Chapter 6

Mallory

I woke up to cold seeping through the stone floor into my spine.

My back lay flat against the ground, my bag stuffed under my head—the softest thing I had left.

For a moment, my mind was blank. I didn't even know when I'd fallen asleep.

Consciousness came back slowly, like surfacing from deep water. My head felt heavy, my palm still throbbing faintly.

All I remembered was using the blood resonance healing technique on a dying Alpha last night.

The cut on my palm had formed a thin scab along its edge. But my wrist was so weak I could barely lift it.

My hips ached too. Like someone had punched me there.

That shouldn't be a side effect of blood resonance. Even if it was a banned technique, it shouldn't cause this kind of soreness.

I spent a few seconds piecing the night back together. Then the memories came crashing in, one after another.

The wolf's roar. The burning heat of his back beneath my palm. The way he'd raised his hand in the moonlight and grabbed my wrist with a force I couldn't fight.

What came after that... I was an adult. I knew what it meant.

My eyes snapped open.

Through the gap in the dome, dawn light filtered in—that pale, washed-out blue of early morning.

Stone walls covered in dead vines. The moonbells in the corner had drooped without moonlight, their clusters of silver needles gone quiet.

And the man. He was still beside me.

He lay on his side, breathing much steadier now. Most of his wounds had closed, the purple-black completely gone, new skin showing pale pink.

The worst part: his hand was still resting loosely on my forearm.

I tried to pull my arm away, moving carefully. His fingers tightened.

I held my breath, heart hammering.

He didn't wake. Just a reflex in sleep.

I bit my lip and withdrew my arm even more slowly, millimeter by millimeter. My heartbeat was so loud it felt like drums pounding in my ears.

I didn't know what I was afraid of. Maybe I just couldn't face this ridiculous, awkward morning after.

A wolfless girl. Sleeping with an Alpha.

Ridiculous.

I'd rather pretend it was a dream and never mention it to anyone.

When my arm finally came free, I sat up. A dull ache throbbed at the side of my neck.

A skin-deep pain. Like something had bitten me.

My hand went to it.

Two shallow indentations. Right above my pulse.

I froze. Then the realization hit me like a thunderclap.

This was a claim.

An Alpha's mate mark.

My hands started shaking.

I hadn't just slept with a stranger. He had claimed me.

Utterly absurd.

I didn't even have a wolf.

An eighteen-year-old who hadn't awakened her wolf—someone even lower than an Omega—claimed by an Alpha.

I wasn't naive enough to think I was some chosen girl who was actually going to become an Alpha's mate.

I thought of the Hale family.

My family, who had already given up on me.

My mother stopped paying attention to me when I hadn't awakened my wolf by sixteen. My father always skipped over me when introducing his children at family gatherings. My brothers only ever saw me as a burden they had to protect.

And their idea of "protection" meant keeping me hidden, making sure no one knew the Hale family had a wolfless daughter.

If they found out I'd been claimed by some unknown Alpha and then abandoned... I couldn't even imagine what would happen to me.

My brain started spinning out of control, like a centrifuge gone haywire.

What would the Pack Council do once they found out?

Best case: they'd track down whoever had claimed me, confirm his identity and rank, arrange a formal meeting, and force him to fulfill his responsibilities as a mate.

But I didn't even know who the man beside me was. Last night he'd been poisoned by an arrow wound—and that was definitely no training accident. Someone had tried to kill him.

An Alpha on the run, showing up in the academy's forbidden zone. Every detail pointed to trouble. And I was almost certain he had no intention of being my mate.

This was just a one-night stand.

Worst case: my family would decide I'd disgraced the Hale name and cut me off entirely.

I wasn't afraid of being cut off.

I was afraid of losing my place at St. Lawrence Academy.

Getting cut off meant no more tuition. No more funding for my research. Everything I'd built over the past two years—the recognition, the tonics, the honors—all of it gone for nothing.

I couldn't let that happen.

I stood up. My legs were shaky and weak. I stayed still for a few seconds until I found my balance.

Then I looked at the man on the floor one last time.

In the daylight, his face was clearer.

Dark hair plastered to his forehead, sharp cheekbones, a hard jawline. Even in sleep, he carried the weight of someone used to being in charge.

I didn't know him. He wasn't anyone I'd seen at the academy. But I didn't have time to figure out who he was.

The only thing I needed to do right now was get out before he woke up.

I crouched down and crawled back through the gap in the fence, then ran down the foggy path toward the dorms.

The grass was slick with dew and my feet kept slipping, but I didn't stop.

When I got back to the dorm, the hallway was still empty. Our room was empty too. My roommate Penny must have gone out for her morning run.

I locked the door, threw my bag aside, and rushed into the bathroom, turning the hot water on full blast.

A fresh mark was strongest in the first forty-eight hours. I had classes today. I couldn't hide in my room for two days. I had to wash it off.