"The sacrifice should have died, and we all know it."
Sera's declaration cuts through the evening air, her perfect features arranged in an expression of mild distaste as though discussing an unpleasant but necessary household task.
The wolves around me shift uneasily, but no one contradicts her.
"The treaty exists for a reason," she continues, dark eyes settling on me with contempt that makes my skin crawl. "Every pack in this territory is asking questions about the sacrifice who refused to die. You need to find a way to sever these bonds and eliminate the problem, or the council will be forced to intervene."
"You cannot seriously expect them to…" I begin, but Grogan's hand on my shoulder silences me.
"We understand the political implications," he says carefully. "The situation is unprecedented, and we are exploring every possible avenue to resolve it without unnecessary bloodshed."
"Unnecessary?" Sera's laugh carries no warmth. "There is nothing ‘unnecessary’ about correcting a mistake that should never have occurred. Find a solution, or I will ensure the council finds one for you."
Hrollok steps forward, and the feeling in my chest pulses with an emotion I cannot immediately identify.
"I am already researching methods to sever the connection," he says, voice flat and cold. "If a way exists to undo what has been done, I will find it."
The words drive the breath from my lungs.
I knew he hated me, knew he viewed my presence as an unwelcome burden. But hearing him volunteer to work toward my death unexpectedly carves something hollow in my chest.
"Good," Sera purrs, satisfaction curling through her voice. "At least one of you understands what needs to be done."
Her gaze lingers on Hrollok for a moment longer than necessary, and I catch a flicker of recognition pass between them before she turns away.
"Abby." Grogan's voice is gentle but firm. "Go find Theron. Stay with him until we finish discussing matters that do not require your presence."
I want to argue, to demand my right to participate in conversations about my own survival, but the exhaustion in Grogan's gray eyes stops me.
He is trying to protect me from something, even if I cannot see what exactly.
"Fine," I mutter, turning my back on the gathering with as much dignity as I can muster.
The walk through the territory feels longer than it should, each step carrying the weight of contradictions I cannot resolve. Three days ago, I was a girl with a college acceptance letter and a future mapped out in careful increments.
Now I am searching for one of my captors because another captor told me to. Seeking safety among the very people responsible for destroying every plan I ever made.
The irony tastes bitter on my tongue.
I should hate them. I should be plotting escape routes and memorizing patrol patterns, not following orders like a well-trained dog. But the feeling humming beneath my ribs complicates everything.
These men did not choose to be tethered to me any more than I chose to be tethered to them. And that shared lack of consent creates a strange kinship I resent almost as much as I rely upon it.
You are siding with your kidnappers, the rational part of my mind whispers. Stockholm syndrome in record time, girl.
When I finally find Theron at the edge of the settlement, he sharpens a hunting knife with methodical strokes. The rasping sound of metal against whetstone fills the silence between us until he looks up.
Registering the expression on my face, he sets aside his work.
"Walk with me," he says simply, rising to his feet with fluid grace. "Some conversations are better held away from ears that might carry them to places we would rather they not go."
We follow a winding path into the deepening forest, and I wait until the settlement's glow fades behind us before speaking.
"Who is she?" The question emerges sharper than I intend. "That woman, Sera. The way everyone deferred to her, and the way Hrollok looked at her… Like there is something between them that goes beyond your pack politics."
Theron's expression grows guarded, his handsome features arranging themselves into careful neutrality.
"Sera holds considerable influence among the older packs, and her opinions carry weight with the council that oversees inter-pack relations. As for her history with Hrollok…"
He pauses, seeming to weigh how much to reveal.
"She rejected him." The words come out clipped, almost reluctant. "Years ago. That is all I can say. The rest of it, the details and the why of it, that is his story to tell, not mine."
She rejected him.
The revelation settles somewhere in my chest, rearranging pieces of Hrollok I had not known were out of place.
The deflection frustrates me, but I recognize the loyalty in it and find myself respecting Theron more for his discretion.
"Then tell me about you," I say instead. "Every one of you carries damage that supposedly made you unbondable, and I would love to understand what I am dealing with here."
The charming mask Theron wears so effortlessly slips, revealing the haunted man beneath. His amber eyes lose their practiced warmth, and for a moment he looks far much older.
"Has anyone already told you about the Blackpelt line?" he asks, and when I shake my head, his smile turns bitter. "Three generations ago, one of my ancestors forced a bond with an unwilling mate. The violation corrupted our entire bloodline, twisting the magic that should have connected them into something monstrous instead."
"I am not sure I understand," I say quietly.
His voice drops, rough with old grief. "Every Blackpelt since has carried that corruption in their blood. We are stronger, faster, more vicious than normal wolves… But our bonds twist into obsession. We destroy what we love, Abby. Every single one of us."
He pauses, and I watch him swallow hard before he forces himself to continue.
"I have watched uncles and cousins succumb to the madness. I watched my own father's mind fracture until he could not tell the difference between protecting my mother and imprisoning her."
I reach for his hand before I can think better of it, and the moment our skin connects, warmth blooms low in my stomach like the first sip of whiskey spreading through my veins. The sensation is intoxicating and unsettling in equal measure.
"What exactly is a bond?" I ask, because the word keeps getting thrown around like I should understand it. "Is it this feeling I get when I am near any of you? This sort of pull in my chest?"
Theron's thumb traces absent patterns across my knuckles, and the honeyed ache intensifies.
"That is exactly what it is," he says. "A bond is a magical connection between mates. It links two wolves—or in your case, a human and a wolf. When fully formed, bonded mates can sense each other's emotions, sometimes even share thoughts."
"And how does it become fully formed? Grogan said our survival is linked now, but the connections with the rest of you feel weaker, somehow."
"A bond begins as potential," he explains. "To complete it requires two things: mating and a mark." His amber eyes hold mine steadily. "Grogan did both with you that night in the forest. He marked you here—"
His free hand lifts to brush against my collarbone, right where my old scar burns sometimes.
"But as a human, you likely cannot mark him back. The bond is sealed on his end but incomplete on yours, which creates an imbalance we do not fully understand yet."
Heat rises to my cheeks at the clinical discussion of what happened between Grogan and me.
"The connections with the rest of us remain unsealed," Theron continues. "Until each bond is completed through mating and marking, you will feel only echoes of what the full connection offers."
I pull my hand away, flustered. "That is certainly information I could have used earlier…"
His smile returns, carrying genuine warmth despite the shadows pooling beneath his eyes.
"But Sera's visit means you have enemies, and not everyone here will welcome a human walking among us. If you want to survive, you need to learn how to defend yourself—how to fight, how to track, how to recognize threats."
The offer catches me off guard. Acceptance letters and packed boxes feel like relics from another lifetime, dreams belonging to a girl who no longer exists.
This is not the fresh start I planned, but it might still become a beginning. Just different kind.
"Teach me then," I say finally. "Teach me everything I need to know."
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