About

Seventeen-year-old Lily has kept a secret from her friends: the wolf inside her. Born into a werewolf pack in Northern California, she's done everything she can to live quietly in both worlds, human and supernatural. Her best friends have no idea what she is, and Lily knows she has to keep it that way. Canne, the Alpha's son, has always been the one person she looked up to and the main object of her affection. But when he leaves for warrior training without saying goodbye, Lily is left heartbroken and restless. Hoping for a break from pack life, she agrees to spend summer at Lake Chelan with her human friends. There, she meets Tristan, a handsome and curious human. With him, she feels seen for who she is, not what she's expected to be. He brings out a side of her that's free, untamed in a different way-far from the rules of her world. And more importantly, someone who can take her mind off Canne. Everything feels like it could finally be hers until strange things start happening. Unexplainable things. There's a darkness surrounding her. When a black wolf appears in the night and saves her life, her inner wolf, Sheila, responds with a deep, primal recognition, one she can't explain. Torn between love and loyalty, instinct and reason, two worlds and two wolves, Lily must decide who to trust-before someone else decides for her. The hunt has begun. And Lily isn't just any prey-she may be the key to a rising power born in shadows.

Chapter 1 Lily's Memories

I can't remember when I didn't have a fascination with Canne. My memories are filled with happy times of him laughing and smiling and sad moments when he swooped in and made everything better.

There was a time when we were nearly five, building sandcastles at the beach. I had spent ages making it perfect, carefully sculpting each sand mound. Canne had sat there with me, making sure no one ruined it. Now and then, he would get up to look around for some seashells, but mostly, he would sit there, watching patiently. It took hours, too! My smile would get bigger every time he offered praise. "The shells look pretty there," he would add, or "Wow, it's supertall."

We were sticky with sunscreen, giggling at the way the wet sand squished between our toes. I remember how he cheered when the tallest tower didn't fall. He said it was magic, that I must have packed it perfectly. I believed him.

We had started school only a short time after that day. I was petrified, but Canne held my hand until we reached the door and told me everything would be OK. It made me feel better. His mom had dragged him off to class, and I remember looking at him, thinking how amazing he was. He had such a sense of calm, even way back then.

I remember his hand was warm and a little sweaty in mine, but I didn't want to let go. Even when the door closed behind him, I watched where he'd been, just a little braver because he'd said I could be.

Over the years, Canne showed kindness and patience toward me. He ensured that I was included in activities despite being the biggest klutz.

In middle school, we spent countless afternoons in the kitchen, baking, taste-testing, and laughing. Canne would help my mom and me, though his mother always sighed in disapproval. He used to laugh so hard when I ended up with flour in my hair, on my cheeks, probably everywhere. He made me happy. He'd nudge my elbow when I tried to crack eggs, and I'd always miss a bit of shell. "Just a little crunch," he'd say, trying not to laugh. He made even failed cookies feel like masterpieces.

But nothing compared to what he did when my dad died.

As a pack warrior, my dad had been given a hero's farewell for protecting us all.

A group of rogues had tried to attack our pack to hunt for the young and weak. To try and steal us and take us away from our pack. Rumors about what they did were horrific, and Goddess knows I never wanted to know if there was any truth.

But the big truth for me was they took my dad away. He and a few other warriors died while taking all the rogues out. The rogues didn't get anywhere near the pack, but they created a lifetime of damage.

The world felt wrong after that. Too quiet. Too big. And too small at the same time.

After the attack, I didn't say much for a few weeks; I didn't cry or anything. In all honesty, I was numb. It had been Canne to come and find me by the waterfall. He sat next to me and waited patiently for hours until I was ready to acknowledge my dad wasn't returning. It had been Canne who let me finally discard my emotions and sob on his shoulder.

He didn't ask questions or say 'sorry for your loss' like everyone else. He just sat with me, legs crossed, hands in his lap, like he'd planned to stay forever if I needed him to. That quiet meant more than anything else.

By high school, Canne had become so busy with his activities, school work, and training that I rarely saw him. I struggled with school. The schoolwork was hard, so my mom would make me work extra on it at home. I never really grew out of my awkward and shy phase, so I didn't have a lot of friends. Two, I had two friends - humans at that. I also didn't inherit my dad's coordination and physicality, so I wasn't cut out for warrior status. While Canne and the other pack high schoolers were developing these god-like physiques training, I was helping my mom out in the kitchen, probably eating too many cakes and adding curves, not six-packs. I'd joke that I was training for a bake-off, not a battle, and Mom would ruffle my hair and hand me the mixing spoon like it was a sword.

Canne would still come into the kitchen and pick at the food. There were moments when he would get quiet and stare, looking at me with deep viridian-colored eyes, strands of his dark brown hair falling loose and brushing his cheek. Sometimes, a tiny crease would form on his forehead, and I would stop whatever weird and awkward thing I was doing. Although I knew he was only a friend, by the time I was fifteen, I could barely breathe when he had given me those looks. They made my chest flutter in a way I didn't understand back then-like I was a balloon someone had let go of. Floating. Unsteady.

Looking back now, I realize how genuinely delusional I was. I saw Canne spend time with others and behave the same way, including giving others my look. My head had fantasized it was just for me, but no. I understood that by our junior year and now being seventeen years old, my infatuation was one-sided. Canne would only be a friend. He was patient and observant with everyone, kind to everyone, and inclusive to everyone. He was the epitome of a future leader-an Alpha's son.

And yet, my heart still hoped for something more.