My fated mate chased me to the edge of a cliff.

He was also the Alpha King, the one every wolf alive feared.

I'd still believed he would take me away from the family that never loved me.

"Ronan, why?" I sobbed. "Why are you killing me?"

His eyes dropped to the silver mark below my collarbone. "You don't need to know."

The next second, I fell away into the dark.

---

*Three days earlier.*

The first crack came from my spine.

I was on my knees on the kitchen floor, palms flat on cold tile, when the pain ripped through me. My twenty-third birthday. Everyone in Cedar Ridge Pack had said my wolf was never coming.

"Mom!" My voice tore apart halfway through. "Mom, please!"

Through the wall, the TV went louder.

My ribs shifted. Something under my skin pulled tight, then split. I screamed until my throat burned raw.

"Can somebody shut her up?" That was Grant, my older brother, the golden son. "I've got patrol at five."

"Leave her," my father said. "If the wolf's real, she'll survive it. If not, it doesn't matter."

My mother said nothing at all.

I dragged my nails across the tile and left four white lines. Nobody opened the door.

Then the back door banged open.

"Maren! Oh my God, Maren!"

Piper, the omega girl who cleaned for half the families on our street and my only friend in the world, dropped beside me. She didn't flinch at the blood. She just grabbed my face with both hands.

"Look at me. Breathe with me. In. Out. You're almost there."

"It hurts." My teeth were shifting. "Piper, it hurts so bad."

"I know. I know, babe. Ride it. Don't fight it."

My bones snapped one last time. Then everything went still.

A voice rose up inside my head, warm and low, like it had been waiting there my whole life.

*Finally. Hello, Maren.*

I started laughing. Flat on my back, naked, shaking, covered in sweat, I laughed until I cried.

Piper stared at me. "Are you laughing or dying? Pick one."

"She's here," I whispered. "My wolf. She's actually here."

"Of course she is." Piper pulled a folded sweater out of her bag and pushed it over my head. "Arms up. Then you're eating. I brought soup."

She set a bowl in front of me. Then, from behind her back, she pulled out a cupcake with a single bent candle stuck in the frosting.

"Happy birthday," she said. "Don't tell anyone I stole the candle from the pack house."

I bit my lip so hard it stung. Nobody had given me a cake since I was six.

"Make a wish," she said.

I closed my eyes. *Let someone want me.*

When I blew it out, Piper gasped.

"Maren. Your chest."

I tugged the neckline down. Just under my collarbone, a mark glowed silver, a crescent wrapped in thin, curling lines.

"Is that—"

"A mate mark." Piper grabbed my wrist. "You have a mate. Somewhere out there, someone is *yours*."

My wolf hummed. *Ours.*

---

I ran the whole territory the next day.

The training field. The river trail. The market behind the pack house. I pressed my hand over the mark every time a male passed, waiting for it to burn.

It stayed cool.

"Anything?" Piper asked, jogging to keep up near the border fence.

"Nothing." I kicked at the dirt. "Maybe it's broken. Maybe *I'm* broken."

"Or maybe he's not from here." She tilted her head. "Did you hear? The royal convoy's coming in today."

I spun around. "The *King*?"

"Ronan himself. Somebody poisoned the eastern border with wolfsbane last week. Three warriors almost died. He's investigating personally."

"The Alpha King doesn't come to packs like ours."

"Well," Piper said, "he is now."

---

By noon, half of Cedar Ridge had packed the main road. I stood at the very back, on my toes, behind Grant and his friends.

Grant glanced over his shoulder and sneered. "What are you doing here? Go home."

"It's a public road."

"You stink like a fresh shift. It's embarrassing."

I didn't answer. Three black SUVs had rolled through the gate.

The crowd went silent. The car doors opened, and he stepped out.

Tall. Dark hair. A coat the color of ash. He moved like the air belonged to him, and every wolf on that road dropped their eyes without being told. I had heard the stories, about the rogue wars and the packs he'd burned. None of them had prepared me for the weight of him.

He walked past the Alpha's welcome line without slowing down.

Then he passed me and stopped.

The mark under my collarbone exploded with heat. I pressed my fist against it and nearly doubled over.

*Mate!* My wolf threw herself against my ribs. *Mate, mate, MATE!*

He turned slowly. Gray eyes locked on me.

"You." His voice was quiet, but it carried. "Come here."

People actually parted. Grant stumbled out of the way with his mouth hanging open.

I took one step. Ronan closed the rest of the distance himself. His hand clamped around my wrist and pulled my arm aside, his gaze dropping to the edge of my sweater, where silver light was bleeding through the fabric.

His own collar had slipped. Beneath it, the same crescent glowed on his skin.

"It's real," I breathed. "You feel it too. Don't you?"

His jaw worked. His grip tightened for half a second, hard enough to hurt.

Then he released me.

He didn't say a word. He turned and walked toward the pack house, his guards falling in behind him.

The road erupted.

"Did the King just *touch* her?"

"Maren? The late-bloomer?"

"What did he see on her?"

Grant grabbed my elbow. "What the hell was that?"

I yanked free. I couldn't stop smiling.

"Nothing you'd understand."

---

That night, I walked home with my hand pressed over the mark. It was still warm.

Piper had squealed into the phone for ten straight minutes. *Cinderella, Maren. You're literally Cinderella.*

Maybe I was. Maybe the girl nobody saved was finally going to be chosen.

I climbed the porch steps, rehearsing what I'd say if he came for me. *Yes.* That was all. Just *yes.*

The kitchen light was on. My parents never waited up for me.

Through the window, I saw my mother sitting at the table, white-faced, her hands knotted together. Across from her, in my father's chair, sat one of the King's guards.

On the table between them lay an old, yellowed photograph.

And my mother was crying.

By the time I pushed the front door open last night, the guard was gone. So was the photograph.

My mother had wiped her face and gone to bed without a word.

I didn't sleep much.

---

I was up before the sun, cracking eggs into a pan and laying strips of pork in hot oil. In the Briar house, breakfast was my job. It had been since I was nine.

My father came down first. Orson Briar didn't say good morning. He sat, picked up his fork, and poked at the meat.

"It's burnt."

"It's crispy," I said. "You like it crispy."

"I like it the way I like it." He shoved the plate an inch away. "Not like shoe leather."

Grant thudded down the stairs, still yawning. He grabbed a strip off the platter with his fingers, chewed once, and grimaced.

"God, Maren. Are you trying to poison us?"

"It's the same as yesterday."

"Yeah? Then yesterday sucked too."

He swept his arm across the counter.

The plate shattered on the tile. Hot grease splashed across my bare feet, and I jumped back with a yelp. Shards of white china skidded under the table.

Grant laughed.

My mother appeared in the doorway, tying her robe. Celia looked at the mess, then at me, like I'd dropped it myself.

"Well? Make another one."

"Mom, my feet—"

"Your feet will heal. You have a wolf now, don't you?" She sat down beside my father. "Clean that up first. I'm not stepping on glass."

I knelt. The grease stung where it had landed. I gathered the bigger pieces into my palm, one by one.

A curved shard slipped. It sliced straight across the meat of my hand.

I hissed and closed my fist. Blood welled up between my fingers.

Nobody looked over.

I stared at the red dripping onto the tile, and something in me wanted, just once, for them to hear me.

"Mom," I said quietly. "Yesterday, the King—"

"Oh, here we go."

"He touched my wrist. I have a mark. He has one too. He's my fated mate."

For a second, the kitchen was silent.

Then my mother laughed. A short, ugly sound through her nose.

"Maren. Sweetheart." She buttered her toast. "You shifted *yesterday*. Your wolf barely has fur. And you think the Alpha King looked at you and saw a *queen*?"

"I saw his mark. It glowed."

"You saw what you wanted to see." She didn't even lift her eyes. "Dreams are free. Eggs aren't. Get moving."

Grant snorted into his coffee. "Cinderella of the dish rack."

I pressed my bleeding hand against my sweater and stood up.

That was when someone knocked on the front door.

---

My father answered it, annoyed. Then I heard his voice change.

"Your—Your Majesty. What an honor."

My mother was on her feet in half a second. She yanked off her robe sash, smoothed her hair, and hissed at me without moving her lips.

"Get that glass under the cabinet. *Now.*"

I kicked the shards out of sight just as Ronan stepped into our kitchen.

He had to duck under the doorframe. He was wearing the same ash-gray coat, and the whole room seemed to shrink around him.

"Please, sit, sit." My father pulled out his own chair. "Celia, the bottle. The good one."

My mother was already reaching for the top shelf. The whiskey we'd been saving since Grant made warrior rank. She poured a glass with both hands and set it in front of Ronan.

"From our private stock, Your Majesty."

Ronan didn't touch it.

His gray eyes moved across the room. The grease on the floor. The burnt pan. Me, standing by the sink with my arm pressed against my stomach.

Grant cleared his throat and leaned on the counter, all charm.

"Sorry about the mess, sir. My sister's a little distracted. She's out late a lot." He smiled. "Most nights, actually. We never know who she's with."

My face went hot. "That's not true."

"Isn't it?" Grant shrugged. "Just saying. You might want to be careful."

Ronan didn't answer him. He didn't even turn his head.

He walked straight to me.

"Your hand."

"It's nothing."

"Show me."

I opened my fist. The cut ran deep, still oozing. My palm was a sticky red mess.

Something flickered across his face, gone before I could name it. He pulled a folded handkerchief from his inside pocket. Dark blue linen, a silver crest stitched in one corner.

He took my wrist, gentler than yesterday, and wrapped the cloth around my palm. Twice. He tied it off with a small, tight knot.

"Keep pressure on it," he said.

My throat closed up. I nodded.

Behind me, I heard my mother's teacup rattle against its saucer.

Ronan turned to face my family. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.

"I'm here for Maren."

My father's mouth opened and shut. My mother's knuckles went white around the bottle. Grant straightened off the counter like someone had kicked him.

I had spent twenty-three years in this kitchen. I had never once seen them afraid of something because of *me*.

"Of course," my father stammered. "Of course, Your Majesty. Anything you need. Our daughter is—she's a wonderful girl."

*Wonderful.* I almost laughed.

Ronan looked at me one more time. Long enough that my mark began to pulse.

"I'll be in touch."

Then he left. The whiskey sat full on the table.

---

The front door clicked shut.

I turned around, still smiling, and my father was right there.

He grabbed my wrapped hand and squeezed.

Pain shot up my arm. I gasped and tried to pull back, but he didn't budge.

"Listen to me." His voice was low and flat. "Whatever happens in this house stays in this house. You understand?"

"Dad, you're hurting—"

"The plate. The cooking. The chores. Your little crying fits on the floor." His thumb dug into the cut. "None of it leaves your mouth. Not to him. Not to anyone."

Blood soaked through the blue linen.

"Promise me, Maren."

"I promise," I whispered. "I promise. Please."

He let go. Then he picked up the whiskey Ronan hadn't touched and drank it himself.

---

That night, my mother came into my room without knocking.

She sat on the edge of my bed. She'd never done that before. I didn't know what to do with my hands.

"You think he loves you," she said.

"He's my mate."

"He's a King." She tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and her fingers were cold. "Royal men don't love weak women, Maren. They use them. And when they're done, they throw them back."

"You don't know that."

"I know more than you think."

Grant leaned in the doorway, arms folded.

"Here's the part she's being nice about," he said. "You say one wrong thing to him, one, and this whole family goes down. Dad's position. My rank. Everything." He tilted his head. "You want that on you?"

I looked at my mother. She didn't argue with him.

My eyes burned. I blinked hard and stared at the ceiling until it passed.

"I won't say anything."

"Good girl." Celia stood and smoothed her skirt. "Get some sleep."

They left. The hall light went off.

I waited until the house was quiet. Then I crept to the bathroom, unwound the handkerchief, and held it under cold water. I scrubbed until my blood came out of the linen, until only the silver crest remained.

I wrung it out and laid it flat beside my pillow.

My mark gave one slow, warm pulse.

Then my wolf spoke, so softly I almost missed it.

*Maren. Why did your mother say she knows?*

The car came for me at nine.

A guard in black stood on our porch and didn't bother to knock twice. "The King requests Miss Briar. Alone."

My mother watched from the stairs. She didn't say goodbye.

---

Ronan was staying in the old guest lodge behind the pack house. A woman led me upstairs to a room where clothes lay across the bed. Soft wool pants. A cream sweater. Boots lined with fur, exactly my size.

"How did he know my size?" I asked.

"His Majesty notices things," she said, and left.

I changed. The sweater was so soft I kept touching the sleeve to make sure it was real.

Downstairs, Ronan sat at a long table. Silver dishes covered it. Roasted duck. Bread still steaming. Little tarts glazed with honey and something red I didn't know the name of.

"Sit," he said. "Eat."

"All of this is for me?"

"Unless you'd rather starve."

I took a tart. Sweetness burst across my tongue, and I closed my eyes before I could stop myself.

When I opened them, he was watching me. His face gave nothing away.

"You've never had one," he said.

"We don't really do dessert at my house."

He didn't ask why. He poured water into my glass and set the pitcher down.

"I leave for Blackstone tomorrow," he said. "Will you come with me?"

I didn't think. I didn't need to.

"Yes."

His brow drew together. "You don't want to know what it costs? What I expect? What you'd get?"

"No." I put the tart down. "I'll work hard. I'll learn everything. I'll be a good Luna, I promise. You won't be embarrassed by me."

Something shifted behind his gray eyes. His gaze slid down to my hand resting on the table.

The sleeve had ridden up. Four purple marks circled my wrist, the shape of my father's fingers.

I tugged the cuff down fast.

Ronan said nothing. The silence stretched so long I heard the clock ticking in the hall. His fingers curled slowly against the tablecloth, then flattened again.

"Go pack," he said finally. His voice was rough. "Take only what matters."

---

There wasn't much that mattered. A few shirts. Piper's bent birthday candle. The blue handkerchief, folded small.

On my way out, Alpha Beckett caught me at the end of our street. He was gray at the temples and had always nodded to me when no one else did.

"Maren." He pressed something cold into my palm. A small bronze pin, the Cedar Ridge pine tree stamped in its center. "Take this."

"Alpha, I shouldn't—"

"You should." He closed my fingers over it. "I know what goes on in that house. I'm sorry I never did enough." His mouth tightened. "Whatever happens out there, Cedar Ridge keeps a place for you. Always."

My eyes stung. "Thank you."

"And don't let the King scare you." He almost smiled. "He looks like a winter storm, but he sees more than he lets on. You'll be all right once you're away from the Briars. Better than all right."

I pinned the badge inside my coat, right over my heart.

---

The royal car idled in front of my house. A guard held the door open.

I stood on the bottom step and waited.

The curtain in my mother's window didn't move.

"Celia's resting," my father said, coming down the porch. He stopped close and spoke low. "You remember everything this family gave you. A roof. Food. A name." His hand landed on my shoulder, heavy. "Don't forget who you owe."

"I won't, Dad."

"Good."

Grant leaned in the doorway with his arms crossed. He didn't sneer. He *smiled*, slow and easy, like a man watching his trash get hauled away.

"Safe travels, little sister," he called.

That smile followed me all the way into the car.

---

Back at the lodge, Ronan was waiting in the front room. I'd barely set my bag down when the door slammed open.

Two guards came in. One carried a bundle wrapped in cloth.

"Your Majesty. A word."

Ronan's eyes cut to me. "Upstairs."

"Is something wrong?"

"Upstairs, Maren."

I climbed. Halfway up, I heard them, low and clipped.

"Found under a loose board in her bedroom."

"And the family?"

"The mother gave a statement. The brother confirmed it."

Then a sound I'd never heard from a person before. Not a shout. A growl, deep enough to rattle the stair rail under my hand.

My wolf flattened inside me. *Something's wrong. Something's very wrong.*

I sat on the bed in my soft new clothes and waited. Nobody came.

---

At dusk, he knocked once and opened the door.

He'd changed. The coat was gone. He wore plain black, and his face looked carved out of stone.

"Come with me."

"Where?"

"There's a private ritual. It has to be done before we leave Cedar Ridge."

My heart leapt. A mating ritual. It had to be.

"Should I change? Is there something I should wear?"

"What you have is fine."

He didn't take my hand. He walked ahead of me into the trees, and I hurried to keep pace. The forest grew darker. Colder. My boots crunched over frozen needles.

"Ronan? Is it much farther?"

He didn't answer.

The trees ended without warning. Wind slammed into my face. Ahead of us, the ground simply stopped, a ragged edge of rock and then nothing but black air and the faraway roar of the river.

I stopped walking. "Why are we here?"

He turned to face me.

"Kneel."

I laughed, a small, confused sound. "What?"

"Kneel, Maren."

The Alpha command hit me like a hand pressing down on my skull. My knees buckled. Rock bit through the wool.

"The mate bond," he said, "can't erase what you've done."

"What I've—what did I do?" I grabbed for him. My fingers caught his sleeve and twisted in it. "Ronan, please. I don't understand. Tell me. Whatever it is, tell me, I'll fix it."

His eyes flashed gold, then gray, then gold again. A sound tore out of his chest, half snarl, half something worse. His whole body shook like he was holding back a wall.

*He's fighting his wolf*, mine whispered. *His wolf doesn't want this.*

"Your wolf knows," I sobbed. "Listen to him. He knows I didn't do anything. *Please.*"

For one second, his hand trembled over mine.

Then he pried my fingers loose. One. Then the next. Then the next.

"You don't need to know."

He pulled his sleeve free.

The wind howled up from the gorge. My mark burned so hot it felt like a brand. I looked up at him through the tears and said the only thing I had left.

"My mate."

His jaw locked.

He put his hand flat against my chest, right over the mark that matched his, and pushed.

The ground vanished.

I fell backward into the dark, and the last thing I saw was his face at the cliff's edge.

He wasn't looking at me.

He was staring down at his own open palm, where something silver had started to bleed through his skin.