Chapter 1
Chapter One
Two Weeks
"Get up."
Something struck the side of my cot.
I jerked awake, my heart slamming against my ribs as the thin metal frame rattled beneath me.
"Shayla."
Bang.
This time the kick was harder.
"I'm up," I croaked.
A laugh came from somewhere above me.
"Clearly."
I opened my eyes.
Logan stood at the foot of my bed, arms folded across his chest, looking irritatingly pleased with himself.
Fantastic.
Exactly the face every girl wanted to wake up to.
Well, almost every girl.
Half the girls at Silver Fang High would probably sell a kidney for the privilege.
Logan Black was the Alpha's son, future Alpha of the Silver Fang Pack, captain of practically every sports team he bothered joining, and, according to Gia - gifted personally to womankind by the Moon Goddess herself.
Personally, I thought the Moon Goddess owed us an apology.
"Why are you in here?"
His eyebrows lifted.
"Did you just ask me why I'm somewhere in my own pack house?"
I pushed myself upright and pulled Dad's old hoodie tighter around me.
"No. I asked why you're standing next to my bed at—"
I glanced at the tiny clock balanced on the crate beside my cot.
5:12 a.m.
"You've got to be kidding me."
Logan grinned.
"Laundry."
I looked past him.
Three enormous canvas bags had been dumped beside the washing machines.
Of course.
Yesterday had been training day.
Which meant somewhere inside those bags were approximately forty sets of sweaty training clothes belonging to men who apparently hadn't discovered deodorant.
"Mrs Carter said I could do those after school."
"Change of plan."
"Whose?"
"Mine."
I stared at him.
He stared back.
That was the problem with Logan. He enjoyed waiting for you to remember exactly who he was.
Future Alpha.
And exactly who I was.
Nobody.
I threw the blanket off.
Cold immediately crawled over my bare legs.
Logan's eyes dropped to my clothes.
The oversized grey hoodie reached halfway down my thighs, thankfully covering most of the black shorts I'd slept in.
His mouth twisted.
"God, Shayla. Do you ever wash that thing?"
My fingers tightened around the cuffs.
"Sometimes."
"Could've fooled me."
He reached out and caught the edge of the sleeve between two fingers.
I yanked my arm away.
His smile disappeared.
For one stupid second, neither of us moved.
Then his eyes flashed darker.
A warning.
My wolf stirred weakly somewhere inside me.
Don't.
I swallowed and lowered my gaze.
Logan gave a quiet, satisfied laugh.
"There she is."
I hated him.
I hated that laugh.
I hated that I knew exactly how far I could push before a joke became a punishment.
Most of all, I hated that he knew it too.
"Get the laundry done before breakfast," he said, heading for the stairs. "Dad wants everyone in the dining hall at seven."
"I'm supposed to make breakfast."
He stopped.
Slowly, he looked back at me.
"Then I'd wash fast."
The basement door slammed behind him.
I stared at it.
"Prick."
My wolf gave the faintest flicker of amusement.
At least she agreed.
I sat on the edge of my cot for another few seconds, letting my eyes adjust to the dim basement.
Home sweet home.
One cot.
One blanket.
One wooden crate.
And a wall of industrial washing machines.
Luxury, really.
I'd once found an old rug beside the bins and dragged it down here, thinking it might make the place feel slightly less like a prison cell.
Gia had poured bleach over it the next morning.
Apparently she'd needed to clean her shoes.
I'd stopped trying after that.
I stood and stretched, ignoring the dull ache in my back.
My hoodie slipped from one shoulder.
Dad's hoodie.
The only thing in this entire place that actually belonged to me.
It had been his when he was alive. There's an old photograph of him wearing it somewhere... or there used to be. Mum kept it beside her bed when I was little.
Before she left.
Before the rogues.
Before everyone decided I was something they were allowed to hate.
I barely remembered my father.
Sometimes I thought I did.
A deep laugh.
Big hands lifting me above his head.
The smell of pine trees and coffee.
But I didn't know whether they were memories or things I'd invented after hearing other people talk about him.
Gabriel Hale.
Beta of the Silver Fang Pack.
Loyal.
Strong.
Brave.
Dead at twenty-eight years old because rogues breached our territory when I was three.
People still spoke about him like he'd died yesterday.
They spoke about my mother the same way.
Only nobody called Mara Hale brave.
Traitor.
Whore.
Rogue-lover.
Those were the kinder names.
She hadn't been taken during the attack.
She'd left willingly.
At least, that was the story.
Fourteen years later, Silver Fang still hadn't forgiven her.
And because she wasn't here to punish, they settled for me.
The Alpha and Luna could have thrown me out.
Sometimes I wished they had.
Instead, Alpha Marcus had announced that the daughter of his fallen Beta would always have a home within Silver Fang.
Everyone thought it was noble.
What nobody outside this house knew was that my "home" was wedged between the laundry room and the boiler.
I was six when they moved me down here.
Eight when I started cleaning bedrooms.
Ten when I became responsible for the laundry.
Twelve when Luna Celeste decided I was old enough to help in the kitchens before school.
And seventeen when I'd finally started counting the days.
Fourteen.
Fourteen days until my eighteenth birthday.
I looked at the calendar I'd drawn on the wall beside my cot.
Tiny lines covered the concrete.
One for every day since my seventeenth birthday.
I picked up the pencil from my crate and crossed another one out.
Fourteen days.
Two weeks.
At eighteen, I could leave.
Not easily.
Pack bonds weren't designed to be discarded like an old coat. Leaving your pack meant standing before your Alpha and formally requesting release.
Marcus could refuse.
I knew that.
But there were ways around it.
Painful ways.
Dangerous ways...
I'd spent the last year researching every one I could find.
If I had to tear the bond from my own chest, I would.
Anything was better than another year here.
There was only one thing that could change my plan.
My mate.
My stomach did something ridiculous at the thought.
I rolled my eyes at myself and grabbed the first laundry bag.
Werewolves could recognise their fated mate once both had turned eighteen.
Some wolves spent years searching.
Others found theirs immediately.
I'd watched girls at school spend their eighteenth birthdays sniffing every unmated male who walked past them like lunatics.
I'd promised myself I wouldn't become one of them.
Still...
Sometimes, late at night, with the machines finally silent and the basement so cold I could see my breath, I let myself imagine him.
Someone who would look at me and not see Mara Hale's daughter.
Someone who wouldn't care what my mother had done.
Someone who might actually...
No.
I shoved a handful of clothes into the washer.
That was dangerous.
Hope was always dangerous here.
Besides, with my luck, the Moon Goddess would pair me with a seventy-year-old hermit living halfway up a mountain.
Or worse.
Someone from Silver Fang.
I snorted.
Imagine.
The door upstairs opened again, I froze.
Female laughter floated down the staircase.
I closed my eyes and sighed.
Of course.
A moment later, Gia appeared.
She was already dressed for school despite it being barely half past five, her long blonde hair falling in perfect waves down her back.
She looked beautiful.
She always looked beautiful.
And she knew it.
Her eyes travelled over me.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Then her nose wrinkled.
"Wow."
I turned back to the washing machine.
"Morning, Gia."
"Is that what you're wearing?"
"It's five in the morning."
"That wasn't my question."
I shoved another shirt into the drum.
Gia stepped closer.
"Logan said you were being difficult."
Of course he did.
"I woke up thirty seconds before he decided I was being difficult."
She leaned against one of the machines.
I could feel her watching me.
"Turn around."
"No."
The word slipped out before I could stop it.
Silence.
Idiot.
I slowly turned.
Gia smiled.
Not nicely.
"What did you say?"
My wolf bristled.
I felt her properly this time.
Weak, but there.
Don't let her.
I curled my fingers into my palms.
"I said no."
Gia's smile vanished.
She stepped forward and grabbed the front of my hoodie.
Hard.
My back hit the washing machine.
Pain shot through my spine.
"You seem to forget yourself sometimes."
Her face was inches from mine.
I could smell her expensive perfume.
Peonies.
I hated peonies.
"Your father isn't here to protect you anymore."
My chest tightened. "And your mother made sure nobody else ever would."
There it was.
She released me with a shove.
I caught myself against the machine.
Gia looked me over again.
Her gaze settled on my legs.
"You're getting skinnier."
I said nothing.
"Seriously, Shayla. It's disgusting."
She pinched the fabric of my hoodie near my waist.
"Even this is hanging off you."
"It's my dad's."
"I know." She smiled.
Then she reached into the laundry bag.
Before I realised what she was doing, she pulled out a damp training shirt and threw it straight at me hitting my chest.
The smell made me gag.
Gia burst out laughing.
"Oops."
Something hot flashed through me.
My wolf surged.
For half a second, I imagined grabbing Gia by that perfect blonde hair and smashing her face into the washing machine.
The thought was so vivid that I almost smiled.
Gia's laughter stopped.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Why are you smiling?"
"I'm not."
"You were."
I bent down and picked up the shirt.
"Must've been gas."
Her face twisted. "What?"
"Nothing."
I turned around before she could see my mouth twitch.
That one was worth whatever happened later.
Maybe that was the problem.
Recently, I'd started caring less.
The punishments still hurt.
The words still hurt.
But somewhere inside me, something had changed.
Maybe because there were only fourteen days left.
Fourteen days until I could walk out of Silver Fang and never look back.
Fourteen days until nobody could tell me when to wake up, what to wear, when to eat or whether I'd earned the right to sleep.
Fourteen days until freedom.
Or...
My mate.
I stared at the washing machine as water began filling the drum.
For years, I'd prayed to the Moon Goddess for one.
A strong mate.
A kind mate.
Someone who would take one look at me and somehow know I was worth choosing.
But lately my prayers had changed.
Now, whenever I lay awake listening to the boiler groan beside my bed, I whispered the same thing into the darkness.
Please.
If he's here...
Don't let him be Silver Fang.
