Rules are suggestions
There were exactly three rules Elara was supposed to follow that morning.
Do not leave the pack grounds.
Do not start a fight.
And, under absolutely no circumstances, embarrass her father in front of the council.
By breakfast, she had broken two of them.
The third was looking increasingly tempting.
“Elara.”
Her father said her name in the tone of a man questioning every decision that had led him to fatherhood.
She paused with one leg halfway through the kitchen window.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Her mother sat at the long wooden table with a cup of tea suspended halfway to her lips.
Her father stood beside the hearth, still dressed in the dark formal clothes he wore for council meetings.
And Elara—
Elara was hanging through a window.
Upside down.
Covered in mud.
With leaves tangled in her hair.
“Good morning,” she said.
Her father closed his eyes.
Her mother slowly lowered her cup.
“Elara,” he repeated.
“Yes?”
“Why are you entering my house through a window?”
She glanced down at herself.
Or technically up, considering her current position.
“The door seemed judgmental.”
Her mother's lips twitched.
Her father saw it.
“Do not encourage her.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You're smiling.”
“I am absolutely not.”
Elara finally managed to pull herself through the window.
Unfortunately, her boot caught on the frame.
She hit the kitchen floor with a spectacular crash.
A chair rattled.
Something metallic rolled beneath the table.
Her mother leaned sideways and looked down at her.
“Elara?”
“I’m fine.”
“You landed on your face.”
“I said I’m fine.”
Her father stared at the ceiling.
Perhaps he was praying.
Perhaps he was asking the Moon Goddess why she had given him only one child and made that child Elara.
Elara pushed herself upright.
Her hair fell around her like a wild red curtain.
It reached nearly to her hips when it was behaving.
It was rarely behaving.
Thick copper-red curls had escaped the braid she had attempted sometime before sunrise, and half the forest appeared to have come home with her.
She pulled a twig from one curl.
Then another.
She inspected the second one.
“Huh.”
Her mother raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“I don’t remember that tree.”
Her father made a low sound.
“Elara.”
She grinned.
That was usually a mistake.
Her father's expression darkened.
Definitely a mistake.
Elara was twenty-three years old, daughter of Alpha Aldric Vale, heir to one of the oldest packs in the northern territories—
and apparently still incapable of returning home like a normal person.
To be fair, normal had never suited her.
Elara was built for movement.
Strong legs. Toned arms. A body hardened by years of training, running and ignoring repeated instructions to stay away from the warriors' practice grounds.
She was athletic, but she had inherited her mother's softer curves too, something the formal dresses selected for her tended to emphasize far more than Elara appreciated.
Her face was another source of irritation.
Too feminine, according to Elara.
Her bright green eyes looked even brighter against her pale skin and fiery hair, and her full lips had the unfortunate tendency to make her look amused even when she was seriously considering violence.
Today, however, she actually was amused.
Her father was not.
“Where were you?”
Elara's smile weakened.
“Outside.”
“I can see that.”
“In the forest.”
“Elara.”
“The eastern forest.”
Her father went very still.
Her mother sighed.
There it was.
Rule number one.
Broken.
Aldric slowly folded his arms.
“You crossed the eastern boundary.”
Elara suddenly found the mud on her trousers fascinating.
“Define crossed.”
“Elara.”
“One foot?”
“Elara.”
“Two feet?”
His eyes narrowed.
She exhaled.
“Fine. Technically, all of me crossed it.”
“How far?”
Silence.
“Elara.”
“Not very.”
Her mother rested her chin against her hand.
“How far is ‘not very’?”
Elara considered lying.
Unfortunately, both of her parents could smell lies.
An inconvenient feature of being surrounded by werewolves.
“Three miles.”
Her father stared at her.
“Four.”
His stare intensified.
“Five, but the last mile barely counts because I was being chased.”
Her mother's cup hit the table.
“What?”
Her father's face changed instantly.
The irritation disappeared.
The Alpha appeared.
“By whom?”
Elara blinked.
“Oh. No one.”
“You said you were chased.”
“I was.”
“By whom?”
“A boar.”
Silence.
Her mother covered her mouth.
Aldric stared at his daughter for several long seconds.
“A boar.”
“A very aggressive boar.”
“Elara—”
“In my defense, I didn't know it had babies.”
Her mother's shoulders began to shake.
Aldric pointed at his wife.
“Do not laugh.”
That finished her.
Lysandra burst into laughter.
Elara smiled.
Her father looked betrayed by both women.
“This is not funny.”
“It was slightly funny,” Elara said.
“You crossed a restricted boundary.”
“Yes.”
“You ignored my direct order.”
“Yes.”
“You were nearly attacked by a wild boar.”
Elara hesitated.
“Technically, it did attack me.”
Her mother's laughter stopped.
Aldric's face went blank.
Elara immediately regretted speaking.
“What?”
“It missed.”
“Elara.”
“Mostly.”
“Elara.”
“It ripped my coat.”
Aldric's gaze dropped.
Elara instinctively turned sideways.
Too late.
Her father's eyes landed on the long tear running through the back of her leather coat.
His jaw tightened.
“Oh, come on. I’m not hurt.”
“You could have been.”
“But I wasn't.”
“That is not the point.”
“That is exactly the point.”
Her father stepped forward.
Elara straightened automatically.
Most wolves lowered their gaze when Alpha Aldric was angry.
Elara had spent her entire life doing the opposite.
Maybe that was her problem.
Or his.
Probably both.
“You are my daughter,” Aldric said.
“I am aware.”
“My only daughter.”
“Still aware.”
“My heir.”
“Unfortunately.”
His expression sharpened.
“Elara.”
She sighed.
There was the part she hated.
Not being his daughter.
Never that.
She loved her father.
Loved the way he used to carry her through the forest on his shoulders when she was little. Loved that he had taught her how to fight when the other elders insisted an Alpha's daughter should learn diplomacy instead.
She loved her mother too.
Lysandra had never tried to make her smaller, quieter, prettier or easier to manage.
But being their only child meant every mistake mattered.
Every risk frightened them.
Every act of rebellion became evidence that Elara was not ready for the future waiting for her.
And the harder they tried to protect her from that future, the harder she fought them.
It was a vicious little cycle.
“You cannot keep doing whatever you want,” Aldric said.
“Why not?”
“Because you will lead this pack one day.”
“Exactly. Shouldn't I know what exists beyond our borders?”
“You know perfectly well why the eastern boundary is restricted.”
She did.
Relations with the neighboring packs had deteriorated badly over the past decade.
Territories were watched more closely now.
Old alliances had weakened.
Old grudges had grown teeth.
Elara also knew that telling her not to go somewhere was the quickest possible way to guarantee she would eventually go there.
Her father should have learned this by now.
“I wasn't looking for trouble.”
Aldric gave her a long look.
Her mother coughed delicately into her hand.
Elara frowned.
“What?”
Her mother gave her a loving smile.
“Darling, trouble could be asleep at the bottom of a locked well and somehow you would still manage to wake it.”
“That feels unfair.”
“You stole a horse when you were nine.”
“I returned him.”
“Three days later.”
“He wanted adventure.”
“He belonged to the Beta.”
“He was bored.”
Aldric pinched the bridge of his nose.
“And at fourteen?”
Elara groaned.
“We agreed never to mention fourteen.”
“You challenged three boys from warrior training.”
“They said girls couldn't fight.”
“You broke one boy's nose.”
“He had another nostril.”
Her mother snorted.
Aldric swung toward her.
“Lysandra.”
“What? That was funny.”
“It was not funny.”
“It was a little funny.”
He looked between them.
“I live with wolves.”
Elara raised a finger.
“We are wolves.”
“That was not what I meant.”
Before Elara could respond, footsteps approached the kitchen.
Beta Marcus appeared in the doorway.
He stopped.
His gaze traveled over Elara.
The mud.
The torn coat.
The leaves.
The scratched boots.
Then he looked at Aldric.
“I assume this is a bad time.”
“Excellent observation,” Aldric muttered.
Marcus nodded solemnly.
“I’ll come back.”
“Coward,” Elara said.
He immediately disappeared.
Her mother laughed again.
Aldric turned back to his daughter.
“You have council dinner tonight.”
Elara's face fell.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“You are attending.”
“I would rather fight the boar again.”
“Perhaps the boar will have better manners.”
Elara pressed a hand dramatically against her chest.
“Father.”
“Seven o'clock.”
“I have training.”
“You are excused.”
“I promised Mara I would help with patrol.”
“I reassigned it.”
Elara stared at him.
He stared back.
The Alpha versus his daughter.
An ancient battle.
Neither side willing to surrender.
“You planned this,” she accused.
“I raised you. Of course I planned this.”
“You are becoming manipulative in your old age.”
“I’m forty-eight.”
“Exactly.”
“Elara.”
She smiled sweetly.
His eyes narrowed.
There was love behind his irritation.
That was the worst part.
If he had been cruel, she could have hated him.
If he had been controlling simply because he enjoyed control, she could have defied him without guilt.
But Aldric loved her enough to be terrified of losing her.
And Elara loved him enough to feel guilty every time she frightened him.
Not guilty enough to stop.
But guilty.
It was progress.
Probably.
Her mother stood and approached her.
Lysandra reached into Elara's hair and removed a small leaf.
Then another.
Then—
“Is that a feather?”
Elara looked at it.
“Oh.”
Aldric stared.
“Why is there a feather in your hair?”
Elara backed toward the door.
“Interesting story.”
“Elara.”
“Long story.”
“Elara.”
“I should bathe.”
Her father pointed at her.
“Seven o'clock.”
“Absolutely.”
“And you will wear the blue dress.”
Elara stopped.
Slowly turned.
“The blue dress?”
“Yes.”
“The one with the corset?”
“Yes.”
“The one that makes breathing optional?”
“Elara—”
“I would rather be naked.”
Her father went pale.
Her mother burst out laughing.
Elara seized the opportunity.
She ran.
“Elara!”
“Love you!”
“Seven o'clock!”
“No promises!”
“Elara Vale!”
She was already halfway up the stairs.
Her father's voice followed her through the house.
“One day that girl is going to kill me.”
Elara slowed.
Her mother's answer floated from the kitchen.
“No.”
A pause.
“She'll just make you wish she had.”
Elara smiled.
That was probably true.
She reached her bedroom, pushed open the door and caught sight of herself in the mirror.
She looked terrible.
Mud streaked one cheek.
Her curls had doubled in size.
A scratch crossed her collarbone.
Her green eyes were bright with the thrill of having survived another argument.
Elara grinned at her reflection.
Most Alpha daughters were polished.
Elegant.
Obedient.
Elara had tried obedience once.
She had been six.
It had lasted approximately eleven minutes.
She pulled the feather from her hair and placed it carefully on the dresser.
Then she noticed something sticking out of the pocket of her ruined coat.
The smile slowly disappeared from her face.
Elara reached inside.
Her fingers closed around a small piece of black fabric.
Not hers.
Not from the forest.
She had found it caught on a branch beyond the eastern border.
At first, she had thought nothing of it.
Now she unfolded it.
Silver thread formed an emblem in the corner.
A wolf beneath a crescent moon.
Elara knew that symbol.
Everyone did.
Her amusement vanished.
That mark belonged to one of the most powerful packs in the world.
And to the Alpha whose name even seasoned wolves spoke carefully.
Lucian.
Elara stared at the fabric.
Then slowly smiled.
Her father was going to kill her.
Because there was absolutely no chance she was staying away from the eastern border now.
