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I'm in his room again.
Not because I want to be. The alpha's quarters always smell like leather and smoke and something darker I can't name. Six years and I still can't get used to it. Six years of scrubbing his floors, changing his sheets, keeping my head down and my mouth shut.
Tonight's different. Tonight I'm here for the lockbox.
It's tucked behind the bookshelf on the east wall. I saw him open it two weeks ago when he thought I was just another piece of furniture. That's the trick. Be so small they forget you're even there. I learned that the night they murdered my father and burned Thornwood to ash.
My hands don't shake anymore. They did the first year. Now they're steady as I slide the bookshelf forward, inch by inch, trying not to scrape the wood against stone. The lockbox is right where I remember. Black iron, about the size of a shoebox, with a combination lock I've been watching him open for months.
Three left. Fourteen right. Seven left.
Click.
The lock springs open and my heart slams against my ribs. Inside there's papers, a few letters with broken seals, and underneath it all, a leather journal. My father's journal. I'd know that binding anywhere. He used to write in it every night after patrols, sitting by the fire in our old packhouse.
I reach for it.
"You're here late."
I freeze. Don't grab the journal. Don't even look at it. Just close the box and turn around slow.
Cade's standing in the doorway. He's still in his training gear, dark shirt soaked through with sweat, hair tied back. His eyes are sharp. Always sharp. That's what makes him dangerous. His father was a brute, all rage and teeth. Cade's different. He thinks.
"I was fixing the shelf," I say. My voice comes out flat. Bored. I've practiced this. "It was tilted."
He doesn't move. Just watches me with that look that makes my skin crawl. Not because he's cruel. That would be easier. It's because sometimes when he looks at me there's something almost human in his face, and I hate it.
"At midnight."
"It was bothering me."
He steps inside and closes the door behind him. My pulse kicks up but I keep my face blank. The knife strapped to my thigh suddenly feels like it's burning through the fabric. I've carried it every day for six years. Waited for the right moment.
This could be it.
He crosses the room and I step back, putting the shelf between us. He stops on the other side, looking down at the lockbox I didn't quite close all the way. For a second I think he's going to call me out. Drag me to the cells. End this whole thing before I get my shot.
Instead he just reaches past me and shuts it. His arm brushes mine and I feel the heat of him through my sleeve.
"You should be resting," he says. "Tomorrow's the Blood Rite."
Like I could forget. The whole pack's been buzzing about it for weeks. Every unmated wolf over eighteen has to attend. It's supposed to be sacred. A chance for the moon to guide fated mates to each other. Mostly it's just an excuse for Cade to show off his authority and for the ranked wolves to drink themselves stupid.
"I'll rest when I'm done," I tell him.
He's still too close. I can smell him now, under the sweat and smoke. Something sharp and wild that makes my wolf stir in the back of my mind. She's been quiet for years. Broken, maybe. Or just smart enough to know we can't shift without blowing our cover.
"Sienna."
I hate the way he says my name. Like it means something.
I look up and that's a mistake. His eyes are gray, the kind of gray that looks silver in the right light. They're locked on my face like he's trying to read something written there. I've gotten good at being unreadable. I've had to.
"What," I say. Not a question. A challenge.
His hand comes up and I tense, ready to grab the knife. But he doesn't grab me. Just reaches out slow and runs his thumb along my jaw. Right over the scar.
I stop breathing.
The scar's small. Barely visible unless you're looking for it. I got it the night Ironridge attacked. One of his father's wolves dragged me out of the burning packhouse by my face. I was eighteen. I'd just shifted for the first time two months before. My father died trying to reach me.
Cade's thumb is rough and warm and I want to bite it off.
"You never told me how you got this," he says quietly.
My hand's already moving. I don't think about it. Six years of waiting and every single second of rage I've swallowed comes rushing up my arm. The knife's in my palm and the tip's an inch from his heart before I even register what I'm doing.
He doesn't flinch.
That's what stops me. He just stands there with my blade pressed to his chest and looks at me like he's been expecting this. Like he knows.
"Do it," he says.
My hand's shaking now. Finally. After six years it's shaking.
"I've seen you watching me," he continues. His voice is low, almost gentle, and that makes it worse. "For months. Maybe longer. You look at me like you want me dead."
"Everyone wants you dead," I manage. The knife's still there. I just need to push. One thrust and it's over. Ironridge loses its alpha. I get my revenge.
But then what.
I don't have an answer for that and my hesitation costs me. He moves fast, faster than I expect. His hand closes around my wrist and twists. Not hard enough to break but enough to make me drop the knife. It hits the floor with a clatter that sounds too loud.
We're standing too close now. His other hand's still on my jaw and I realize with a sick jolt that he's not angry. He's curious.
"Who are you," he says. Not a question. A demand.
"No one."
"Liar."
I try to pull away but his grip tightens. Not painful. Just firm. My wolf snarls in the back of my head and I shove her down. Not now. Not yet.
"Let go," I say.
"Tell me the truth."
"I'm an omega. I clean your floors. That's the truth."
His eyes search mine and I see the exact moment he decides I'm hiding something. But before he can push, before I have to come up with another lie, a sound cuts through the air.
The Blood Rite bell.
It rings three times, deep and resonant, echoing across the whole territory. Calling every wolf to the ritual ground. Cade's head snaps toward the window and his grip on me loosens just enough.
That's when it happens.
The wind shifts. I feel it through the open window, cool night air flooding the room. And with it, my scent. My real scent. The one I've been masking with wolfsbane and ash and every bitter herb I could find for six years.
Cade goes completely still.
His nostrils flare and his eyes snap back to me, wider now. Stunned. His hand drops from my wrist like I burned him and he takes a step back.
"No," he says. It comes out rough. Almost choked.
I don't understand. Not until I catch it too. Under the smoke and leather and sweat, there's something else. Something that makes my wolf lunge forward so hard I actually stumble.
Mate.
The word slams into my head and I taste blood. I bit my tongue. Cade's staring at me like I just ripped his world in half and I can't breathe. Can't think. This can't be happening. Not him. Not the son of the man who killed my father.
The bell rings again.
"You're—" He doesn't finish. Just stands there looking at me like I'm a ghost.
I should run. Grab the knife and run. Disappear into the forest and never come back. But my legs won't move. My wolf's howling now, clawing at the inside of my skull, screaming at me to go to him. To accept it.
I'm going to be sick.
"Tomorrow," Cade says finally. His voice is raw. Wrecked. "Tomorrow at the Rite. You'll stand with the unmated wolves."
It's not a question.
I don't answer. Can't. I just stare at him and he stares back and the space between us feels like it's full of broken glass.
"If you run," he adds quietly, "I'll find you."
Then he turns and walks out. Leaves me standing there with my knife on his floor and his scent in my lungs and the absolute certainty that everything I've planned for six years just went up in flames.
The bell rings a third time.
I pick up my knife. My hand's still shaking. I need to leave. Need to find Mira and figure out what the hell I'm going to do. But I can't stop staring at the door he just walked through.
Mate.
My wolf purrs the word like a prayer and I want to scream.
Instead I walk out of his room, down the servant's corridor, and into the night. The Blood Rite ground's already filling with wolves. I can hear them gathering, laughing, howling at the moon.
Tomorrow I was supposed to kill him.
Tomorrow I'm apparently going to stand in front of the whole pack while the bond tries to drag me to the one man I've sworn to destroy.
I make it to the edge of the forest before I throw up.