The sinking sun bathes the landscape in a dim, ethereal light, painting the bare trees and pristine snow-covered mountains with a serene, otherworldly glow. The cold air bites my skin, filling me with invigorating energy.

I tread along a path lightly dusted with snow, leading away from our quaint village and into the adjacent woods. Towering trees, still adorned with their autumn leaves despite the encroaching winter, encircle a clearing.

At the edge of the shadowy tree line stands Martha, surrounded by a cluster of girls, none of whom I've ever enAdkinsd in a conversation with. Their voices are hushed, barely above a whisper, signaling one thing: they're deep in gossip.

My curiosity piqued, I instinctively tuned in to eavesdrop.

"I've heard he's ruthless, a true monster with a wolf three times the size of any other Alpha," Morgan, a petite, bleach-blonde girl, whispers with wide eyes, her tone emphasizing the gravity of her words.

Her brunette companion shudders before contributing, "They say he's an absolute beast, committing mass murders whenever the mood strikes!" She suddenly lowers her voice even further, her words trembling, "Dear God, what if he comes here? Who knows where he is right now."

They exchange apprehensive glances, seeking reactions from one another.

Who in the world are they talking about, and why does it seem to make them so anxious?

As I draw nearer, a twig snaps beneath my heel, startling all of them, including Martha, who has always appeared fearless for as long as I've known her. Morgan even lets out a startled scream.

Their collective gaze fixates on me as if I were a harbinger of doom, their faces drained of color, and their mouths agape.

"Damn it, you can't do that!" Morgan scolds me, her accusatory tone slicing through the air. Something about her words strikes a nerve.

I narrow my eyes and purse my lips in a snarky expression. "If you're so frightened, why don't you choke on something other than fear?"

Morgan inhales sharply, taken aback. Maybe I went a tad too far, but I can't say I'm sorry. Wyatt has already frazzled my nerves for the day. Morgan stares at me like a fish out of water, struggling to find her words.

"You know what? Screw you," she spits before storming off, followed by the other four girls, who cast disdainful glares my way.

I brush off their departure and turn my attention back to my best friend, Martha, who remains standing with her back toward the trees.

"What was all that about?" I inquired, walking up to her and motioning back toward the group.

She isn't phased by the minor altercation between me and Morgan. At one point, she tried to teach me the art of keeping my inner thoughts to myself, but she never succeeded. Now, she doesn't even acknowledge my lack of a filter as she raises an eyebrow, her forehead creasing with curiosity.

"Haven't you heard?"

I shake my head, furrowing my brow. I need to know what's happening. People gossip all the time, but this feels different, laden with an unusual level of fear.

"They call him the Exiled Alpha," she pauses, gazing up at the darkening sky. "Damn, I've got to run. I'm already late."

Her sentences are hurried as she stoops to grab the strap of her purple backpack and swings it onto her back.

"Wait! What do you mean, Exiled-"

Before I can complete my question, she reaches out, gripping my shoulders firmly, locking eyes with me in an intense stare that renders me momentarily paralyzed.

"Listen to me, Mackenzie," she insists, squeezing my shoulders, her tone resolute. "I don't have time to explain right now, but just... don't venture off into the woods alone. I know you like to, but don't. Stay close to the pack. Do you understand?"

A shiver runs down my spine, one that isn't provoked by the cold. In that moment, all I can think is, what in the world is out there?

I don't comprehend. I have no clue about what she's talking about, except that it's perilous. But I nod nonetheless.

Seemingly satisfied with my response, she pulls me into a quick hug.

"Stay safe, bitch," she murmurs near my ear, her seriousness giving way to her usual playful demeanor.

She releases me and takes a step back, now wearing one of her trademark mischievous grins. Normally, that would comfort me, seeing her return to her usual self instead of issuing warnings. But it isn't this time. Her smile seems forced, incomplete.

"Sorry I can't stick around for the party. Looks like you'll have Wyatt all to yourself," she teases with sarcasm.

A surge of anger stabs at my gut, and I open my mouth, ready to unleash a tirade of profanities. However, I hold back when realization hits me.

She doesn't know.

She's unaware of the coerced enAdkinsment or impending wedding. If she knew, she would have told me. I'm certain of it. She would have confronted Wyatt, consequences be damned.

I muster a feeble smile in return, though it pales in comparison to her own.

Let her enjoy her moment. I think. My problems aren't hers.

"Yeah, whatever," I call after her as she recedes into the distance, "Just don't catch anything nasty."

She turns back briefly to stick her tongue out at me in a playful jest.

A heavy sigh escapes my lips as I turn and head back, passing by various people bustling about, most of them carrying ribbons and decorations.

I move past the industrious pack members, making my way back to my room.

If Wyatt or Matias expect me to prepare for the party that feels like a celebration of my own doom, they're sorely mistaken. What can they possibly do to me? Condemn me to a life of misery?

Oh, wait...

It has been three days since Martha departed. Three days during which I've confined myself to my room, desperately attempting to distract my mind from the grim reality.

The only moments I venture out of my room is to stick my head out of the window to smoke, keen on preventing the acrid smell from clinging to the walls. The small glass ashtray on my desk is brimming with ashes, and two empty cigarette packs languish in the trash can.

Approximately four times a day, one of the lower-ranking pack members, a maid or servant, brings me food. I can only assume this is Wyatt's ploy to curry favor, his feigned sweetness designed to prevent me from causing a scene during the impending ceremony.

Little does he know that his pitiful attempts to win me over are futile. I won't bend for that arrogant jerk, no matter how much food he sends my way.

I hadn't even realized I was slipping into slumber until a knock on the door rouses me from my troubled dreams.

Normally, someone calls out to me after knocking when delivering food, but this time, no voice follows the knock.

What now? Another task for wedding preparations? I scoff at myself.

The knocking intensifies.

"I'm coming," I growl, untangling myself from the bed sheets. I make my way to the door and open it.

Wyatt stands there, hands in his pockets, wearing a polite smile. "Well, hello, sleepyhead," he chirps, his tone dripping with false friendliness. The sound of it nearly churns my stomach. "The party's beginning in half an hour, so make sure you look your best. After all, it's in our honor."

I narrow my eyes at him and take a step back, scrutinizing his every move. "Who the hell are you?"

He laughs, as if my question were the funniest thing he'd ever heard, but it's an artificial sound. "I just came to remind you," he says, his tone switching abruptly to a more business-like one. "Now, fix your hair, put on something extravagant, and be downstairs in ten minutes."

I stand motionless, like a statue, maintaining my skeptical gaze.

"Alright, listen up. As my chosen Luna, you need to have a presence that makes everyone envious at first sight. Of course, they already do that as long as you're by my side, but still. I expect you to act like the perfect sweetheart, and if not... there will be consequences."

With that, his façade crumbles, and his arrogant and bossy attitude returns in full force, along with that pulsating vein in his neck that always appears when he doesn't get his way.

I continue to stare at him with an unyielding gaze, knowing it will eventually cause that nerve of his to snap. If he intends to control my life, which he undoubtedly does, then he'll have to provide some reasoning.

"Why have you chosen me as your Luna?" I inquire, wary. It doesn't add up. We don't get along anymore, so why would he want to marry me, against my will no less?

He smirks, locking eyes with me, his gaze gleaming with malevolence. "You're mouthy, Mackenzie Adkins. Sharp-tongued and clever. Those are qualities people don't notice until it's too late."

Drawing closer, he lifts my chin with his thumb, our cheeks almost touching, his warm breath wafting over my ear as he speaks in a hushed tone. "And I can't forget those gray eyes... They're so cold, so unpredictable, so... inscrutable."

He swipes his thumb along my jawline as he steps back, then turns and leaves abruptly. "Remember," his voice echoes in the dim hallway, "Ten minutes."

I raise my fingers to touch the spot where his thumb had been, rubbing my skin until it begins to burn. I'm convinced I've rubbed it raw with my palm, yet it still doesn't feel clean.

So, that's his reason.

He intends to use me as his pawn.

But I'll be damned if I help him win whatever twisted game he's playing.

With Alpha Matias's threat looming in my mind, I close the door and reluctantly begin the process of preparing myself. If only I had a fashion-savvy best friend like the movies portrayed, then this would be so much easier.

The cruel irony is that I do have one, but she's miles away, enjoying herself in another pack.

At least one of us is having a good time.