It’s why my pack kept their distance. Why I’ve lived a solitary life. Because if I can’t see them, then I become useless.
“She is weak,” another wolf agrees, “but her gift is of value. If she bears pups, there’s a chance they’ll inherit it.”
A low hum of approval ripples across the air, terrifying me.
“She wouldn’t be a true mate,” someone says, their voice calculating. “Too weak to take the mating we crave. She’d be a breeding opportunity, a runty fuck before seeking your satisfaction elsewhere.”
“My Alpha promised me a second mate upon her death. But only after I’ve had her push out a pup or two.”
My stomach turns, a bitter taste flooding my mouth. They don’t see me as a person—just a vessel. A means to an end.
I turn my head to study the packs, considering what I know of them through word, deed, and vision.
The Moonclaw Pack’s alpha, Xavier Drake, stands with his enforcers, their silver-tipped hair marking them even in human form. Their territory borders ours to the east, and they’ve long coveted our river access. I’ve been forced to spy on them countless times and know the hunger in Xavier’s eyes when he looks at me isn’t just for my body—it’s for the strategic advantage my gift would bring.
The Red River Pack clusters near them, their Alpha Female, Selena Peachut, watching the unmated women with calculating eyes. Her pack is known for its female leadership and fierce independence. In another life, I might have sought refuge with them, but they’re pragmatic to a fault. They wouldn’t offer their protection without demanding a high payment.
The Grayback Pack holds the high ground near the ceremonial stone, fitting for a pack that rules the northern mountains. Their alpha, Darius Vale, is known for breeding some of the largest, most physically powerful wolves in the territories. His pack’s trademark gray fur and massive size make them easy to spot among the gathered wolves. I’ve heard he’s particularly interested in my gift—the Grayback Pack has a history of producing berserker wolves, and a seer’s ability to predict their violent episodes would be invaluable.
Grayback, I decide, turning away from the gathered packs.If I must be claimed, let it be from the Grayback clan. They have little interest in politics and despite their berserker ways, seem to treat their females well.
I turn away when a new scent cuts through the air, dancing across my nostrils. It’s like earth and smoke, like rain on stone, sharp enough to steal my breath.
My wolf stirs, ears pricking. Her nostrils flare, then her hope catches in my chest.
Mate.
The word isn’t thought. It’sknown. Bone-deep. A truth that hums through me like a string pulled tight.
I whirl, searching for him among the crowd. But the wind shifts, taking the scent with it before I can find its source.
A howl sounds, low and commanding.
Grand Alpha Thaddeus steps forward, his white ceremonial cloak pooling around his feet like mist. His voice is calm and cold, designed to carry. “We gather tonight for the Claiming. Let us begin.”
The words send a jolt through me.Too soon. Too fast.
He lifts a hand, and the packs begin shifting, growls rippling through the grove as the unmated males tense, their hunger rising.
No. Not yet.
The bond in my chest hums, my wolf straining.
They’re here, she tells me.Find them.
Grand Alpha Thaddeus gestures with his hand. “I call on the alphas of the four packs represented here to?—”
A growl, deep and violent, tears through the clearing like thunder cracking stone. Wolves stumble back. Darkness moves at the edge of the firelight, and the hair on the back of my neck rises.
And then I see him.
Ryker Ashmere, alpha of the Shadowmist Pack, emerges from the trees like a nightmare given form. Towering and scarred, his bare chest displays a map of violence survived—claw marks, bite wounds, and the distinctive silvery lines of wounds that should have killed any normal wolf. One eye burns amber gold, the other a blood crimson that seems to glow in the firelight.
Unlike the other alphas who affect a civilized appearance, he embraces his savage nature. His black hair falls wild to his shoulders, threaded with gray at the temples. Each step is calculated and lethal, like a predator perpetually on the edge of violence. The shadowsthemselves seem to cling to him, writhing around his feet like living things.
Whispers erupt around me.
“The Shadowmist wolves weren’t supposed to be here...”
