whispered. "You have to go. Now."

Cole struggled to his feet, still weak but filled with determination. "Together. We'll go together."