Chapter 1
ZOE
“Choose, Chris,” the rogue leader growls, his yellow eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. “Your wife or your lover. You can only save one.”
The cold metal chains bite into my wrists as I hang suspended in the abandoned warehouse, my body screaming in agony. Blood drips steadily from the fresh wounds covering my arms and legs, each drop echoing in the hollow space like a countdown to my death.
My heart pounds as I look at my mate—no, my former mate, Chris Wolfden—standing ten feet away. His jaw clenches, his dark eyes darting between Amy and me.
Amy was my stepsister, my husband’s lover.
Our family! I’m so sorry I fell in love with you, Chris. I know I’m a terrible person for loving my sister’s husband, but please... our baby is innocent.”
Sister. The word tastes like poison. We shared the same blood, the same pack, the same home. And she used every advantage to steal everything from me.
“You’re lying,” I gasp, forcing strength into my voice. “She’s working with them, Chris. She helped them plan this. Look at the rogues—they haven’t touched her. Not really.”
The rogue leader backhands me across the face, splitting my lip. “Shut up, Luna. Your time is over.”
Chris’s face flickered with hesitation. He was starting to doubt, starting to see through Amy’s act.
That’s when she makes her final play.
“Choose her,” Amy suddenly cries out, turning to the rogues. “Take me instead. I’m the one who committed the real sin. Let ZOE live.”
The lead rogue laughs, a sound like grinding bones. “Actually, we’re more interested in the pregnant one. She’ll fetch a better price.”
He strikes Amy across the stomach, and she screams, doubling over as much as the chains allow. The sound is raw, genuine terror.
“No!” Chris lunges forward, only to be held back by two more rogues. “Take my wife! Take ZOE! Just leave Amy and the baby alone!”
The words hit me like a physical blow. After everything—all the years of devotion, all the sacrifices I made for our pack, for him—he chooses her without hesitation.
“Chris,” I breathe, but he won’t look at me anymore.
“I’m sorry, ZOE,” Amy whispers, meeting my eyes with what anyone else might mistake for regret. But I see the triumph gleaming beneath her tears. “In the next life, maybe things will be different.”
“You’re not getting away with this,” I snarled as the rogues released her chains. “I will make you pay for this!”
But Chris is already gathering Amy in his arms, pressing his hand protectively over her belly as they prepare to leave. He doesn’t spare me a single glance.
“Don’t follow us,” he tells the rogues without turning around. “We had no part in this.”
Just then, Amy turns to me. The look on her face—sly and triumphant—shatters what’s left of my heart.
The warehouse door slams shut behind them.
It cut off my only way out.
Pain tore through me as the rogues closed in. Amy’s family had planned to destroy our pack completely—and I had helped them, all because I trusted the wrong person.
Claws shredded my clothes, and my stomach was ripped open. The snarls and triumphant yells of the rogue wolves rang in my ears, fueling a fury that exploded with every drop of blood.
My wolf whimpered once… then fell silent forever.
If I ever get another chance, I’ll make them all pay.
***
Sunlight streams through the windows of the Werewolf Academy’s main courtyard, warm against my face. I blink, disoriented. The warehouse is gone. The chains, the blood, the agony—all of it vanished.
I’m standing in front of the fountain where I used to make wishes as a student, wearing my favorite blue sundress. My hands are unmarked, my body whole and strong. Around me, familiar faces from my past watch with barely concealed anticipation.
This is my eighteenth birthday. The day I confessed my feelings to Chris in front of half the academy.
For a moment, I was frozen.
Wasn’t I already dead? Those rogue wolves had humiliated me, tortured me to death.
My fingers curled into fists as the shock gave way to cold clarity. I was alive again—reborn, though I had no idea how. But the fact was, I’d been given a second chance.
I lifted my head, taking in everything that was painfully familiar.
This time, I wouldn’t be the naive girl who trusted the wrong people. This time, I would rewrite my pack’s fate.
“Are you going to say something, or just stand there all day?”
Chris’s voice cuts through the crowd’s murmur. He approaches with that same arrogant stride I once found attractive, his dark hair catching the light.
Hatred floods through me at the sight of him. This is the man who chose Amy over me when the rogues forced him to pick between us. The man who used our mate bond to restrain me while I was tortured to death. The man whose betrayal destroyed everything I loved.
In my past life, I was so nervous I could barely speak. I stumbled over my words, declaring my love like some lovesick fool while he watched with growing disgust.
Now, I looked at him with nothing but hatred. The faint curl of his lip told me I was beneath his notice. His gaze slid past me, settling on Amy, who lingered at the edge of the crowd, her face painted with false concern.
“If it weren’t for your father’s arrangement,” Chris shouted, his voice carrying so everyone could hear, “I wouldn’t even be here. Stop dreaming, Zoe. I will never like you.”
The crowd tittered with cruel amusement. They’d come expecting a show—the proud Alpha’s daughter humiliated by her own mate’s rejection.
I smiled, but my eyes stayed locked on him. Beneath my skin, my wolf snarled, claws itching to strike. I couldn’t kill him… not yet. Patience was part of the hunt.
“Good,” I said, my voice clear, echoing across the courtyard. “I don’t like you either. Let’s call off the engagement.”
The proud, arrogant Chris froze in place, like he’d been suddenly paralyzed.
MARCUS
I sit beside Cyrus’s bed, my fingers pressed to my temple as I try to fight off the exhaustion clawing at the edges of my vision.
Several days have passed since the engagement banquet, and Cyurs hasn’t moved. Hasn’t opened his eyes. Hasn’t given me any sign that he’s still fighting in there.
I know what happens to someone who stays under this long. The body starts to shut down—muscles atrophy, organs slow, and the brain struggles to maintain itself without stimulus. Even with the best medical care, there’s only so much time before the damage becomes irreversible.
And we’re running out of it.
I lean forward, elbows on my knees, and speak quietly even though I know he probably can’t hear me.
“Come on, Cyrus. You’ve fought worse than this.” My voice sounds hollow in the sterile room. “You survived assassination attempts, political coups, battles that should have killed you ten times over. Don’t let this be what takes you down.”
Nothing. Just the steady beep of the monitors and the soft hiss of the ventilator.
I try a different approach—something I swore I wouldn’t do, but desperation makes liars of us all.
“Zoe needs you.” The words taste bitter coming out. “If you don’t wake up, they’re going to tear her apart. The pack, the kingdom—everyone’s already turning on her. Without you here to protect her, she won’t survive this.”
It’s cruel. Manipulative. But if there’s anything left of Cyrus in there, anything that can still respond, it would be her name.
For a second, nothing happens.
Then his eyes move beneath his lids.
I’m on my feet before I can think, my hands gripping the bed rail. “Cyrus? Can you hear me?”
I lean over him, searching his face for any other sign—a twitch, a breath pattern change, anything.
But he’s still again. Completely motionless except for the mechanical rise and fall of his chest.
I exhale slowly and straighten up, running a hand through my hair. False alarm. Just my exhausted mind seeing what it wants to see.
Then something catches my eye.
For just a fraction of a second, I could swear I see a faint blue light pulse from the bracelet on his wrist. It’s subtle—barely there—but it looks like it’s seeping into his skin before vanishing completely.
I blink hard, pressing my fingers to my eyes.
When I look again, there’s nothing. Just the dull metal of the bracelet sitting against his skin like it always has.
I’m losing it. That’s what this is. Days of barely sleeping, living on coffee and stress, watching my friend die by inches—of course I’m seeing things that aren’t there.
I shake my head and reach for the medicine the Saintess provided. I carefully place one on Cyrus’s tongue and tilt his head back slightly, making sure it goes down.
Then I wait.
At first, nothing changes. The monitors continue their steady rhythm, the numbers holding at the same dangerously low levels they’ve been stuck at for days.
But then—
The heart rate climbs. Just a little at first, then more steadily. The blood pressure follows, ticking upward in small increments until it settles into normal range.
I stare at the screen, not quite believing what I’m seeing.
I’ve seen powerful medicine before. Rare herbs, expensive treatments, things that cost more than most people make in a year. But this—this is something else entirely. The change is too fast, too complete, like his body just remembered how to function properly.
I press two fingers to his pulse, feeling it beat strong and steady beneath my touch.
“Cyrus?” I lean over him again, my voice urgent. “Cyrus, can you hear me?”
His eyes open.
The gaze that meets mine is sharp and cold—filled with a hostility that makes every instinct I have scream to take a step back.
But relief crashes through me so hard I almost laugh. He’s alive. He’s awake. He’s here.
“Welcome back,” I manage, my voice rougher than I mean it to be.
His lips move, the word coming out raw and hoarse from days of disuse.
“Where is Zoe?”
My stomach drops.
I hesitate, my mind racing through possible responses. The truth sits heavy on my tongue, but I can’t just say it. Not when he’s barely conscious, not when his body is still recovering from whatever poison was in that blade.
“She’s fine,” I say carefully. “She just... hasn’t come to visit.”
Cyrus’s expression doesn’t change, but something shifts in his eyes—something that makes the temperature in the room feel like it dropped ten degrees.
“Tell me the truth,” he says quietly.
It’s not a request.
I hold his gaze for as long as I can, but under that cold, unwavering stare, I break.
“After the engagement banquet, she came here once,” I admit, the words coming out reluctantly. “Then she left. No one’s seen her since. The pack... they’re saying she’s cold-blooded. That she went off hunting and left you to die.”
For a long moment, Cyrus says nothing.
Then a sound escapes him—low and hollow, something that might have been a laugh if it held any warmth at all.
He tilts his head back against the pillow, and when he looks at me again, there’s nothing left in his eyes but ice.
“Leave.”
The word is quiet. Final.
I open my mouth to argue, to tell him he needs rest, that pushing me out won’t change anything.
But the look on his face stops me cold.
I turn and walk out of the room without another word.
