Wrenna Voss's POV

The shadow hit me like a freight train.

Heavy paws slammed into my shoulders, driving me face-first toward the mud. Before I could twist away, razor-sharp fangs sank directly into the back of my neck.

They didn't just bite flesh. They clamped perfectly over the scarred tissue of my mate mark.

A scream ripped from my throat as the old wound tore open. I shoved the heavy brass horn backward, blindly smashing the metal into the attacker's skull.

"Get off me!" I roared.

Bone crunched. The rogue whimpered, releasing my neck.

I stumbled forward, spinning around and wiping the hot blood from my eyes. I raised the dented horn like a club, my chest heaving.

Six wolves stepped out of the tree line.

"Stand down!" I ordered, my voice booming over the sleet.

They didn't flinch. They didn't howl. They spread out, flanking me in a perfect crescent. Feral rogues fought like wild dogs, messy and chaotic. These wolves moved with military precision.

Lightning flashed, illuminating their thick, matted fur. Every single one wore a braided red leather cord tied tight around their throat.

"Red-cord mercenaries," I spat, gripping the horn tighter. "Who bought you?"

The largest wolf, a scarred gray male, shifted his weight. His bones cracked as he morphed into a towering, half-human form.

"You talk too much for a dead Luna," the mercenary growled, wiping rain from his snout.

"Thirty thousand gold coins," I said, recognizing the standard contract rate for a high-ranking assassination. "That is the going rate for your guild, isn't it?"

"Your head is paid for," he sneered. "Nothing personal."

"You think you can take this border?" I challenged, taking a slow step backward.

"We already own it," he replied. "Your alarm is dead. Your guards are asleep. You are entirely alone."

My boots slid on the slick slate. I was running out of ground. The roar of the crashing river echoed hundreds of feet below me.

"Are you boys going to stand there all night?"

A soft, entirely calm voice floated through the storm.

I snapped my gaze down the cliff path.

Lola stood at the edge of the tree line, perfectly sheltered beneath a large black umbrella. She wore her crimson silk dress, untouched by the mud or the wind. She wasn't screaming for help. She wasn't running toward the outpost.

She was just watching me.

"Lola, get inside!" I yelled, though the words tasted like ash in my mouth.

She tilted the umbrella back. A chilling smile spread across her face. It was the look of a customer confirming a shipment had arrived exactly on schedule.

"Why would I run?" Lola asked, her tone conversational, completely at odds with the snarling beasts surrounding me. "The storm provides such excellent cover."

"You jammed the valve," I breathed, staring at her through the rain. "The wood chips. You sent Eli out here as a distraction."

"He is a very useful boy," Lola replied, her smile widening. "Thirty thousand gold is a bargain to finally clean house."

"You brought mercenaries onto pack lands!" I screamed, pointing the horn at her. "You are endangering everyone!"

"They only want you, Wrenna," Lola said, adjusting her silk shawl. "Once you fall, they leave. It is a very simple transaction."

"I paid you for efficiency," Lola added, turning her attention to the gray male. "Push her over."

"We work at our own pace, lady," the mercenary chuckled, stepping closer to me. "Time is up, Luna."

"Damon!" I shrieked, praying my voice would carry to the main hall. "Breach! North Cliff!"

"Wrenna, shut up!" Lola snapped, her calm facade faltering for a fraction of a second.

"Damon!" I yelled again.

The heavy oak doors of the outpost finally burst open.

Damon charged into the storm, his formal clothes soaked instantly. He gripped a silver broadsword, his eyes scanning the darkness.

"What is going on out here?!" Damon yelled.

"Mercenaries!" I shouted, my heel teetering on the crumbling precipice. "They breached the perimeter!"

Damon raised his sword. "Who let them in?!"

"Your precious Lola!" I screamed, pointing at the tree line. "She paid them!"

"Liar!" Lola cried out. She dropped her umbrella and fell to her knees in the mud, wrapping her arms around herself. "Damon, they attacked me! Wrenna led them right to me!"

Damon saw the wolves. He saw the blood pouring down my neck.

Then he looked at Lola, shivering on the wet ground.

"Damon, look at their necks! They are hired killers!" I pleaded, extending my free hand toward him. My boots slipped another inch on the wet stone.

"Lola, hold on!" Damon roared.

"Help me!" I begged.

He didn't run toward the cliff. He didn't charge the wolves threatening his mate.

He threw himself in the opposite direction, sprinting across the mud to tackle Lola to the ground, shielding her under his broad chest.

"Guards!" Damon bellowed over his shoulder, completely ignoring my bleeding form. "Form a defensive wall around Lola! Keep her safe!"

"What about the Luna?!" one of the emerging guards shouted from the doorway.

"Leave her! Protect Lola!" Damon ordered.

He never even looked back at me.

The gray mercenary lunged.

I stepped back to brace for the impact, raising the brass horn to strike.

Empty air met my heel.

The loose slate gave way with a sickening crunch.

"Damon—"

Gravity seized me.

I tipped backward, tumbling over the jagged edge of the North Cliff. The freezing wind roared in my ears, tearing the brass horn from my grip.

My stomach dropped. Absolute darkness swallowed me. The violent motion ripped the wound on my neck wide open, sending a fresh spray of hot blood into the freezing rain.

I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the fatal impact of the river rocks below.

A massive, unfamiliar claw shot out from the rocky overhang, wrapping tight around my wrist and jerking me to a violent halt.

Wrenna Voss's POV

"Hold still, or you will tear the stitches."

A sharp sting flared at the base of my skull. I flinched, my hands flying up to block whoever was touching me. My fingers met a thick layer of crushed herbs and rough linen. I twisted my hips, trying to roll off the hard surface beneath me. My muscles screamed in protest.

"I said hold still." A woman with silver-streaked hair pressed her forearms against my shoulders, pinning me to the wooden cot. "You lost a massive amount of blood. If you fight me, you bleed out right here on this table."

I stopped struggling. My chest heaved. I stared at the wooden ceiling, then at the woman leaning over me.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice cracking.

"Sela. Pack healer for Silvermoon." She tugged the linen bandage tighter around my throat, tying a harsh knot. "Do you know your name?"

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. I dug into my mind, searching for a face, a place, a single letter of my name. A vast, empty white void stared back at me. I tried to picture a house, a family, anything. Nothing. Just a blank slate and a pounding headache.

"I do not know," I whispered, my throat raw.

"Do not force it," a deep voice rumbled from the corner of the cabin.

A man stepped into the dim light of the oil lamp. Broad shoulders, sharp jawline, and eyes like cold steel. He wore a heavy dark coat, the collar turned up against the draft. He did not carry himself like a guard. He carried himself like he owned the ground he walked on.

"I am Cassian Vale," he said, stopping at the foot of the cot. "Alpha of Silvermoon. Sela and I pulled you out of the river gorge."

"The gorge," I repeated. The words felt entirely foreign.

Sela leaned in close. She lowered her voice to a harsh murmur, making sure Cassian could hear every word.

"The bite on your neck did not come from a wild animal," Sela said, wiping her blood-stained hands on a towel. "It was a trained rogue. I served in the border wars for ten years. I know a mercenary strike when I see one. Someone wanted you dead, and they paid good money to ensure it happened."

My stomach twisted. Someone wanted me dead. Why? I didn't even know who I was. But a raw, undeniable instinct flared in my blood, cutting through the confusion. Survive. Find out. Destroy them.

"Are you going to ask me where I came from?" I asked Cassian.

I swung my legs over the edge of the cot. The room spun violently, but I gripped the mattress and forced myself to sit upright.

"You do not know where you came from," Cassian replied flatly. "Interrogating a blank wall wastes my time."

He turned and dragged a heavy wooden table to the center of the room. A thick layer of fine, packed sand covered the top, dotted with small wooden blocks and carved flags. A tactical map.

A tall man with a scarred cheek followed Cassian into the light, eyeing me with open suspicion.

"This is my Beta, Jaxon," Cassian said. He gestured to the sand table. "While you were unconscious, you kept moving your fingers against the sheets. Tracing lines. Shifting positions. You were arranging troops."

I frowned, looking down at my bare hands. "I was?"

"You are not a normal patient," Cassian stated. He picked up a wooden block and tapped it against the edge of the table. "Jaxon and I have been trying to break a simulated siege on our western ridge for three hours. Show me what your hands were doing."

"Alpha, she has a traumatic brain injury," Jaxon protested, stepping between me and the table. "She can barely sit up. This is ridiculous."

"Let her look," Cassian commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I pushed myself off the cot. My knees wobbled. Pain shot down my spine, but I locked my joints and limped toward the table. I stared down at the wooden blocks. The red flags represented enemy forces, clustered heavily at the base of a carved sand ridge. The blue flags, Silvermoon defenders, were spread thin across the top.

Jaxon crossed his arms, glaring at me. "They have us pinned," Jaxon said. "Look at the elevation. If we push forward, they flank us in the trees. If we hold the ridge, they starve us out. There is no viable counter-offensive without heavy casualties."

I stared at the board. The shapes of the flags, the curves of the sand—it all made perfect sense, like a language I spoke fluently but couldn't remember learning.

I reached out. My hand moved on its own.

I grabbed three blue blocks from the center line and shoved them far to the left, burying them slightly in the sand to simulate a hidden trench.

"What are you doing?" Jaxon snapped, stepping forward to block my hand. "You just weakened the main gate. They will slaughter the center."

I shoved his hand away. "Watch the board, Beta."

"Quiet," Cassian ordered, his steel eyes locked on my hands.

I ignored Jaxon completely. I swept my palm across the right flank, flattening a small sand hill, and moved the remaining blue flags into a tight, crescent formation. I took a single red block—the enemy vanguard—and pushed it into the gap I had just created at the center.

"You let them in," Jaxon scoffed, his tone heavy with disdain. "Congratulations, you just lost the war."

"I trapped them," I corrected. My voice rang out steady and sharp, carrying an authority I did not know I possessed.

I tapped the blue blocks hidden in the trench. "You are thinking like a guard, trying to protect a static line. Think like a hunter. The enemy pushes the weak center, believing they broke your defense. They flood the gap. The moment their vanguard crosses this line—" I drew a sharp line in the sand with my thumbnail "—your hidden left flank swings out, cutting off their retreat."

I moved the pieces quickly, simulating the crush. "The crescent on the right collapses inward, forcing them into a bottleneck against the steep elevation of your own ridge. You do not hold the ridge to survive. You give up the ridge to turn the valley into a kill box."

Silence filled the cabin.

Jaxon stared at the sand table, his jaw slacking. He looked from the wooden blocks to my face, the suspicion in his eyes replaced by stark disbelief. He reached out, tracing the lines I had drawn in the sand.

"A triple-point encirclement," Jaxon muttered. "We spent hours staring at this. She solved it in ten seconds."

Cassian did not look at the table. He looked directly at me. A dangerous, calculating gleam sparked in his eyes.

"Who taught you how to command?" Cassian asked, stepping closer.

"I told you," I said, wiping the sand from my fingertips onto my pants. "I do not know."

"You have muscle memory for warfare," Cassian noted. "You do not panic when told assassins are hunting you. You belong on a battlefield."

I met his gaze, refusing to back down despite the throbbing pain in my neck. "Then give me a reason to fight for you, Alpha. Because right now, I need a safe place to heal, and you need someone who can actually read a map."

Cassian's mouth twitched into the ghost of a smirk. "Deal."

Sela walked over, carrying a woven basket filled with bloody rags and crushed herbs. She refused to look at me. She kept her eyes fixed entirely on Cassian.

"I need to boil more bandages," Sela said, her voice tight and urgent. "Alpha, a word outside."

Cassian nodded and followed the healer toward the heavy cabin door. Jaxon lingered by the sand table, still rearranging the wooden blocks, muttering under his breath about the kill box.

I sat back down on the cot, my energy draining rapidly. The adrenaline faded, leaving behind a fierce ache in my neck. I pressed my hand against the thick linen, feeling the heat radiating from the wound.

Through the thin wooden walls of the cabin, the wind howled, but it was not loud enough to drown out the voices on the porch.

"She is dangerous, Cassian," Sela whispered sharply.

"She is a brilliant tactician," Cassian replied, his boots shifting on the wooden planks. "We can use her."

"You do not understand," Sela hissed.

The sound of her heavy medicine basket hitting the floorboards echoed through the wall.

"When I cleaned the rotting tissue, I saw the scar tissue underneath," Sela said. "The old mark on her neck is an Alpha-level bite. This woman was a pack's Luna."

Wrenna Voss's POV

Three months after Sela dragged me out of the river gorge, the Silvermoon war room smelled of bitter tobacco and wet iron.

"We hold the northern ridge." Maric slammed his massive fist onto the edge of the sand table, rattling the wooden blocks. "We fortify the perimeter. If we push out, we stretch our lines too thin."

I leaned against the heavy oak doorframe, crossing my arms over my chest. "If you hold the ridge, Maric, you bleed this pack dry in a week."

Maric spun around. He was the senior border commander, twice my size, a jagged scar splitting his left eyebrow. He glared at me.

"You have been here twelve weeks, amnesiac," Maric spat. "You do not know the terrain. You do not know these rogues."

I pushed off the doorframe and walked straight to the table. I did not care who I was before. I refused to ask Sela about the Luna mark on my neck. I only cared about proving I belonged in this room right now.

"I know a siege when I see one," I said, grabbing the cluster of blue wooden blocks Maric had positioned at the top of the sand ridge. "They attack in waves every night. They are not trying to breach your walls. They are trying to exhaust your night patrols."

"They want the high ground," Maric argued, stepping into my space. "If we surrender the elevation, they rain hell down on the main compound."

"Let them take the high ground," I said.

I swept the blue blocks backward, clearing the ridge completely.

"Are you insane?" Maric demanded, his voice echoing off the stone walls.

"Watch the board," I ordered, dropping a handful of red enemy flags into the newly emptied space. "You give them the ridge. The moment they set up camp, they need food. They need weapons. Their supply line has to cross the narrow gorge at Viper's Pass."

I grabbed a single black block and slammed it down on the carved sand gorge.

"You send a strike team to choke the pass," I said, looking up to meet Maric's furious gaze. "You cut off their rations. You starve them out in three days. When they get desperate and try to retreat, you crush them in the bottleneck."

Jaxon, the Beta, leaned over the table. He stared at the arrangement, his brow furrowing. "It is a massive risk. If they break through the pass, they flank us."

"They won't break through," I insisted. "They are impatient."

Jaxon reached into his coat pocket and tossed a blood-stained object onto the sand. "Scouts pulled this off a dead rogue at the border this morning."

I stared at the item.

A thick, braided red leather cord.

My stomach dropped. The war room faded for a fraction of a second. The smell of bitter tobacco vanished, replaced by the heavy scent of freezing rain and wet fur.

Thirty thousand gold coins.

The voice ripped through my skull, sharp and cruel, belonging to a massive gray wolf. I saw a flash of crimson silk. An umbrella spinning in the storm.

I blinked hard, digging my fingernails into my palms to force the memory away. I did not know the context, but the red cord meant death.

"They wear these tied tight around their throats," Jaxon said, oblivious to my reaction.

"They are not normal rogues," I said, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "They are organized. Mercenaries."

Maric scoffed, crossing his thick arms. "All the more reason to keep our walls manned. We do not abandon our defenses for a mercenary trap."

Cassian stepped out of the shadows.

He had not spoken a single word for twenty minutes. He wore a dark wool coat, his broad shoulders filling the space as he approached the table. The Alpha of Silvermoon looked at the red flags on the ridge, then shifted his cold steel eyes to me.

"We execute Wrenna's plan," Cassian ordered.

Maric stiffened. "Alpha. She wants to abandon our primary defense line."

"She wants to win," Cassian corrected. His tone left absolutely no room for debate. "Assemble the strike team, Maric. Choke the pass."

Maric ground his teeth together. "Yes, Alpha."

Fourteen hours later, the war room remained suffocatingly quiet.

I paced the length of the floorboards, my boots avoiding the creaking planks. The oil lamps flickered, casting long shadows across the sand table. If the mercenaries broke the bottleneck, Silvermoon would lose its entire northern flank. And it would be my fault.

The heavy oak doors burst open.

Mud-spattered scouts marched in, their faces smeared with dirt and sweat. Maric followed them. His leather armor was severely dented, coated in thick black blood.

Cassian stood at the head of the table, his expression unreadable. "Report."

Maric stopped at the edge of the sand table. He looked down at the wooden blocks, then up at me. His jaw worked, tightening and releasing twice before he spoke.

"The pass was a bottleneck, exactly as she predicted," Maric announced, his rough voice carrying across the silent room. "They starved. When they tried to retreat down the gorge, we crushed their vanguard. We took zero casualties."

A heavy sigh of relief escaped Jaxon's lips.

Maric stepped around the table, stopping directly in front of me. He did not glare. The hostility in his eyes had completely vanished.

The massive commander dropped to one knee, bowing his head.

"Strategist," Maric said.

A low murmur of approval rippled through the gathered scouts. Jaxon nodded at me, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The validation rushed through my veins, hot and undeniable. I did not need a past. I had built a future right here on this sand table.

"Dismissed," Cassian said.

The commanders and scouts filed out quickly, their heavy footsteps fading down the corridor. The door clicked shut, sealing Cassian and me inside the dim room.

I reached over the table, gathering the red flags from the sand, my hands still buzzing with the adrenaline of the victory.

Cassian walked around the edge of the board. He stopped inches from me. The heat radiating from his chest cut through the drafty air of the war room.

I looked up, dropping the wooden flags back onto the table.

He raised his hand. His rough fingertips brushed the side of my neck, tracing the edge of the thick linen bandage I still wore.

I stiffened, but I did not pull away.

"You earned your place today," Cassian said, his voice dropping to a low, resonant rumble.

He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his intense gaze.

"That scar," Cassian murmured, his thumb grazing the ruined flesh beneath the linen. "It is time it healed."