The boy carried me, bridal style, toward a structure that reeked of wolf. The scent of countless others pressed in, thick and wild. He shoved me into a cell—a dark, stone-walled space—and I finally succumbed to the tears. A scream tore from my throat. I’d heard stories, whispered in fear around our campfires. Other alphas, other betas… they were brutal. They savaged weaker packs, took what they wanted. My pack was safe, but *they* weren't. The guards retreated, leaving me alone. Panic clawed at my chest. "No alpha, no beta," I repeated, hands tearing at my hair. "No alpha, no beta." This couldn't be happening. When the guards finally returned, I choked back the sobs, swallowed them until they burned. I cried silently, numb with dread. What would they do to me?
– Pov Martinus –
"We got a rogue," Jacob mind-linked. "Grey she-wolf."
"Bring her to the cells," I replied. "I'll be down in a minute with Marcus."
Stupid rogues. They always managed to slip through. We needed more guards.
"That's difficult, Alpha," Marcus responded. "If the guards go away, she screams. 'No alpha, no beta,' over and over. If they go back in, she goes silent."
"I don't care. I'm going down there."
"Okay, Alpha. See you there. One thing… she doesn't smell like the recent rogues."
"Weird," I conceded, severing the link. "But no one steps onto my land without an answer."
I headed toward the cells, picking up Marcus—my brother, but more importantly, my best friend—along the way. We entered the cells… and the scent hit me. A familiar, sickeningly sweet smell. I knew exactly what it was.
I followed it, ignoring Marcus’s questions. The smell grew stronger, pulling me toward a corner. There, curled into a ball, sat a girl. Her skin was pale, almost translucent. She was skeletal, her ribs pressing against her thin frame. She was whispering to herself, her voice a broken thread.
"Mine," I growled, the possessive instinct rising within me. The scent… it was hers.