FROZEN BONDS: THE HALF-BLOOD'S MATE

The night air smelled of pine, blood, and contempt.

I stood in the center of the Red River Pack's gathering grounds, my bare feet sinking into the cold, damp earth. Torches flickered all around me, casting dancing shadows on the faces of strangers who would soon become my captors. My wedding dress-if you could call it that-was a simple white linen garment, too thin for the mountain chill, too fine for a bride who had been bought and sold like livestock.

"Half-blood."

The whisper came from somewhere to my left. I didn't turn to see who spoke. I didn't need to.

"Dirty blood."

Another whisper, this time from behind. The words slithered through the crowd like snakes, wrapping around me, squeezing the air from my lungs. I kept my eyes forward, my chin raised, even as my heart hammered against my ribs like a caged bird.

Don't show weakness. Never show weakness.

That's what my mother had told me before she died. Before my father followed her to the grave, leaving me alone in a world that saw me as nothing more than a mistake. A mongrel. A creature not worthy of pack or family or love.

The crowd parted, and I saw him.

Ronan.

Alpha of the Red River Pack. My future husband. My owner.

He was massive-easily six and a half feet of muscle and arrogance. His reddish-brown hair caught the firelight like flames, and his golden eyes gleamed with the satisfaction of a predator who had just cornered his prey. He wore no shirt, only leather pants, and his chest was covered in the scars of countless battles. Battle wounds. Alpha marks. Trophies.

He climbed onto the raised platform where I stood, his movements fluid and powerful. When he reached me, he didn't take my hand. He didn't smile. He simply turned to face the pack and raised his arms.

"Tonight!" His voice boomed across the clearing, silencing every whisper, every rustle of leaves. "Tonight, Red River welcomes its newest member!"

The crowd cheered, but I heard the hesitation beneath it. The doubt.

Ronan continued, "For too long, our bloodline has remained unchanged. Pure, yes. Strong, yes. But purity without evolution is stagnation!" He paced the platform like a caged wolf, feeding off the crowd's energy. "I have brought us a new mare. A half-blood whose veins carry the blood of two packs-the weak Turkish Bozkurt line and a forgotten American lineage."

Mare.

He called me a mare. Like I was a horse to be bred.

"Her blood is tainted," Ronan said, and the crowd murmured agreement. "But tainted blood can be useful. It can create new warriors. Stronger warriors. Her children will carry my strength and her... unique genetics."

He looked at me then, really looked at me, and I saw nothing in his golden eyes but hunger. Not hunger for me-hunger for what my body could produce. Puppies. Warriors. Weapons.

"From tonight, she is your Luna," Ronan declared. "You will obey her as you obey me. You will protect her as you protect me. And you will watch her carefully, because half-bloods are unpredictable. Untamed. Wild."

He made me sound like an animal. A dangerous one.

The crowd cheered again, louder this time, and Ronan turned to face me fully. He stepped closer, so close I could smell the wolf on him-pine and musk and something darker, something cruel. He reached out and gripped my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes.

"You belong to me now," he said softly, for my ears only. "Try to run, and I will drag you back myself. Try to fight, and I will break you. You are mine, half-blood. Mine to use. Mine to breed. Mine to own."

I wanted to spit in his face. I wanted to shift and rip out his throat. But my wolf-that wild, uncontrollable part of me that had gotten me rejected from every pack I'd ever approached-remained silent. Cowering. Even she was afraid of this monster.

Ronan released my chin and turned back to the crowd, spreading his arms wide. "Tonight, we feast! Tomorrow, the mating ceremony. Red River has a new Luna!"

The pack erupted into howls and cheers, and I stood frozen on that platform, a statue in white, while the wolves celebrated their Alpha's latest acquisition. They didn't see me. They saw a broodmare. A half-blood. A thing.

I scanned the crowd as they began to disperse toward the long tables laden with food and drink. Most faces were hard, curious, or openly hostile. But then I saw her.

An older woman, her gray-streaked hair pulled back in a braid, her green eyes soft with something I hadn't seen in years: compassion. She stood apart from the others, leaning on a walking stick, watching me with an expression that made my throat tight.

She didn't cheer. She didn't smile. But when our eyes met, she gave me the slightest nod. Just a small movement, barely visible. But it meant everything.

As the crowd pushed forward to congratulate Ronan, the old woman shuffled closer to the platform. No one paid her any attention-she was invisible to them, just another old she-wolf past her prime. But I watched her carefully as she approached the edge of the platform, her hand reaching out as if to steady herself against the wood.

Something cold pressed into my palm.

I looked down. A small knife, its blade barely longer than my finger, its handle wrapped in worn leather. The old woman's eyes met mine again, and this time she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper:

"Run."

Then she was gone, swallowed by the crowd, leaving me standing there with a knife in my hand and a single word burning in my mind.

Run.

I quickly closed my fingers around the blade and tucked it into the folds of my dress. My heart was pounding so hard I thought everyone must hear it. Did she know something? Was she warning me? Or was she simply offering me a choice-a choice I hadn't had since my parents died?

"Lyra."

Ronan's voice made me jump. He was standing beside me again, watching me with narrowed eyes.

"Yes?" I managed to keep my voice steady.

"Come. You'll sit beside me at the feast." He didn't wait for my response, simply grabbed my wrist and pulled me off the platform.

I stumbled after him, my feet barely touching the ground, the knife pressed against my hip like a secret promise. As we walked through the crowd, I heard the whispers again:

"Half-blood."

"Dirty blood."

"Look at her. She can't even walk properly."

"Poor thing. She has no idea what's coming."

That last whisper came from a young woman with dark hair and frightened eyes. She quickly looked away when I glanced at her, but not before I saw the pity in her gaze. The fear.

What did she know that I didn't?

Ronan pulled me to the head of the longest table and pushed me onto a bench. He sat beside me, his massive thigh pressing against mine, his arm draping over the back of the bench like a cage. Trapping me.

"Eat," he commanded, gesturing to the food piled on the table. Roasted meat, fresh bread, wild berries. My stomach growled despite itself-I hadn't eaten since dawn.

I reached for a piece of bread, but before I could take a bite, Ronan's hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. His grip was like iron.

"Not that," he said. "Meat. You'll need your strength for tomorrow."

I dropped the bread and took a piece of roasted venison instead. Ronan released my wrist and watched me eat, his golden eyes never leaving my face. It was unnerving. Intimidating. And strangely possessive.

"You're prettier than I expected," he said after a long moment. "For a half-blood."

I said nothing, just kept chewing.

"I've had pure-blood bitches before," he continued, his voice low and intimate. "They're boring. Too obedient. Too easy." His hand slid from the back of the bench to my shoulder, his fingers tracing the edge of my dress's neckline. "I think you'll be different. I think you'll fight."

I stopped chewing.

"I like breaking things that fight," he whispered, leaning close to my ear. "It's more satisfying."

I forced myself to swallow, then reached for another piece of meat. My hand trembled slightly, and I prayed he didn't notice.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. His lips curled into a cruel smile, and he sat back, apparently satisfied with my fear.

The feast continued around us. Wolves laughed and ate and drank, celebrating their Alpha's new bride. No one looked at me. No one spoke to me. I was a decoration. A trophy. A broodmare.

And all the while, the knife pressed against my hip, a tiny spark of hope in a sea of despair.

As the night wore on and the fire burned low, I caught glimpses of the old woman again. She sat at the far end of a table, eating alone, her green eyes occasionally flicking to me. Watching. Waiting.

For what?

When the feast finally ended, Ronan pulled me to my feet. "Time to rest," he said. "Tomorrow is a long day."

He led me away from the clearing, away from the fires and the laughter, toward a large structure at the edge of the camp. His den. His home. My prison.

As we walked, I saw the old woman one last time. She stood in the shadows, barely visible, and as I passed, she raised her hand to her lips in a gesture I knew well: Be silent. Be brave. Be ready.

I nodded slightly, barely moving my head, and she disappeared into the darkness.

Ronan pushed open the door to his den and gestured me inside. The room was large, filled with furs and wooden furniture, a massive bed in the corner. It smelled like him-pine and musk and cruelty.

"You'll sleep here," he said. "With me."

My blood ran cold.

"Not tonight," he added, almost regretfully. "Tonight I have pack business. But tomorrow..." He stepped close, towering over me, his hand cupping my chin again. "Tomorrow, you'll learn what it means to be mine."

He released me and walked out, closing the door behind him. I heard a lock click, and then silence.

I stood in the center of that room, trembling, the knife still hidden in my dress. I pulled it out and looked at it in the faint moonlight filtering through a small window. It was small. Too small to kill an Alpha. But maybe big enough to buy me a chance.

I crossed to the window and looked out. The camp was quiet now, most of the pack sleeping off the feast. Beyond the structures, beyond the clearing, I could see the forest. Dark. Endless. Free.

Run.

The old woman's word echoed in my mind.

I looked at the knife. I looked at the window. I looked at the door.

Tomorrow, Ronan would claim me. Tomorrow, I would become his in every way that mattered. Unless...

Run.

My fingers tightened around the knife.

Run.

I crossed to the door and pressed my ear against it. Silence. I tested the lock-solid, but the wood around it was old. Weaker.

I had no plan. No idea where I would go. No guarantee I would survive the night.

But I had a knife. I had a choice. And for the first time in years, I chose to fight.

I didn't move.

The growl came again, low and threatening, vibrating through the wooden door like a warning. My hand tightened around the knife, my breath caught in my throat. Through the gap beneath the door, I saw shadows moving-paws, large ones, pacing back and forth.

He had left a guard.

Of course he had.

I backed away from the door slowly, silently, until my legs hit the edge of the bed. I sank onto the furs, still clutching the knife, my mind racing. There was no escape tonight. Not with a wolf outside that door. Not without a plan.

I looked at the window again. Too small to shift and climb through. Even if I could shift-which I couldn't control-I'd never make it. The guard would hear. Ronan would hear. And then...

I will drag you back myself. I will break you.

I shoved the knife beneath the furs on the bed and lay down, still in my white dress, still trembling. Sleep was impossible, but I closed my eyes and forced my breathing to slow. I would need my strength. Tomorrow. The next day. Whenever my chance came.

Dawn arrived too soon.

Light crept through the small window, painting the room in shades of gray and gold. I hadn't slept-not really-but I must have drifted at some point, because I didn't hear the door open. I didn't hear him enter.

I only felt his presence.

My eyes snapped open. Ronan stood at the foot of the bed, watching me with those golden eyes. He was dressed now-leather pants, a fur cloak over his broad shoulders-but he still radiated the same predatory intensity as the night before.

"You're awake," he said. It wasn't a question.

I sat up slowly, pushing the furs aside. My dress was wrinkled, my hair a mess, but I met his gaze without flinching. If he wanted fear, I wouldn't give it to him easily.

"Good," he said, a hint of approval in his voice. "You learn fast. Fear is weakness. I don't want a weak Luna."

He moved to the window, pushing aside the animal hide that served as a curtain. Sunlight flooded the room, and I blinked against its brightness.

"Today is your mating ceremony," he said, his back to me. "Tonight, you become mine in the eyes of the pack and the moon. But first, you need to understand what that means."

He turned to face me, leaning against the window frame with his arms crossed. In the daylight, I could see him more clearly-the scars on his chest, the hardness in his jaw, the coldness in those golden eyes that never quite warmed.

"Red River has rules," he began. "Rules that keep us strong. Rules that keep us alive. As my Luna, you will follow them without question."

I said nothing, just watched him.

"Rule one: An Alpha's word is law. When I speak, you obey. Not because you're weak, but because I am your Alpha. Your body, your blood, your wolf-they all belong to me now."

Mare. Broodmare. Property.

"Rule two: You will not speak to other males without my permission. You will not look at them. You will not acknowledge them. They are beneath you, and you are mine."

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if waiting for me to protest. I kept my face neutral.

"Rule three: You will bear my children. As many as it takes to strengthen our bloodline." He pushed off from the window and walked toward me, each step slow and deliberate. "Your half-blood status makes you unpredictable. But unpredictability can be useful. Your pups will be stronger for it. Fiercer."

He stopped in front of me, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body. "I will breed you until your womb gives me warriors. And then I will breed you again."

My stomach turned, but I didn't look away.

"You're brave," he said softly. "I like that. But bravery without submission is dangerous." He reached out and touched my hair, running a strand between his fingers. "I wonder what you smell like. Half-bloods always have a strange scent-two wolves fighting inside one body."

He leaned closer, inhaling near my neck, and I fought the urge to shove him away. His breath was warm against my skin, and I felt his body tense.

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Surprise? Interest? His nostrils flared, and he inhaled again, deeper this time.

"You..." He pulled back slightly, his gaze sharpening. "You smell different."

I didn't know what that meant, so I said nothing.

His eyes roamed over my face, my neck, my body beneath the wrinkled dress. There was disgust there-I could see it-but there was something else too. Something that looked almost like hunger. Not the hunger of a predator for prey. Something else.

He stepped back abruptly, as if catching himself. "Get up," he commanded. "You need to bathe and dress. The ceremony is at sunset."

I rose from the bed, keeping my movements slow and deliberate. As I passed him, his hand shot out and gripped my arm.

"One more thing," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "I know you have that knife."

My heart stopped.

"The old woman-Maeve. She thinks I didn't see. She thinks she's clever." His grip tightened, fingers digging into my flesh. "I let her give it to you. I wanted to see what you would do."

I stared at him, my mind racing. He knew. He knew all along.

"You didn't use it last night," he continued. "That was smart. You would have died. But tonight..." He leaned close, his lips brushing my ear. "Tonight, after the ceremony, you might be tempted. So let me make this clear."

His voice dropped to a whisper, cold as ice.

"If you try to run, I will find you. If you try to fight, I will break you. If you try to kill me, I will make you watch as I destroy everyone who ever showed you kindness." He pulled back, meeting my eyes. "Maeve. The servants who bathe you. Anyone who so much as looks at you with pity. I will kill them all, slowly, and you will watch."

My blood ran cold.

"Do you understand, half-blood?"

I nodded, unable to speak.

"Good." He released my arm, leaving red marks where his fingers had been. "Now go. Bathe. Prepare. And remember-every choice you make affects more than just you."

He turned and walked out, leaving me standing there with his threat echoing in my mind and the hidden knife still beneath the furs, now useless.

Two women entered moments later, their eyes downcast, their movements nervous. They led me to a bathing chamber-a small room with a wooden tub filled with steaming water. They helped me undress, their hands gentle but quick, and I sank into the hot water, trying to wash away the feeling of his touch.

They scrubbed my skin with sweet-smelling oils and washed my hair with herbs. They dressed me in a new garment-not white this time, but deep red, the color of the Red River Pack. It was beautiful, intricate, and it felt like a cage.

As they worked, I caught the eye of one-a young woman, barely older than me, with frightened eyes and trembling hands.

"What's your name?" I whispered.

She glanced toward the door, then back at me. "Elara," she breathed.

"Elara," I repeated. "How long have you been here?"

"All my life. I was born here." She continued braiding my hair, her movements quick and efficient. "Please, my lady, we shouldn't talk. If Alpha finds out..."

"He won't." I reached back and touched her hand briefly. "Thank you, Elara."

Her eyes widened, then softened with something that looked like pity. The same pity I'd seen in the crowd last night. The same fear.

She leaned close as she adjusted my braid, her lips nearly touching my ear. "The old one-Maeve-she says to wait. To watch. To be ready." She pulled back quickly, her face neutral again.

My heart pounded. Maeve had allies here. People who would help.

But Ronan's threat echoed in my mind: I will kill them all, slowly, and you will watch.

I couldn't risk them. I couldn't risk anyone.

When they finished dressing me, Elara and the other woman led me back to Ronan's den. The knife was gone from beneath the furs-someone had found it, or Ronan had taken it. Either way, I was weaponless again.

The day passed in a blur. Women came and went, bringing food I couldn't eat, fussing over details I couldn't care about. The sun crawled across the sky, each hour bringing me closer to sunset. Closer to the ceremony. Closer to him.

As the light began to fade, Ronan returned.

He had bathed and dressed too-leather pants, a fur cloak, his chest bare and gleaming with oils. He looked every inch the Alpha. Every inch the monster.

"Come," he said, holding out his hand. "It's time."

I looked at his hand, then at his face. In his golden eyes, I saw anticipation. Cruelty. And beneath it all, that strange hunger I'd noticed before-not just for my body, but for something else. Something I couldn't name.

I took his hand.

His fingers closed around mine, warm and strong, and he led me out of the den toward the clearing where the pack waited. Torches blazed. Drums pounded. Wolves howled.

And I walked toward my fate, Maeve's word still burning in my mind:

Run.

But how could I run when running meant death for everyone who helped me?

As we entered the clearing, the crowd parted, and I saw the ceremonial platform-the same one where Ronan had introduced me last night, now decorated with flowers and furs and symbols of pack unity. At its center stood an ancient stone altar, stained dark with what I prayed was not blood.

Ronan led me up the steps, and the drums fell silent. The howling stopped. Every eye in the pack was on us.

"Tonight," Ronan's voice boomed across the clearing, "I take my Luna. Tonight, our bloodlines merge. Tonight, Red River grows stronger!"

The crowd cheered, and Ronan turned to me with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Kneel," he commanded.

I hesitated for just a moment-one small act of defiance-but then I knelt. The cold stone bit into my knees through the thin fabric of my dress.

Ronan produced a blade from his belt-not the small knife Maeve had given me, but a ceremonial dagger, ancient and sharp. He cut his palm first, letting the blood drip onto the altar. Then he reached for my hand.

"Your blood joins mine," he intoned. "Your wolf joins my pack. Your life belongs to Red River."

He pressed the blade to my palm. Pain flared, sharp and bright, and my blood joined his on the ancient stone. The pack howled their approval, but I barely heard them.

All I could hear was Ronan's voice, soft and private, meant only for me:

"You're mine now, half-blood. Forever."

The invisible chain tightened around my heart, and I gasped.

Ronan's golden eyes gleamed with satisfaction. He released my bleeding hand and raised both arms to the crowd, his own blood still dripping from his palm. The pack howled their approval, their voices merging into a single primal scream that shook the very air.

I remained on my knees, staring at my hand. The cut wasn't deep-a ceremonial wound, meant to symbolize unity-but it burned like fire. Or maybe that was the bond. Maybe that was the chain wrapping itself around my soul, anchoring me to this monster.

"Rise, Luna," Ronan commanded.

I rose on unsteady legs, and he pulled me against him, his bloody hand gripping my waist. The crowd cheered louder. I wanted to shove him away. I wanted to run. But Maeve's words echoed in my mind: Not yet.

So I stood there, frozen, while the pack celebrated my capture.

The drums started again, faster this time, and the crowd began to dance-if you could call it that. Wolves in human form moved with an animalistic grace, their bodies twisting and turning around the ceremonial fire. The flames leaped higher, fed by some oil or spell, and the night seemed to pulse with primal energy.

Ronan leaned down, his lips brushing my ear. "The blood pact isn't complete. There's more."

More. Of course there was more.

He led me to the center of the clearing where a large stone basin sat on a pedestal. The basin was ancient-carved with symbols I didn't recognize, stained dark with centuries of blood. Pack blood. Luna blood. Victim blood.

"The bowl of unity," Ronan explained, his voice carrying to the crowd. "Every member of Red River has bled into this bowl. Their blood mingles here, binding us together as one pack, one family, one unstoppable force."

He gestured, and pack members began approaching the bowl. One by one, they cut their palms and let their blood drip into the stone basin. Young and old, male and female, they came and bled and stepped back, their eyes glowing with fervor.

"Your turn will come," Ronan said. "But first-the Alpha's right."

He produced the ceremonial dagger again-the same one he'd used on the altar. It gleamed in the firelight, ancient and hungry.

"In some packs," he said conversationally, "the Alpha and Luna cut together. Equal wounds. Equal sacrifice." He stepped closer. "But Red River is not 'some packs.' Here, the Alpha takes what is his."

Before I could react, he grabbed my left wrist and flipped my arm over. The dagger moved so fast I didn't see it-only felt it. Fire exploded along my inner forearm as the blade sliced deep.

I cried out-I couldn't help it. The cut was nothing like the ceremonial wound on my palm. This was deliberate. Cruel. Deep.

Blood poured from the wound, running down my arm in rivulets, dripping onto the ground. Ronan held my wrist over the bowl, and I watched my blood-my half-blood, dirty blood-fall into the basin where it mingled with the rest.

"Now you're really mine," he whispered, his lips brushing my ear. "My property. My possession. My thing."

My thing.

Something inside me snapped.

Deep in my chest, where my wolf had always cowered and hid, a fire ignited. Not the warm fire of comfort or the bright fire of joy. This was a cold fire. An angry fire. A fire that had been smoldering for years, fed by every rejection, every whisper of "half-blood" and "dirty blood" and "mongrel."

My wolf raised her head.

For the first time in my life, she didn't cower. She didn't hide. She looked through my eyes at the monster holding my bleeding arm, and she snarled.

Kill him, she whispered. Tear out his throat. Bathe in his blood.

I felt my eyes begin to glow-that telltale sign of the wolf rising. My canines lengthened slightly, pressing against my lips. My fingers twitched, claws threatening to emerge.

Ronan felt it. His grip on my wrist tightened, and he looked at me with sudden interest-not fear, never fear, but something like curiosity.

"Ah," he breathed. "There she is. The half-blood wolf. The mongrel beast." He smiled, and it was the cruelest smile I'd ever seen. "I wondered when you'd show yourself."

I tried to pull away, but his grip was iron. The wound on my arm screamed in protest, and fresh blood spilled into the bowl.

"Don't," he warned softly. "Don't shift. Don't fight. Don't even think about it." He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear. "Because if you shift now, if you attack me in front of my pack, I'll have no choice but to put you down. And I'd rather not kill my new mare before I've bred her."

The words hit me like ice water.

I thought of Maeve, watching from the crowd. I thought of Elara, the frightened girl who had braided my hair. I thought of everyone who might have helped me, everyone who might pay the price if I failed.

My wolf snarled again, furious at my cowardice. But I pushed her down. I forced my eyes to stop glowing. I retracted my claws and canines.

Ronan watched the transformation with something like disappointment. "Pity," he murmured. "I would have enjoyed the fight."

He released my wrist, and I stumbled back, clutching my bleeding arm. The wound was deep-much deeper than necessary-and blood continued to flow between my fingers.

One of the pack women rushed forward with bandages, but Ronan waved her away. "No," he said. "Let it bleed. Let everyone see what happens to those who think they can challenge me."

I stood there, bleeding into the dirt, while the pack watched. Some looked away. Others stared openly, their expressions a mix of fear and fascination. A few-a very few-looked at me with something that might have been pity.

Or maybe I imagined that. Maybe I just wanted to believe someone cared.

The ceremony continued. Pack members kept approaching the bowl, kept bleeding into the basin where my blood now mixed with theirs. The bowl filled slowly, the dark liquid rising inch by inch. And all the while, I stood there bleeding, my arm burning, my wolf pacing restlessly beneath my skin.

Let me out, she growled. Let me fight. Let me kill.

Not yet, I told her. Soon. But not yet.

Finally, when the last pack member had bled, Ronan approached the bowl again. He dipped his fingers into the blood-my blood, mixed with theirs-and turned to face me.

"The final step," he announced. "The mark of unity."

He stepped forward and pressed his bloody fingers to my forehead. The blood was warm, almost hot, and I felt something strange-a pull, a connection, a thousand invisible threads linking me to every wolf in the pack.

"The pack accepts you," Ronan intoned. "Their blood recognizes yours. You are one of us now."

No, my wolf snarled. We are not one of them. We will never be one of them.

But the threads were real. I could feel them-tugging at my heart, my soul, my very essence. Every wolf in the pack was connected to me now, and I to them. It was suffocating. Terrifying. Permanent.

Ronan saw the horror in my eyes and smiled. "Feel that?" he murmured. "That's belonging. That's family. That's mine."

He turned to the crowd and raised his arms. "The blood pact is complete! Red River has a Luna!"

The pack erupted into howls and cheers, and I stood in their midst with blood on my forehead and a wound on my arm and a wolf inside me screaming for vengeance.

As the celebration swirled around me, I caught sight of Maeve again. She stood at the edge of the crowd, her green eyes fixed on me, and this time she didn't mouth words. She simply nodded-a small, almost imperceptible movement-and touched her own wrist where a scar marked her skin.

An old wound. A ritual wound. She had been through this too. She understood.

And she was telling me something: You're not alone.

Ronan grabbed my hand-my injured one, making me gasp with pain-and pulled me toward the center of the celebration. "Now we feast!" he bellowed. "Tonight, we celebrate! Tomorrow, my Luna learns her true duties!"

The crowd laughed-a knowing, ugly laugh-and I felt sick.

Tables had been set up around the clearing, laden with food and drink. Wolves grabbed meat and ale, laughing and shoving and celebrating their Alpha's new possession. Ronan pulled me onto a raised platform where we could see-and be seen by-everyone.

"Sit," he commanded, pushing me onto a fur-covered seat. "Eat. Drink. Smile."

I couldn't eat. I couldn't drink. But I sat there, bleeding and broken, while the pack celebrated my imprisonment.

Hours passed. The moon rose high overhead, fat and full, and the celebration grew wilder. Wolves shifted and ran through the forest, their howls echoing in the night. Others paired off, disappearing into the shadows for more private celebrations.

Ronan watched it all with satisfaction, his hand never leaving my body-my shoulder, my arm, my thigh. Always touching. Always claiming.

Finally, when the fire burned low and most of the pack had stumbled off to their dens, Ronan stood and pulled me to my feet.

"Time for the final ritual," he said, and there was no mistaking the hunger in his voice now.

He led me away from the clearing, away from the dying fire, toward his den. My den now. Our den.

The word made me want to vomit.

As we walked, I saw Maeve one last time. She stood in the shadows near the tree line, watching. Waiting. As I passed, she raised her hand to her wrist-the scarred one-and then pointed toward the forest.

Run.

But how could I run? The bond pulled at me, the pack threads tugged at my soul, and Ronan's grip on my arm was iron.

Not yet, I told my wolf. Soon. But not yet.

We reached the den. Ronan pushed open the door and pulled me inside.