Chapter 1

I was the lowest of the low in the pack, a wolfless she-wolf, but the Alpha's son took me in and kept me.

He told me I was his fated mate and swore we'd be bonded for life.

Then came the day he became Alpha. He slammed me against the wall, his voice cold as a blade.

"You're so beneath me. What makes you think you could love me?" he said.

He threw me into the dungeon and let his Luna humiliate me however she wanted.

But a year later, he knelt before thousands of wolves. He carved my name into his chest with a knife, one stroke at a time.

Blood ran down his abs and soaked into the waistband of his pants. He looked up at me, his eyes red and swollen. "Is this enough? Can you forgive me now?"

I smiled and pressed my foot down on his shoulder. "Not even close."

*****

My name was Cynthia Brooks, and I was a total loser.

In the pack, if one couldn't shift by the time they turned sixteen, it was basically a death sentence.

But I couldn't shift at all, and I didn't even have an inner wolf. The healer called it "wolfless syndrome," but really, that was saying I was a defective.

I'd survived eighteen years by stealing leftover slop from the kitchen.

There was a hole in the back wall of the Alpha's kitchen, and every night, I'd crawl through it to dig leftovers out of the slop bucket.

If the cook caught me, she'd chase me for three blocks with a broom, cursing the whole way.

"You wolfless wretch," she'd scream. "Even the Moon Goddess's blessing is wasted on you."

I never talked back, because I knew that would only make the beating worse.

That night, I sneaked into the kitchen like I always did. But the second my hand dipped into the slop bucket, someone grabbed my collar and lifted me right off my feet.

"A thief?" a voice said.

It was low and carried a natural kind of authority.

I hung there with my feet dangling.

When I twisted around, I found myself staring into a pair of golden eyes.

It was Victor Hebert.

He was the Alpha's only son and the brightest star in the whole pack.

He'd conquered the Blood Moon Trial at seventeen, and his inner wolf, Thunderblaze, was so fierce that it could melt steel.

He'd just stepped out of the shower with his hair still dripping, and he was wearing a loose black robe that hung open at the chest.

I went completely stiff with fear.

"I... I wasn't stealing." My voice shook so hard that I could barely get the words out.

He set me back down but didn't let go of my collar.

Then he leaned in close to my neck, his nose almost brushing my skin, and took a deep breath.

It was such an intimate move that I froze on the spot.

"There's a scent on you," he said, his voice turning rough. "It's amazing."

I didn't know what he meant at the time.

Later, I found out it was the pheromone between fated mates.

Every wolf only got one true mate in their lifetime, someone they were naturally drawn to, no matter how hard they tried to run from it.

He stared at me for a few seconds, and then he smiled.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Cynthia."

He repeated my name like he was tasting it.

"Cynthia," he said. "That's a beautiful name."

That night, he didn't throw me out. Instead, he brought me half a roasted chicken from the kitchen.

I crouched in a corner and tore into it like I hadn't eaten in days, while he leaned against the doorframe and watched me like I was some kind of stray animal.

To be fair, I guessed that it was exactly what I was.

"Don't steal anymore," he said. "Come to my private wing, and I'll feed you."

I thought he was messing with me.

But the very next day, he actually came looking for me.

*****

Victor hid me away in his private wing.

It was a run-down little courtyard with weeds up to my waist and windows barely holding together.

But for someone who'd spent nights in the woodshed and squeezed through a hole to get food, that place felt like heaven.

He came by every night.

Sometimes, he'd bring food. Other times, he'd show up with bandages or healing salve.

My back was covered in old bruises, all from the cook beating me with her broom.

When Victor patched me up, his touch was so gentle, as if he thought I'd shatter if he pressed too hard.

"Why are you so beat up?" he asked, frowning.

"I'm used to it," I said with a small smile. "It's not a big deal."

His expression darkened for a moment.

Then he said, "That's not going to happen anymore. I'll protect you."

My throat tightened, and I almost cried.

No one had said anything like that to me in eighteen years.

Victor started teaching me to read and write.

I'd never been to school. I couldn't even write my own name.

He held my hand and guided me to write "Cynthia," stroke by stroke. His palm was warm, and his breath hit the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

One night, after a few drinks, he pinned me against the wall and leaned in close.

"Cynthia," he said, his voice low, "do you know what you mean to me?"

My heart was pounding so hard that I couldn't speak. I shook my head.

He traced my lower lip with his thumb, and his voice dropped to almost a whisper.

"You're my fated mate. I knew it the first time I smelled you."

I froze, completely stunned.

Fated mate? Me? A wolfless loser?

"No way," I said, shaking my head. "You've got the wrong wolf."

"I haven't," he said, holding my gaze. He wasn't joking.

He meant every word.

"At the Mating Ball," he told me, "I'm going to announce to everyone that you're my mate. Wait for me."

I trusted him completely.

I waited three years.