Chapter 2

Rhett brought me back to the Ashvale Pack house.

He looked me up and down. "Change out of those rags. You look like a stray."

I looked down at what I was wearing. A torn gray shirt, too big, stained with dirt and worse. It had cost me three nights in The Hollow to get this one piece of clothing. The only thing between my skin and the world.

Two female Pack members filled a bath. When one of them reached for my sleeve, I jerked into a ball and let out a sound — low, guttural. Not human.

They froze. Looked at each other. Neither of them came closer.

Rhett heard it and came through the door. He grabbed my wrist. "Stop acting feral, Neve. What is wrong with you?"

His grip pulled the sleeve down. The rogue mark — the silver brand on my inner forearm — sat there in full view. Ugly. Raw-edged. The kind of scar that only silver leaves on a wolf.

He stared at it. "Who did this?"

I tucked my arm against my chest and said nothing.

"She must have had a rough time out there." Cora Finch was standing in the doorway. Soft-eyed. Concerned. "Let me help her, Alpha. I'll take care of it."

She stepped into the room. Every hair on my body stood on end.

Her scent hadn't changed. Three years ago, it was the last thing I smelled before they threw me in the cage. Cora had been at the handoff. She'd smiled at the rogues and told them to take good care of me.

It was her companion wolf — a half-wild gray she kept as a pet — that started all of this. The thing snapped during a full moon and lunged at a pup. I was on Luna watch that night. I ordered two warriors to pin it down before someone got killed.

Cora ran to Rhett crying. Said I'd attacked her wolf on purpose. Said I was too dominant, too controlling.

"She doesn't respect anyone in this Pack, Alpha. Maybe some time away would teach her."

Rhett believed her. He gave her full authority over the arrangements.

Now here she was. Glowing. Healthy. And I could barely stand.

"Three years," she said. "I've missed you so much."

She reached for my shirt. I didn't flinch. Didn't have the fight left.

The fabric dropped. Underneath — ribs I could count. Bruises in different shades. Skin stretched thin over bone.

Rhett frowned. "How did you lose this much weight?"

Cora jumped in before I could open my mouth. Her face shifted — wounded, offended. "She's doing this on purpose, Alpha. Starving herself to look fragile so she can compete with me."

The concern in Rhett's eyes disappeared.

"She never changes." He turned and walked out.

The door shut. Cora's mask dropped.

"Three years and you're still breathing." She tilted her head. "Tougher than I gave you credit for."

She leaned close. Voice low.

"So how does it feel? Being every rogue's bitch?"

I looked up at her. And I finally understood what Rhett meant when he said Cora had "sent word" to the rogues. He thought she'd told them to leave me alone.

That wasn't what she told them.

Before I could react, she grabbed my hair and shoved my head into the bathwater. Pulled me up. Shoved me under again.

I choked. Water in my nose, my throat. Pure instinct — I kicked.

My foot hit her stomach.

Rhett was through the door in seconds. He went straight to Cora, pulling her up, checking her over.

"Are you hurt?"

She buried her face in his chest. "She still hates me. It's all my fault. I should never have suggested sending her away."

She looked up at him. "Send me there too, Alpha. Maybe then she'll forgive me."

Rhett wiped her cheek. "Don't be ridiculous. A place like that is no place for you."

He glanced at me — still in the tub, coughing up water.

"Stay here. Clean yourself up. Body and attitude."

He picked Cora up and carried her out.

I sat in the water and scrubbed my arms, my neck, my legs. But a thousand days of what they did to me — how do you scrub that off?

I dried myself and put on the clothes they'd left. Soft cotton. It felt wrong against skin that had forgotten what clean fabric was.

I caught my reflection in the mirror. Sunken cheeks. Yellowed skin. Dark circles carved deep. Nothing I recognized.

Someone had set out food on the nightstand. A real meal — grilled meat, bread, fruit.

I picked up a piece of bread and bit into it. The pain came before I could swallow — sharp, like a blade through my gut.

Three years of raw scraps and baneroot. My stomach couldn't handle real food anymore.

I hit the floor. Curled into myself. Couldn't see. Couldn't breathe.

"Luna Neve! What's wrong?"

"Get the Alpha — now!"