Dylan did not hurry, and that frightened me more than the glowing eyes or the five mercenaries spreading out between the trees. A man who walks slowly toward his prey has already decided exactly how the hunt will end.

I backed away until the stream soaked my ruined shoes and the cold crept up past my ankles. Behind me the water ran black beneath a sky without any moon, and in front of me the mercenaries closed the gaps in their half circle. Every one of them kept his eyes fixed on my stomach instead of my face, as though I were nothing more than a basket carrying something valuable.

"You can stop running, little bird," Dylan said, spreading his scarred hands as if he were offering me a gift. "Nobody is coming to rescue you tonight, and nobody in that great stone house will notice you are gone before breakfast."

"The Alpha will notice," I said, though my voice shook badly enough to ruin the lie. "He banished me, but he would never allow a mercenary to touch what belongs to his bloodline."

"What belongs to his bloodline?" Dylan tilted his head, and the amber light in his eyes flickered like a candle in a draft. "Marcel announced to three hundred witnesses that those pups belong to a stranger, and I was generous enough to agree with him."

The memory of his wink in the Great Hall rushed back, and heat rose in my chest so quickly that it drowned out the cold for a moment. "You lied about everything in there. I never spoke to you alone, and you knew it while you stood there smiling at me."

"Of course I knew it." He sounded almost pleased that I had finally understood. "Who do you think wrote that charming little note about meeting at the southern gate? I practiced your handwriting for a full week, and I still believe the curly letters were a lovely touch."

My knees nearly gave out beneath me. "Why would you do that to a girl who never harmed you?"

"Because Mia paid me very well to do it." He said the name the way someone might name the price of a good horse. "She arrived at my camp with a purse of gold and a tearful story about a jealous omega who threatened her future, and all she needed was someone to supply the ink."

Everything I had screamed in that hall, every desperate word that nobody had believed, had been true from the beginning. Mia had stood beside me with that cruel little smile, and she had known the entire time that I was innocent.

"She will never be Luna," I whispered. "The Moon Goddess chose me, and no amount of gold can change what the Goddess decides."

"The Goddess is a poor protector of orphans, I am afraid." Dylan crouched at the edge of the water, close enough that I could smell the gunpowder clinging to his coat. "In any case, Mia only wanted you gone, but I am a man with larger ambitions than a jealous girl's revenge."

I tightened my arms around my waist. "What do you want from me?"

"I want what you are carrying." He said it plainly, without any cruelty at all, which somehow made it worse. "Marcel has spent years believing he will never have an heir, because the old Alpha's blood has grown thin and his bride is barren, though she hides it well. Three Blackwood pups born outside his control would make the most valuable hostages in the entire northern territory."

The word barren struck me strangely, and I stored it away in the back of my mind even as terror swallowed my other thoughts. Three heartbeats pulsed against my palms, small and stubborn, and I made a silent promise that no man alive would ever turn them into currency.

"They are not yours to trade," I said. "They are not anyone's to trade."

"Everything is somebody's to trade, sweetheart." Dylan rose and brushed the mud from his knees. "You will come with us quietly, you will carry those pups to term in a comfortable cell, and when Marcel finally begs for them, I will name my price."

I looked past him then, because staring at his face had become unbearable, and my gaze caught on the mercenary standing closest to the trees. He wore a plain brown coat, but the collar had been turned up carelessly, and beneath the fold I glimpsed the silver thread of an Obsidian guard's insignia.

Dylan followed my stare and laughed softly. "Observant, aren't you? Yes, a few of Marcel's own soldiers have joined my little expedition, because Ray runs the night patrols, and Ray has always preferred loyalty that comes with a payment."

"Then Marcel's guards will report that I escaped," I said, grasping for any thread of hope. "They will start searching for me at sunrise, and they will find your footprints."

"They will find nothing, because by sunrise Mia will have announced that a rogue pack killed you in the forest." Dylan's smile widened until his scarred cheek crumpled like old paper. "Raval is already preparing the funeral, and the pack will mourn for exactly one evening before they forget your name entirely."

The cold in my body changed then, deepening into something steady and almost calm. They had not simply thrown me away, because they had arranged my death in advance, with the same care a cook uses to plan a feast.

I needed time, and time was the only weapon an omega had ever been allowed to carry. "You said Mia wanted me gone," I began slowly, forcing my breathing to even out. "If she hears that you intend to keep me alive, she will not forgive you, and a woman who pays for a murder usually expects to receive a body."

"Mia will receive a convincing story, and that is all she has ever needed." But his eyes narrowed, because I had touched a nerve. "Why does a girl in your position suddenly care about the fears of her enemy?"

"Because I am wondering which of you will betray the other first." I lifted my chin, mimicking the cold elegance I had watched Marcel use a thousand times from the shadows of the kitchen. "You told me she is barren and desperate, so tell me what she would do if she learned that you intended to sell the very heirs she wants dead."

For a heartbeat Dylan said nothing, and the mercenaries shifted uneasily behind him. I had planted a seed of doubt, and I watched it take root behind his brass eyes.

Then something moved in the water.

At first I thought it was only the current, because the stream had begun to steam in the cold air, rising in pale ribbons that curled around my ankles. The ribbons thickened, and as they thickened they turned silver, glowing faintly from within like moonlight trapped inside smoke.

"What is that?" one of the mercenaries muttered, taking a step backward.

"Fog," Dylan snapped, though he glanced over his shoulder with the first flicker of doubt I had seen from him. "The rain has simply drawn it up from the river."

But the fog did not behave like ordinary fog. It rolled uphill against the wind, swallowing the roots of the trees and the boots of the men, and it carried a scent I could not name, something clean and cold and ancient, like frost on stone in a forgotten temple.

My wolf, still numb from the wolfsbane, twitched once deep inside my mind. It was the faintest movement, barely more than a shiver, but it was the first sign of life I had felt from her since the rejection.

"Dylan," the mercenary in the brown coat said, his voice cracking. "I cannot see my own hands."

"Hold your positions," Dylan ordered, but the fog had already devoured the edges of the clearing, and the silver glow pressed closer until I could barely distinguish the shapes of the men from the trunks of the trees.

A scream tore through the whiteness on my left.

It was a short, terrible sound that ended abruptly, as though a hand had closed around the screamer's throat. A heavy body hit the ground somewhere beyond my sight, and a second scream rose on my right, followed by the wet crunch of something breaking.

"Shift!" Dylan roared. "All of you shift now!"

The fog answered with laughter, low and amused and entirely too calm for the chaos it had caused, and the sound seemed to come from every direction at once. Dylan whirled in a slow circle, his claws bursting from his fingertips, and for the first time since he had stepped out of the bushes, I saw genuine fear transform his face.

"That should not be here," he whispered, so quietly that I almost missed it. "He swore the Silver-Mist Alpha would never cross this border."

Before I could ask who he meant, a tall shadow stepped out of the glowing mist directly behind him.