Chapter 1
Effie Harlow
I’d spent most of my life—or at least what I could remember of my life—as a victim of violence. I’d been beat down and harassed for the amusement of others, just because they could. Just because they knew no one would stop them.
It had been useless and unneeded, all of it, because I would have never gone against the Whitepaw Pack.
I feared them and the consequences associated with that type of action far too much to even consider it.
Instead, I had attempted to follow the rules religiously and keep to myself.
None of that had helped though. I had been targeted merely because of what I was—a lowly bitten wolf.
A lie that I’d been told to excuse their treatment. I wasn’t positive I preferred how Dr. Hastain or others viewed me, though.
Because of my past—because of the way I’d been hurt—my perception of violence and its purpose had been skewed greatly. I had categorized it as unnecessary and wrong. Something that meant pain for me and no one else.
I was learning now that wasn’t always the case. That violence was sometimes needed, especially if it meant protecting the ones you cared about. The ones you loved.
A primal part of me, one that I’d assumed was buried or hadn’t existed in the first place, had started to emerge after meeting these men. It told me to be protective. To be violent if necessary. To do whatever I needed to in order to safeguard my mates. My family. My new pack.
Although, the concept of me being able to protect anyone was almost laughable.
I had never been able to protect myself, so why did this intense urge exist?
My wolf let out a vicious growl in my head, mostly at the ridicule I placed on myself for my past, and once again pushed that part of me further to the surface, making it so I couldn’t ignore it. I couldn’t shy away from it.
I felt it crawling under my skin, that urge, and while I’d yet to do anything like that, I understood the compulsion.
It was why I couldn’t blame my mates for reacting how they did in our current situation.
Why I couldn’t blame them for wanting to protect what they considered essential.
This situation was forcing me to deal with this direct conflict head-on, and for once, my wolf and I were in complete agreement.
Sometimes violence was needed and necessary.
The sound of tearing flesh burned itself into my subconscious, and the echo of Reamann’s agonizing scream of pain filled the clearing.
I wasn’t positive what I’d expected Caedmon to do when Reamann had tried to pull me back, away from my mate—but it wasn’t to rip off his arm.
The brutal action should have bothered me, but instead I just leaned further into Caedmon’s touch as he held me close.
Any fear that I’d assumed I would feel in the situation, especially with him shifted, was completely absent.
My mate may have looked different, but I could feel that it was him.
So rather than worrying about being in his arms and possibly being cut by his lethal claws, my attention was focused on the retaliation he could face and the injuries the others had suffered. Mainly, Dakota.
Reamann shifted in a violent explosion, pulling me from my internal thoughts and making me realize that he was nearly as large as Dakota—although my mate was still larger and more vicious-looking.
Reamann howled, a growl catching in his throat, as he fell to the ground, unable to stand because his severed limb carried into his shifted form.
I probably should have felt some level of guilt, but I couldn’t find it in myself to muster any.
“Caedmon, Dakota is hurt.” I tugged back his attention as he let out a vicious growl, his glowing purple gaze narrowed on Reamann’s form.
“We need to focus on that first.” I knew Ryder was guarding the man, trying to take care of him in any way he could, but I needed to see Dakota for myself. I needed to help.
“You fucking bitch, you caused this,” one of their BBP members shouted towards me as he charged forward—only to be slammed into by Tore. An explosion of chaos and violence broke out all at once.
The other BBP member that I didn’t know suddenly began shifting into a lycan form, causing my eyes to widen at the grotesque process.
Flesh ripped. Bones snapped. I let out a scream as the lycan charged us, and Caedmon placed me to the side with an odd amount of gentleness before he was met with a force that was similar to his own.
I hissed, panic filling my chest as they slammed together into the trees on the edge of the clearing, causing a massive boom.
I felt momentarily frozen by what was occurring, deciding to run to Dakota and Ryder… before Weylin appeared in front of me.
“You are leaving with me.” His snarl was filled with malice, and he grabbed the back of my sweater before looping an arm around my waist, the pressure causing me to wheeze as something inside me snapped. The force and pain was enough that I couldn’t cry out.
Luckily, I didn’t have to. Tore suddenly appeared, easily dislodging Weylin’s hold on me. Despite the pain, relief hit into me, my teeth nearly jostling as I landed on the ground. When I looked up, I was struck by the terrifying beauty of seeing Tore and Caedmon engaged in battle.
I watched as Tore twisted Weylin back, his arm caught in a hold as a crack sounded through the space.
I should have been scared by his action, especially since the fenrir had been the one to hurt my wolf and me, but I wasn’t.
I knew Tore as a man, and he would never hurt someone unless he thought it was completely necessary.
Then worry slammed into me. Not for my mates—well, not exactly—they seemed more than capable of handling these men. No, it was because I didn’t want a repeat of what had occurred in the cafeteria. I didn’t want them to get in trouble because of me, to suffer because of me.
I needed to move. Why was I still frozen? It was like I couldn’t look away from everything that was happening.
Julian was in a confrontation with the other BBP’s bitten wolf, Tore was fighting Weylin, Caedmon was fighting the other lycan, and Reamann was on the ground howling in pain, causing the entire space to feel chaotic and violent.
Deciding I shouldn’t get directly involved in the physical action, I ran towards Dakota, who was laid out in the grass.
Ryder had his fingers near his pulse and was gently twisting his head, looking over the injury that was saturating the ground with blood.
The scent of it had a sob catching in my throat.
No. No. No.
This was so wrong.
My skin buzzed with energy, practically begging me to shift, as I knelt down next to my mate and cupped his jaw.
Panic hit as I tried to search out that part of my magic, the one that was buried underneath my wolf, that I’d used in the huler to heal my mates.
The one that would make sure that Dakota was okay and that this bleeding didn’t get any worse.
But all I was met with was a dull throbbing on my temples.
Frustrated tears welled in my eyes as I heard a howl of pain from one of the other men. Dakota’s eyes were shut, his skin chalky and pale, as I felt his wolf enter my subconscious. It wasn’t with the normal vigor, though. Rather the opposite as he laid on his side, his breathing labored.
“Dakota,” I whispered, leaning forward and feeling heartbroken. “I promise I am trying to fix this. I promise I am trying to heal you. I just need you to be okay, please?”
My eyes squeezed shut, not expecting a response to my plea, as I focused on my inner power. My wolf tried shifting, causing my body to jolt. She wanted to see our mate herself. At least, I thought that was what she was trying to do.
Her voice echoed through my head. “Let me out.”
I let down my walls, expecting her to fully force the shift, but instead she surged into my subconscious to connect with Dakota’s wolf.
I could feel so much of Dakota. His natural defenses were down, leaving him open to us.
His human side was nearly absent, a dim light compared to its normal strength and vibrancy.
My wolf let out a whimper and licked his nose, urging him to get up.
I wanted to make both of them feel better, but I knew I needed to focus on further connecting with Dakota.
Was there something I was missing? I couldn’t remember how I had healed them last time.
Did I have to pull on a certain thread of their magic?
Or focus mine on a specific part of them?
Dakota’s injury wasn’t a small one, and it was only getting worse.
After pushing further into his consciousness, I was met with a bruised, agonizingly painful wave of energy that seemed to be darkening all aspects of him at once.
Instead of overthinking it, I went with my instincts and poured my magic through those unknown parts, hoping it would soothe them.
The sensation of melted gold ran through every nerve ending of my body before latching onto Dakota, my magic slowly grasping and pulling at everything it could in hopes of helping.
I continued to let it do so, slowly beginning to feel something tugging at me, something that was being uncovered by the use of such intense power, begging for my attention.
I couldn’t help but fall into a memory as I kept all my control and focus on healing Dakota.
This wasn’t my memory—I knew that instantly.
The morning sunlight hit my face as I looked around a bedroom I didn’t recognize.
The walls were nearly two stories tall, and the arched ceiling was decorated with gorgeous hand-carved illustrations.
The sunlight pulsing through the windows, combined with the hot, dry air and a row of palm trees in the distance, created the impression I was in a tropical landscape.
Although, the tense energy in the room didn’t match the picturesque surroundings.