1. Phaedra

PHAEDRA

" I don't even understand why I need to pay you at all," whined Mrs. Marigold Rider, a slender woman with a pretty severe resting bitch face. She had her hand in her coin purse and was counting out my pay for the day. "You're a shiftless disgrace, not even worth ten dollars."

I tried to keep my face expressionless, but she'd hit me in the spot where I was most tender, most bruised. My inability to shift into my wolf form had caused me to lose everything. It was the reason I was standing here now, enduring this abuse.

Maybe you should worry more about your own problems, like the fact that your son isn't your husband's . That was wanted I wanted to say, but I said nothing. Pointing out Mrs. Rider's dirty laundry would only raise suspicion. She would ask how I knew she'd been unfaithful, and that was a question I could never answer.

"Here," she said, dropping the coins and crumpled dollars in my waiting hand. "Now, get out of my sight."

She walked off, and I turned to walk down the stairs, but I hated the idea of leaving without taking some kind of revenge. Earlier, her newborn son had spit up on one of her favorite dresses. A dress I'd had to clean. It had put her in a bad mood, and she was obviously taking that out on me, but knowing why she was being so cruel didn't mean the words hurt any less.

So, as the door to her son's nursery shut, I snuck into her bedroom. There were a pair of maroon silk socks I'd never once seen her wear in the four years I'd been working for her.

I stuffed the socks into my pockets. I knew a certain pix who could put them to good use. Revenge taken, I crept out of the room and out of the door to leave the Riders' den. Climbing the sand stairs that had been packed tight from years of use by the family, I let out a long sigh as I went topside.

Outside, I removed the baby blue bandanna I kept wrapped around my hair so that I didn't return home covered in dust. I flapped it out a couple of times on my way home. My days weren't much different than this: getting on my hands and knees to scrub floors, and sneezing from dusting high-up places. Occasionally, I also played nanny. That was the job I hated least.

As I left Mrs. Rider's place, another maid passed me. She and I made eye contact briefly before we both focused on the path ahead.

She took over for the Rider family when my shift ended. Her name was Leonora, and while I'd never had a negative experience with her, I wasn't sure what she thought of me. From what I could tell, she, like me, kept to herself. The only times I saw her were in passing between shifts and in the market, but I liked her.

She and I had been together once for a few minutes after Mrs. Rider's son was born. She'd wanted to go over new house rules now that the baby was here. When she started talking about not making too much eye contact with the baby otherwise he'd cry, Leonora had given a subtle roll of her eyes. I'd had to hide my smile. I'd liked her ever since.

I didn't intend to get close to her, though. Why would I try and make friends after all these years? Fated mark or no fated mark, I was going to leave the island soon. There was no reason to try and be social now.

Things could have been a lot worse, though. If I wasn't working as nanny/housekeeper, I didn't even want to think about what I'd have to do to make money. I was just grateful I wasn't selling my body for sex or more exhausting manual labor. But honestly, it was hard to feel grateful for what I had when I also had to deal with the meanness of my employers. The Riders were one of two families I worked for.

On days like these when I had to bear the brunt of my employers' rage, I wished I could be somewhere far, far away. For now, I could only wish. I didn't have the funds to make it a reality.

And while I was on the subject of funds, I had another job to do later that night. Until it was time to head in that direction, I went to my den to change out of my work clothes and wash them. Those of us who lived in Den City, the Riders included, lived in dens underground.

Den City was located on Wilcox pack lands. These small cities held tight-knit communities where there were few secrets, and everyone knew each other. That made it difficult to stay hidden, but I managed. Most of the time the wolves ignored me altogether, which suited me just fine.

Lower-class wolves usually dug out their own dens, which included the entrance tunnels and however many rooms they wanted—usually around two or three. Digging out the foundation meant all they needed to pay for was electricity and a few modern appliances. The dens were wired to a main generator that provided enough power for light and electricity, and there was an underground aqueduct that conveyed water to each den.

I hadn't made my den. My human hands weren't suited for digging, so I claimed an abandoned den as my own. I didn't have a washing machine or a dishwasher the way other dens did, so I didn't use a lot of electricity. The only power I needed was for my radio, but I used rechargeable batteries for that. For light, I used candles. The wolf that had lived here must have been single, since there was only one room, a bathroom, and a kitchenette with a wood-burning stove. The smoke went up the chimney and safely drifted away on the fresh air. Not having a fridge meant I could only cook enough for myself, but after years of living this way, I'd gotten used to these few resources.

I felt reasonably safe in my little den, and I'd decorated the walls and empty shelves with fabric flowers and pretty bobbles that I bought from the market on the rare days I had off. It felt as close to "home" as I could afford to make it. The walls were red brick, packed tightly into the dirt.

I changed into a more comfortable set of clothes—a pair of sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt—then tied my dirty blonde hair up in a bun. A pile of wood was stacked up by my wood-burning stove. I was hungry, but I didn't feel like prepping the stove to cook. Instead, I opened a can of peaches, added a dash of cinnamon, and grabbed a fork to eat them right out of the can.

While I munched on the fruit, I filled the tin bucket with water and detergent, then dumped my clothes in and started scrubbing. Five years ago, I hadn't known how to wash my own clothes, or how to clean or cook. It had taken weeks to teach myself how to do those things well enough to get hired. And now it was all I did.

I turned on the radio. Sometimes it picked up on the radio stations that played on the mainland, but today all it gave me was static. Great. Guess I'd be working in silence.

"It's fine," I muttered. "It's not like this is the only time I've had to keep my own company." Ew. I wish I hadn't said that. It made me feel even worse.

After rinsing the clothes, it was time to hang them to dry. The den was several years old, and the dirt stairs leading up easily held my weight and that of my damp clothes as I ascended. I spread my clothes out on the clothesline beneath a large Douglas fir. By nightfall, they would be dry, even if it rained. I didn't have to worry about anyone stealing my things—nothing in my den was worthy of theft.

It was late afternoon by the time I was done, the sun sinking toward the horizon. Time for me to head to the sacred lands to do my second job.

I finished my can of peaches and drank the juice down. The empty can would get me a couple of cents from the vendors who repurposed the aluminum, so I washed it out and left it by the other cans.

With my stomach full enough, I headed off to the sacred lands. These lands were surrounded by coniferous trees and wildlife, which were always a bit of a pain for me to get through. If I could shift, I would be able to dodge and weave between the trees and leap over the boulders and fallen logs, but I had to take a slower path—one that had been worn by other bipedal travelers.

My destination was the statue of the goddess Holo, a couple of miles out of Den City, where I lived and worked. The wolf population became more and more sparse as I neared the sacred lands, which wasn't surprising. Out of deference, wolves avoided the lands unless they wanted to visit the statue. The only life around were the pix folk flying back and forth. Pix were not shifters, but very small people with butterfly wings who lived in small villages. Pix were a little mischievous and usually kept their friendships within their species. As I said, they were small—the tallest one I'd seen was maybe seven inches. Their size meant they were prey to snakes, foxes, and feral wolves.

Pix were naturally and understandably distrusting of larger species. For that reason, they lived all over the sacred lands. They worshipped the same gods as shifters but didn't share the same level of fear for the land that wolves had. I expected to see a lot more of them flitting around as I walked, but they were as scarce as wolf shifters today. This confused me until I saw the hunched silhouette limping toward me.

Kestrel, the dark witch. I had only seen her a handful of times in the five years since I fled to Den City, but whenever she was around, the pix were nowhere to be seen. The witch was carrying an old tote bag, which told me she was probably on her way to the middle market in Den City. She was all of four feet tall, and her loose clothing made it impossible to tell how large or thin she was. Her tanned, wrinkled skin made her look at least a hundred years old, but her dark eyes were watchful and intelligent.

As we passed each other, our eyes met. It lasted only half a second, but I had to stifle a shiver.

Kestrel was probably the only person on Isle Royale more hated than me, but she was known to work mysterious magics and knew a lot of spells that could solve problems. So, unlike me, she had use and value on the island. The most I could offer people was an extra set of hands to complete odd jobs around Den City.

Wolves and pix were superstitious, but I'd learned the hard way that the gods, if they existed at all, didn't care much about us. Even Holo, goddess of the night and favored among shifters, seemed to have turned her back on us. Though I didn't believe in magic or rituals, I decided to take a page from the pix who believed Kestrel was evil and gave her as wide a berth as possible.

I'd made it a mile and a half to the sacred lands when I saw something glitter from the corner of my eye. I turned but saw only pine trees.

"Boo!" the voice boomed in my right ear, and I yelped, clapping a hand over it. A familiar pix floated there, doubled over, laughing with her hands on her stomach.

"Eleanor," I growled. "You know I hate when you do that."

"Sorry, Phae. You looked so serious, I couldn't help it." She wiped a tear from her eye and flew on gossamer aquamarine wings close to my face. She had short, ocean-blue hair, and was all of four inches tall.

"As soon as my ear stops ringing, I'll get you back."

She smirked. "Uh-huh, sure."

It was impossible for me to stay annoyed with her, especially when she sat on my shoulder and her butterfly wings brushed gently across my cheek. Few people got to experience the lovely sensation. I felt lucky to have a friend as novel and wonderful and empathetic as Eleanor.

"So, what's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing." I sighed. "I just had a shitty day, but what else is new?"

El gently patted my cheek. "I'm sorry, Phae. But at least you're close to getting out of here, right? Only another year, right?"

"Actually, it might only be a few more months."

Her eyebrows raised. "Really? That soon?"

The fact that I was so close made me smile. "Yes, really. As long as things keep going well, I'll be able to afford to pay off my loyalty contract and then take the next ferry out of here."

"I guess this ‘second gig' of yours really has paid off." She put air quotes around the term. "Seriously, though, I can't believe you've gotten away with this for so long. You'd think wolves would be more skeptical of a statue suddenly talking to them."

I snickered. About three years ago, I started hiding inside the statue of a goddess and listening to people's problems and giving advice. Yes, I was pretending to be Holo herself—something I was sure could get me killed if anyone had found out—but so far, no one had suspected anything.

Scraping and scrimping as much money as I could had been hard the past five years, but my savings were nearing the five-thousand-dollar mark. That was enough to pay off the loyalty contract and buy a ticket for the ferry. My contract was owned by the Wilcox pack, and the alpha, Edgar Salcedo, was the only one who could accept my payment and release me. If I didn't pay it off, I could be subject to fines or prison time if they tracked me down, so it was best to pay it off.

With Isle Royale far behind me, I could find somewhere to live on the mainland. Maybe I'd get off the island and stay. I could settle down in Michigan or go somewhere else. All that mattered was that I would be with humans like me, and I'd be able to find my place among them.

"People will believe any sign of the divine," I said with a smirk. "Even small ones."

El laughed. "When did you become an expert on theology?"

"Well, I only have my own experiences. I'll use myself as an example. I was supposedly a gift from Holo herself to be Connor Salcedo's chosen mate once he became alpha. Look at me now. Pretending to be the goddess just to make enough to save some money."

Five years ago, my friends and family had abandoned me. I wasn't my parents' biological daughter. They found me and took me in. After living my entire life in Wilcox pack lands, the place where the rich, high-class wolves enjoyed incredible luxury, I was cast out. Everyone in my life told me that I was "special", but when I couldn't shift, they all turned their back on me. My so-called chosen mate, my parents, and my friends, all gone. I hadn't had contact with them in years, and on my better days, I could pretend that didn't bother me at all.

Since losing everything, I'd come to terms with what was probably the truth about my origins. I was likely abandoned by my real parents. An unwanted child. All too often, a wolf confessed to impregnating or being impregnated by another who wasn't their chosen mate. Given the trajectory of my life, I was probably someone's shameful secret. It was just luck that I was taken in by the wealthy Revera family.

Revera.

I hadn't used that name in a long time, and by now, I'd stopped thinking of myself as the old version of me.

I shook my head to get rid of those thoughts. El looked at me, her eyebrow raised, but I ignored the question. There wasn't anything to say. If I was going to pretend to be Holo, I needed not to be so distracted by these pointless thoughts.

I saw the top of Holo's head poking out above the trees before we reached the clearing where she stood. As she came into view, El and I both had to crane our necks to see all of her. She stood nine stories tall, including the ten-foot base. It was made from bronze, and it was old enough that the bronze had oxidized into turquoise. It was quite a lovely sight, and the setting sun made it that much lovelier.

The statue's arms were aloft. If the timing was right, and if we stood in just the right spot, it looked like her hands were lovingly cupping the moon. A master artisan whose name was long forgotten had carefully sculpted every inch of her, the muscles incredibly defined, the dress molded perfectly to her svelte form, perpetually lifted by an intangible wind. Her curly hair was tamed into a bun, revealing her beautiful, untroubled expression. She gazed down at the land as if she was in love. The thought of her being in love with any of us made me want to laugh.

"It really is an incredible statue," El said.

I shrugged. "I guess so. After so many years coming here, it just doesn't impress me anymore. But you know what does?"

"What?"

I pointed at the base of the statue, where a small handful of coins glittered. "I guess someone had a confession after I left."

El laughed as I picked up the coins and counted them. Another three dollars in my pocket. Later, I'd add them to the money I'd stashed near the base of the statue.

For now, I pocketed the change and walked behind the statue. I scaled up the base to the back of the statue's left calf. There was a crack there just large enough for me to wiggle inside. The statue was hollow, and the knee provided a little nook I could wedge myself into comfortably. If any wolf walked behind the statue while I was inside, the crack would let them see me. But with the help of a little pix magic, I would be totally invisible, my scent undetectable.

Before I entered the statue, El flew above me and fluttered her wings. Iridescent specks of magic sprinkled over me. I held my breath because El's magic often made me sneeze. When it was done, I looked at my hands. I was visible to myself and El, but no one else would know I was there, not unless they were already aware of me.

"All right," I said. "Let's get to work."

I crawled into the statue and was fully nestled just as the sky turned black. I sat comfortably on the old blanket I used as a cushion between me and the hard metal statue. On the inside, there were cracks that weren't visible from the outside. Things felt sturdy enough, but sometimes I wondered if an earthquake or a hurricane would take this statue down.

All I had to do was keep my eye on the crack in the knee and wait for people to come. El and I chatted quietly to pass the time, but it only took an hour before the first devotee arrived. I recognized her from the market, a woman named Heather who polished crystals she found in the forest and sold them as necklaces and earrings.

"Goddess Holo," Heather said as she got on her knees. "Please, I have worked hard to beautify the treasures of your island, but my business has not grown the way I need it to. What can I do to interest more people?"

I took a few seconds both to think over my answer and to add some gravitas to the moment. "Hear me," I said, my voice reverberating up through the body of the statue. Heather flinched. I didn't blame her. My voice sounded ethereal and powerful even to me. "If an increase in business is what you want, you must increase the amount of attention on your wares."

"Increase the attention?" she repeated. "But how?"

Sometimes I felt a little silly doing this. I wished I could say, for instance, "get popular, richer people in Den City to wear your jewelry to make them more appealing to others," but I doubted a goddess who was thousands and thousands of years old would put it so simply.

"Consider the influential people in your village," I replied. "Consider how they can help attract attention to your trinkets."

She thought that over, then nodded. "I... I think I understand, Goddess. Thank you, thank you." As she got to her feet, I heard the clink and clang of the coins hitting the base of the statue. It sounded like quite a few. El, who was sitting on my leg in the statue, looked at me at the same time that I looked down at her. Score!

The next person who came to me paid first and then got on his knees. It was Gregory, a young man who'd just had his twenty-first birthday. That put us at the same age. I wasn't invited to the celebration, of course, but I'd heard its jovial sounds. It had reminded me of my time in high-wolf society, when I was invited to every party, every gala. I wished I didn't miss it as much as I did.

"Goddess, please," Gregory said. "How do I know if the woman I want is right for me?"

I rolled my eyes. The gossip was that this young man had multiple women he was considering as mates. From what I'd observed when I spotted him around town, the women all wanted to be with him, but he hemmed and hawed about which one of them he wanted most. The women grew unhappier each day he refused to make his choice.

Again, I let a few seconds pass before responding. "A maiden who desires you will make her intentions clear. Pay attention to the signs, listen to her words. If you doubt her devotion to you or her ability to be a good mate, you must consider her comportment. The maiden whose values and behaviors align with yours is a safe choice."

I let him chew on that for a few moments, then added, "Matters of the heart are not to be taken lightly. You cannot play with her or any other maiden's heart simply for your own amusement. If you continue to do so, you will be left with no one."

Gregory nodded. "You have given me a lot to think about, Goddess. Thank you." He stroked his chin as he walked away. I wondered which woman he'd choose.

Questions about business were pretty common, as were questions about love. I liked to think I gave pretty good advice. I was pretending to be a goddess after all, and I needed to give counsel that people could benefit from. So, I paid close attention to Den City and its people, taking note of the things people did that worked and the things that failed. I helped things along where I could.

For example, there was a family of seamstresses who had to throw away their sewing machine when it stopped working last week. They couldn't afford a new one. With El's pix magic cloaking me, I found the sewing machine in the landfill and took it home before it was disassembled for parts. I also "borrowed" a book on sewing machines from the town bookstore, then cleaned and fixed up the machine myself. By the time I was done with it, it looked and worked like it was brand new. I delivered it to their den while they were asleep—and returned the book, of course.

For Heather and Gregory, there wasn't anything I could do to make my advice come to fruition. I just needed to wait and see.

I spent four more hours in the statue before I reached my limit. My muscles were getting stiff, and if I stayed any longer, I'd get bruises on my legs. I started to wiggle my way out.

"Wait," El whispered. "Someone else is coming."

I huffed a quiet breath of annoyance and pressed my sneaker to the metal to keep me in place. From that less than secure position, I peered through the crack at the newcomer. The large wolf appeared almost white in the darkness. It was lithe and healthy, its body built for running and hunting. My breath caught in my throat. The wolf looked familiar. It wasn't uncommon for wolves to wander around in their wolf forms, and often, they had their clothes attached to them in some way. I assumed he was just a wolf who'd stopped by after going on a run… then he shifted.

I slapped my hand over my mouth. I had never seen him before but in pictures posted on message boards in high-wolf society. El seemed to realize who he was at the same time I did.

"What is he doing here?" Her hushed voice was frantic in my ear, the nervous flutter of her wings produced a small, sharp breeze against my cheek.

"I don't know," I whispered back.

Asher Wesson, alpha of the Dagger pack, stood naked in front of the statue. His tanned skin seemed to glow with supernatural light in the soft moonlight. He was tall, his body lithe and taut with hard, lean muscle. He removed the clothing he'd tied around himself—a white button-down and dark pants—and dressed. He pushed feathery, dark chocolate hair out of his eyes and looked up at the statue. My heart was pounding so hard, I wondered if he could hear it. Wolves had heightened senses, and if he was an alpha, I imagined his senses were even more attuned to prey. I.e. me.

I trembled as I watched him walk forward. He was the enemy. Over the past few months since William, his father, was killed, Asher had led the Dagger pack to take more and more territory from the Wilcox pack.

Because of his success, Asher had earned the reputation of being a dangerous, calculating, ruthless alpha. The Dagger pack was unique in that they seemed to spend a ton of their time in their wolf forms. People said that made them crueler and more bloodthirsty. But Asher didn't seem all that imposing as he stopped near the base of the statue and tossed his coins. In fact, the way his broad shoulders were hunched forward, and the way he looked up through his lashes at Holo told me he was actually remorseful about something.

I ought to have stayed silent, ought to have waited for him to leave, but I was curious what the alpha of a rival pack wanted. It was dangerous, risking my position to someone as powerful as Asher, but then again, I was on sacred land. It was forbidden for every wolf, no matter what pack they came from, to kill here.

But it was impossible to know how the alpha would react if I was exposed. I needed to keep in mind that my position in the knee wasn't as secure as it had been before I started getting out of the statue. I couldn't risk exposure by shifting into my original spot.

"Speak," I said.

Asher flinched as my voice reverberated through the statue, just the way all parishioners did. El looked at me with wide eyes that demanded "what the hell are you doing, girl?" but I ignored her. It wasn't like I had an answer.

"Goddess Holo," he began. "I need to get some things off my chest." He spoke gently and with reverence, but his deep voice allowed me to hear him clearly. He was the sort of man who never had to raise his voice to command the attention of a room.

I hadn't been in the presence of a real alpha in five years, back when I was still in the good graces of the Salcedos.

"I know my father committed a great sin against you when I was a child," Asher said. "When he hurt you and severed the link binding my pack to Emrys, he stole the ability to control our shifts from you. But when he was killed six months ago, that ability transferred not to me, but to the Wilcox pack. As you know, they are our enemy."

My anxiousness shifted to confusion. What the hell was he talking about? Emrys was the so-called god realm, the plane where Holo and the other deities lived, but it wasn't real. I'd read countless books about the old legends involving the gods when I was part of high-wolf society. Those books talked about the gods being able to control wolf shifts, but that shouldn't be an ability that could transfer to mortals. Besides, I thought the Dagger pack loved being in their wolf forms?

"I'm so sorry for what my father did to you," he continued, "but my pack has felt the punishment for my father's actions. We can only manage to spend a few hours a day as humans, and that only brings us closer to becoming feral as the days go by. We can't go on living this way. No wolf could. The only option I have to save my pack is to kill Edgar before his son ascends to take his place as alpha… but I'm sure you know the difficulties that face us if I take that path." He dropped to his knees in front of the statue, his head bowed low. "Please, reestablish the bond between the Dagger pack and Emrys. I will do anything you ask in return. You can take my wolf, you can take my life. Take anything, but please save my pack."

It wasn't like me to stay silent after a confession, but what on earth could I say? Whatever Asher was talking about, I didn't understand it. It was true that his father had been killed by Edgar, but beyond that, what he was saying about Holo and curses made no sense at all. Those things weren't real.

Maybe he was crazy. Maybe Asher wasn't the tough alpha I'd been led to believe he was. Maybe he was just as reckless as his father had been.

As Holo, I wanted to dismiss him and tell him everything he was saying was nonsense, but he'd said he was willing to give up his wolf form if it would save his people. Looking at him on his knees, his expression open, vulnerable, and so, so sad, I believed he was being sincere. From what I understood, a shifter and his or her wolf was a bond that, once formed, could never be broken. It was like he was offering his own heart to Holo. Crazy or not, that level of devotion tugged at my heartstrings.

So, instead of dismissing him, I wanted to offer some kind of comfort. In exchange for taking the money offered to me, I had to give something in return. Words of wisdom, a blessing—anything to make sure they never had to feel like I did when I was helpless at sixteen, when I begged and pleaded Holo to give me a wolf form only for her to stay silent.

But what could I say? He was asking for things that were impossible for me to understand, let alone grant.

I deliberated, but I must have taken too long. Asher suddenly got to his feet, a growl rumbling from his chest. "Damn you, say something!" he demanded.

He kicked the base of the statue, and the force of his attack shook through the legs. My sneaker slipped and I yelped, floundering until I caught myself again. I became as still as the statue itself, but it was too late. He'd heard the squeak of my sneaker against the metal, heard my cry. He knew I was there.