Chapter 8 · One Year. No Mercy.

Cain slid the contract across the table like it wasn't going to ruin my entire life.

"One year," he said. "You bleed for the pack. I keep the hunters off you. Clean break when it's done."

I stared at the paper. Actual paper, not even a document, like we were signing a lease for some shitty apartment and not my body and blood. The ink was too neat. Somebody'd written this up hours ago. Maybe days. Like they knew I'd come crawling back. Like they knew I had nowhere else to go.

"You're serious." My voice came out flat.

He didn't blink. "The northern packs are three weeks out. The hunters already put a bounty on crimson bloodlines. You want to run, go ahead. See how far you get."

I looked past him to the window. The holding cell they'd thrown me in had a view of the west forest. The trees I used to know by heart. I'd been gone three years and somehow it still looked like home. That was the worst part. It still felt like I belonged here.

I didn't.

"What's in it for you?" I asked.

Cain leaned back. He looked tired. No, not tired.