Chapter 1
The push broom scraped against the hard dirt of the training grounds.
My arms burned. My back ached so badly I could barely stand up straight.
I didn't stop moving.
If I stopped for even a single second, the guards standing by the fence would find another excuse. They would use their leather whips on my bare skin again.
"Look at her," a guard named Marcus laughed.
He leaned heavily on his steel sword. He spat a thick glob of tobacco juice onto the ground just inches from my bare feet.
"The great Beta’s daughter," Marcus mocked, grinning an ugly, yellow-toothed smile. "Look at how the mighty have fallen. Now she’s just a dirty stray dog sweeping up the mud."
Another guard chuckled right beside him, crossing his heavy arms over his leather chest plate.
"Don't call her a dog, Marcus," the second guard said. "Dogs are actually useful. She’s just a traitor. She let the rogues butcher nearly half of our pack. She let them kill the alpha's youngest son."
The words stung like acid. But I didn't look up.
I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the dirt and the stones beneath my feet.
"Hey, Valerie!" Marcus yelled, stepping directly into my path.
He kicked a heavy spray of dirt straight over the clean spot I had just spent ten minutes sweeping.
"Are you ready?" Marcus sneered, leaning in close. "Only a few hours left before dawn. The executioner's axe comes down on that worthless neck of yours. Do you want me to sharpen the blade for you so it's clean?"
I didn't answer. I didn't look up.
If I spoke, they would beat me for talking back. If I cried, they would laugh even harder.
I had learned that bitter lesson three long years ago. That was the very night my entire world fell apart.
My mind drifted backward.
It played like a cursed film that wouldn't stop spinning in my head. It wasn't just the pack that had turned on me with blind hatred. It was my own flesh and blood.
I could still see my father’s face under the harsh, flickering light of the great hall.
He had been the proud, respected Beta of our pack for twenty years. He was a strong, unyielding wolf who commanded absolute respect from every single warrior.
But when the enforcers dragged me into that room with chains locked around my wrists, my father didn't pull me into his arms. He didn't try to protect me. He didn't ask for my side of the story.
"You bring eternal shame to our name," my father had told me then. His voice shook with rage. "I raised you better than this. I disown you. Take her away; she is no daughter of mine."
And my mother?
She had stood silently in the dark corner of the room. Her hands were clamped tightly over her mouth as hot tears streamed down her pale face.
She never said a single word.
She didn't defend me. She didn't look me in the eye. And she hadn't spoken to me once in three entire years.
Maybe she was simply terrified of being cast out alongside me. Maybe she believed the lies, too.
Even though I had begged the Alpha and Luna on my knees that terrible night, screaming at the top of my lungs that I was innocent, nobody listened to a single plea.
Why would they listen?
The evidence planted in my room was undeniable proof.
And then there was Celeste.
My older sister. The golden girl of the pack.
While I sat in the dark, rotting in my own misery, Celeste played the role of the ultimate victim. She told everyone how shattered her hear was.
She wept openly in front of the pack elders. She said she tried her best to guide me onto the right path, but my soul was simply too dark and twisted to save.
And the pack believed her every single word.
How could they not believe her?
Celeste had the physical proof right there on her body.
During the rogue raid, while I had somehow managed to hide in the cold cellar and come out completely unscathed, Celeste had thrown herself into the chaotic battle. She fought to save the younger children.
She carried a massive, ugly, jagged scar stretching from her shoulder all the way down her collarbone.
It was a permanent mark of her fierce bravery, carved deep into her flesh by a rogue's razor-sharp claw.
"I tried to stop her," Celeste would cry softly to anyone who would listen.
She would touch her wounded shoulder with a trembling, delicate hand.
"I saw the messages in her phone. I saw her talking to the enemy leaders. But she’s my little sister... I couldn't bring myself to turn her in until it was already too late."
It was a masterpiece of pure evil.
She framed me. She used my room to hide her stolen communications. She got herself a glorious hero's scar during the slaughter she orchestrated. And then she painted herself as the heartbroken sister.
Who in their right mind would ever believe an accused traitor over a scarred hero?
A sudden ripple in the crowd of training guards pulled me sharply out of my dark, painful thoughts.
The murmurs started low. Then they grew louder as the pack members stepped aside to clear a wide path across the dirt.
Celeste was walking straight toward the training grounds.
She wore a soft, cream-colored wool dress that hugged her perfect figure. Her dark hair was pinned back with delicate, sparkling clips.
She looked every bit the sweet, compassionate angel the pack believed her to be.
She stopped right in front of me. Her large brown eyes shimmered with unshed, perfect tears.
"Valerie," Celeste said softly.
Her voice carried across the entire courtyard so everyone could hear.
"Oh, sweetie... look at your hands. They're bleeding."
She took a step closer, kneeling right down beside me in the dirt.
The guards immediately softened their postures. They worshipped and adored her.
"Get away from her, Lady Celeste," Marcus said respectfully, tipping his head low. "Don't let that filth touch your clean dress. She doesn't deserve your pity."
"No, Marcus," Celeste replied, her voice trembling with manufactured emotion. "She is still my sister. No matter what she did... no matter how many innocent people died because of her betrayal... she’s my flesh and blood. I have to forgive her. It’s what mother always taught us about grace."
The crowd of watchers let out a collective sigh of admiration.
Celeste reached out. Her soft fingers gently touched my raw, bleeding wrist as if she were offering genuine comfort.
But the second her hand closed over my skin, her fingers twisted hard.
She dug her long, manicured fingernails deep into my open cuts.
I gasped, biting my tongue so hard I tasted copper. But I refused to give her the satisfaction of screaming out loud in front of them.
Celeste leaned in close, her face inches from mine. Her sweet, angelic smile morphed instantly into a cold, wicked smirk.
"Enjoy your last hours, little sister," Celeste whispered. Her voice was like ice venom directly into my ear. "Tomorrow at dawn, the axe falls. You'll be dead before the sun reaches the trees. And when you're gone, nobody will ever know the truth. I won."
She pulled back instantly, wiping a fake tear from her cheek with a delicate hand. Her expression returned to one of sorrowful grace.
"Be strong, Valerie," Celeste said loudly, standing up and smoothing out her pristine dress. "I’ll pray for your soul tonight."
With a chorus of whispered praises following her every step, Celeste turned around and walked gracefully back toward the pack house.
She left me kneeling in the dirt with blood dripping steadily from my torn wrist.
"All right, show's over, traitor!" Marcus shouted, kicking my broom handle hard enough to rattle my bones. "Stop playing the victim and get your lazy ass down to the kitchens. The master chef needs vegetables chopped for the midnight feast. Move!"
I didn't answer him.
I slowly picked up my broom, left it by the fence, and dragged my broken body toward the kitchen doors.
The warmth inside the giant kitchen was suffocating. It was thick with the rich smells of roasted meat, seasoned vegetables, and fresh bread.
Outside the tall windows, the entire pack was alive with noise and light. Lanterns hung from every tree branch. People were laughing, dancing, and drinking.
They weren't mourning the dead tonight. They were celebrating.
"There you are!" the head chef barked, shoving a massive wooden crate of dirty carrots and potatoes into my arms. "Sit and get to work. If I find a single speck of dirt left on these later, I'll have the guards whip you until you can't stand. The least you can do is peel some root vegetables before your time comes."
I sat down on my usual hard wooden stool in the dark pantry corner, pulling a dull paring knife from the counter.
My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped the first carrot.
*Tomorrow at dawn,* Celeste’s words echoed in my head.
I just had to survive the night.
I stared at the dirty roots, my chest hollow and numb. Hours passed by in a blur of repetitive motion. The kitchen staff yelled orders, the feast outside grew louder, and my fingers grew stiffer and more numb with every root I peeled.
Finally, the heavy kitchen doors were locked for the night.
Before I could even drag myself toward my small utility closet, two guards grabbed me roughly by the arms, hauling me up to my feet.
"Come on, traitor," the first guard snarled, shoving me forward. "You don't get the closet tonight. The masters want you locked away in the lower cells until dawn."
They dragged me through the damp, stone-walled corridors beneath the pack house, throwing me violently into a dark, freezing iron cell.
I curled up on the freezing stone floor, pulling my knees tight against my chest to trap whatever little body heat I had left. My eyes stung with hot tears.
I thought I had a few more hours left. I thought I had until dawn to breathe.
Footsteps echoed down the dark hallway. I raised my head slowly, shivering in the dark.
A tall, imposing figure stopped dead in front of my iron-barred cell.
The dim wall lamps caught the sharp angles of a handsome face, a dark velvet tunic, and eyes that burned with hatred.
Caspian. The eldest alpha heir.
He didn't speak a word at first. He just stared at me through the cold iron bars, his massive frame radiating terrifying power.
"You're shaking," Caspian’s voice was a low, dangerous vibration that made the damp air hum.
I didn't answer him. I pulled my torn rags tighter around my shoulders, my heart pounding wildly against my ribs.
"You thought you had until dawn, didn't you?" Caspian asked quietly, a cruel, bitter smile touching the corner of his lips as he stepped closer to the bars.
My breath hitched in my throat. "What... what do you mean?"
"Celeste told you that you had until morning, didn't she?" Caspian scoffed softly, shaking his head. "She has such a kind heart. She always tries to give people false hope."
He gripped the iron bars with both hands, his knuckles turning white as his striking blue eyes flashed a sudden, terrifying gold.
"There is no waiting until dawn," Caspian whispered, deadly absolute. "The celebration outside is peaking right now. The pack wants your blood tonight. The execution isn't tomorrow morning. It’s right now, at midnight. And I am going to be the one holding the axe."
