Chapter Two
Wren
The walk up the mountain road takes longer than I expect. My legs shake by the time I reach the tree line, and the forest closes in around me like a held breath—the air changes. Wolf scent thickens—territory markers, pack boundaries, warnings layered into bark and soil.
I am being watched.
The hair on my arms rises. My wolf presses forward, ears pricked, alert but not afraid. Which is annoying, because I am plenty afraid.
The road curves, and there it is.
A wooden gate. Tall. Solid. Two posts carved with symbols I don’t recognize.
And behind it, waiting like they knew I was coming...
A tall, dark-haired male with a scar near his jaw and eyes that miss nothing. Beside him, a woman with gentle features, sharp intelligence, and the sort of quiet strength that makes my wolf lower her head in respect.
Alpha Caine.
Luna Peyton.
I know the stories. Everyone knows the stories.
The rejected mate who became a Luna. The Alpha who took in the broken. The pack that became a sanctuary when other packs turned cruel.
Three other wolves stand behind them. One of them—
No. Focus.
I stop at the gate. My duffel bag weighs a thousand pounds. My boots are dusty. My cardigan has a coffee stain. I am not impressive.
But I am here.
“I’m Wren,” I say. “I’m looking for sanctuary.”
Caine studies me. His gaze takes in everything—the bag, the exhaustion, the way I’m holding myself upright through sheer stubbornness.
“You’re a long way from home,” he says.
“I don’t have one anymore.”
Peyton steps closer. Her scent is warm, like vanilla, rain, and wolf. “Are you injured?”
“No.”
“Hungry?”
“Ingrid fed me. At the diner.”
Peyton’s mouth curves. “Ingrid feeds everyone.”
Caine’s expression doesn’t change. “Who are you running from, Wren?”
My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag.
Here it is—the part where my freedom becomes complicated.
“My pack,” I say. “Ashstone.”
A low rumble moves through the wolves behind Caine. Not threatening. Angry on my behalf, maybe, though that seems impossible. These wolves don’t know me.
Caine’s eyes sharpen. “You’re a long way from Ashstone territory.”
“I know.”
“Why did you leave?”
Because my mother cried while helping me pack.
Because my Alpha smiled when he announced my future like he’d purchased a horse.
Because Dax Mercer put his hand on my neck in front of half the pack and told me I would learn to be grateful.
Because I woke up the next morning with my wolf clawing at my ribs and one thought burning through me so fiercely I couldn’t breathe.
Run.
I lift my chin. “They arranged a mating for me.”
Peyton’s softness fades into something colder.
Caine’s jaw tightens. “Without your consent?”
“They consider my consent implied by pack loyalty.”
Someone behind me curses under their breath.
I continue before I lose my nerve. “The contract isn’t sealed. No bite. No ceremony. But they’ll come for me.”
“When?” Caine asks.
“I thought I had more time.”
The air shifts.
Every wolf at the gate goes still.
Because I smell him.
Not his wolf first. His cologne. Expensive. Too sharp. Cedar and spice and arrogance sprayed thick enough to make my eyes water.
No.
No, no, no.
My wolf snarls so violently my fingertips ache with the need to shift.
I turn.
A vehicle pulls up on the road behind me. Three wolves step out.
Two are Ashstone enforcers, both dressed in black, both wearing the blank expressions of males who enjoy being ordered to frighten people.
And between them is Dax Mercer.
Tall. Blond. Pretty in a way that has made people forgive him for being vile his entire life. He wears a dark coat, polished boots, and a smile that makes my skin crawl.
“Wren,” he says warmly, as if we’re lovers meeting after a long separation instead of a woman and the nightmare she outran.
My stomach twists.
Dax’s gaze travels over the gate, the wolves, Caine. He dips his head, but not enough. “Alpha Beckett. Ashstone sends greetings.”
Caine doesn’t return the smile. “You crossed into my territory uninvited.”
Dax spreads his hands. “A misunderstanding. We’re here only to retrieve what belongs to us.”
A growl tears out of me before I can stop it.
Every eye swings to me.
Dax’s smile widens.
There. That’s what he wanted. A reaction. Proof I’m emotional, unstable, in need of management.
I hate him so much my teeth hurt.
Peyton shifts, placing herself half a step closer to me.
It’s small. It’s everything.
Caine’s voice drops. “Wren is not property.”
“Of course not.” Dax chuckles. “Poor choice of words. She’s my intended mate. Her father signed the agreement. Our Alpha approved it. She left in a moment of nerves.”
“Nerves?” I snap.
Dax looks at me the way someone looks at a child throwing food. “You were overwhelmed.”
“I was furious.”
“You were confused.”
“I was very clear when I threw your ring into the laundry drain.”
A cough comes from somewhere behind me.
It might be a laugh.
Dax’s eyes flash, but his smile stays in place. “This is exactly why I came personally. You’re spirited, Wren. I enjoy that. But enough is enough.”
My wolf lunges inside me.
I can feel the shift pressing beneath my skin. Bones threatening to crack. Claws wanting out.
I can’t lose control here. Not in another Alpha’s territory. Not surrounded by strangers. Not with Dax watching like he hopes I do.
Caine steps forward. “She requested sanctuary. Until I review the matter, she stays.”
Dax’s mouth tightens. “With respect, Alpha, sanctuary doesn’t override a valid mating contract.”
“No,” Caine says. “Consent does.”
Dax’s gaze slides back to me.
Something cruel flickers there.
“You should be careful, Wren. Your mother is worried sick.”
The words hit exactly where he aims them.
My breath catches.
He knows I called her from the bus station. He knows she helped me. Or suspects. If he hurts her because of me—
Peyton’s hand brushes mine.
A grounding touch. A reminder.
I breathe.
Dax sees it. His eyes narrow.
Then his expression changes. He studies me more carefully, nostrils flaring.
My stomach drops.
The scent-blocking tea should still be working. Xavia’s old recipe passed through desperate females in whispers. Bitter as regret, but effective. It hides distress. Masks arousal. Muddies personal scent just enough to make tracking harder.
But I’ve been walking for hours. Sweating. Scared. Surrounded by wolves.
Dax steps closer. “Interesting.” He smiles, slow and ugly. “You came here alone. No family. No escort. No claim.” His smile turns predatory. “Unless the Katu Alpha plans to keep every runaway female who gets cold feet.”
The air vibrates with warning.
I know what he’s doing. He can’t force me out if Caine grants sanctuary, so he’s attacking the legitimacy of my request and making me look like a foolish female avoiding duty, not someone in danger.
And suddenly, horribly, I understand the problem.
If I’m unmated and contract-bound, Ashstone can drag this through pack law.
If I’m under Katu protection, Caine can delay.
But if I belong to someone else—
No.
Terrible idea.
Absolutely not.
My mind grabs the thought anyway and runs with it like a wolf stealing roast chicken.
Dax looks at Caine. “Unless, of course, there is a stronger claim?”
Silence.
My pulse pounds.
Do not do it, Wren.
I open my mouth.
“I already have a mate.”
The words land like a plate smashing on tile.
Dax freezes.
Caine goes very still.
Peyton’s hand tightens around mine.
Behind me, someone whispers, “Oh, Goddess.”
That seems fair.
Dax laughs once. “No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
“Who?”
Excellent question.
A stunning question.
Possibly one I should have considered before lying in front of an Alpha, a Luna, and three Ashstone wolves.
My eyes dart around.
The wolves behind Caine. No. Too young. Too old. Too amused. Then one of them moves.
He steps forward from the tree line like he’s been waiting for the exact wrong moment.
He’s carrying a crate of glass bottles—supplies, maybe—and he’s tall.
Ridiculously tall. Broad shoulders stretch a dark t-shirt that has seen better days, clinging to his chest in a way that feels personally aggressive.
His hair is dark brown, cut short. Jaw shadowed.
Mouth set in a line that suggests he disapproves of most things on principle.
His gaze lifts.
Hits mine.
Something in my chest trips.
Not stops. Trips.
Like my heart has missed a step on a staircase and is now pretending it meant to.
His eyes are a deep, steady hazel. Serious eyes. Wolf eyes. Annoyed eyes.
He looks from me to Dax to Caine.
“What happened?” he asks.
His voice is rough.
My wolf goes very, very quiet.
Oh, no.
No.
Not that one.
He looks like he alphabetizes weapons.
Dax follows my stare.
“Wren,” he says softly. “Who is your mate?”
Panic decides for me.
I move before courage can abandon me.
Crossing the distance between us, I stop in front of the crate-carrying male. Up close, he’s even bigger, which is inconvenient because I enjoy breathing and he seems to have stolen the air supply.
He frowns down at me.
“Can I help you?”
“I am so sorry,” I whisper.
His frown deepens. “For what?”
I grab his free hand and turn to face the others.
“This is my mate.”
The crate cracks.
One of the bottles pops open and sprays across the ground.
The male beside me goes utterly still.
His hand is warm around mine. Calloused. Strong.
My wolf presses against my skin with a shiver that feels far too interested for someone involved in a life-ruining lie.
Dax stares at our joined hands.
Caine closes his eyes for half a second.
Peyton covers her mouth.
I think she’s trying not to laugh.
The male slowly looks down at me.
His expression doesn’t change much, but something dangerous wakes behind his eyes.
“What,” he says quietly, “did you just do?”
I smile at him with all the confidence of a woman setting her own life on fire.
“Hello, darling.”