Prologue - Zane

The night air is cool, the sky above us splattered with thousands of tiny stars. The laughter of the pack echoes across the lake.

I watch the others in my peripheral vision as they gather around the firepit, passing bottles of beer and sharing stories, their faces glowing in the flickering light. The air is thick with the smell of woodsmoke and sizzling barbecued meats. Happy as clams, Byron and Olivia are pressed against one another, angled slightly away from me, Olivia leaning into Byron’s chest. Someone—Veronica, I think—tells a joke, and the group bursts out laughing boisterously.

I spend a lot of my time watching them like this. I’m not certain anybody knows about it.

It’s been a month since the mission led by Keira and Ado to take down the traffickers using our lake to ship their ‘cargo’ ended successfully. Since, Keira has settled into the pack better than I ever have, and I’ve been here far longer than her. She quit her job back in New York today. Somehow, everything worked out for her. I see her clutching Ado’s hand in hers as she leans toward the fire, eyes closed, letting its heat whisper over her face. She looks perfectly happy.

I have to keep observing the scene of them, the pack. Not quite my pack. I know that if I lose focus on them, my eyes will drift to Maisie, sitting by the water’s edge not far from me, her reflection shimmering on the surface.

Both of us retreated independently from the festivities. I haven’t yet asked her why she’s stepped out.

It’s too late to stop myself; I’m staring now, and I don’t know why.

She looks beautiful tonight—her dark curls loose around her shoulders, a soft smile on her heart-shaped face as she looks out across the water to the banks on the other side. She’s always captivated me—her pale blue eyes were striking from the first moment I looked into them. I haven't wanted to stop looking into them since. She’s been helping the pack out a lot recently. I get the sense that she’d like nothing more than to do it more. I wonder whether Aris and the others have been considering a permanent position for her and then decide that I shouldn’t care.

I’ve been playing with fire for weeks now. I should clarify: I’ve been playing with fire since I broke into my brother’s house on my first night in Rosecreek.

Byron told me lately, as if it were nothing, that our childhood taught him that everyone leaves or dies in the end. It took him a long time to get away from that kind of thinking. And I still need time if I’m going to forgive you for that, he finished, then left me sitting alone at the bar.

I didn’t say it, but I should have told him that our childhood taught me that if I’m going to survive, I have to look out for number one and number one only.

And when I look at Maisie, I think about survival a lot.

Little touches, lingering glances. I tell her she looks like she’s seen a ghost whenever she sees me. It’s started to make her laugh. We talk after meetings sometimes, the ones she’s invited to when they need her on standby. We talk, and I watch her mouth as she speaks.

I know it’s wrong. Everyone I’ve ever let go of—everyone I’ve ever known, really—was worse off for it. I know this to be true. But I stand before I can stop myself and approach her, loping silently across the dark sand.

She looks up at me as I approach, her bright eyes reflecting the moonlight. There’s something in her gaze I can’t describe. She’s in a soft knitted sweater tonight, its cotton the palest silvery white, seeming to glow in the incandescent shine of the stars above us. It occurs to me that she doesn’t often show a lot of her body.

I sit beside her, close enough that our shoulders brush, and for a moment, neither of us says anything. We sit there, listening to the water lapping at the shore, the sounds of the night wrapping around us.

“You were quiet tonight,” she says softly, her voice just above a whisper.

“Always quiet,” I reply, not trusting myself to say more. “They’re not all that funny.”

She turns to look at me. I let her stare burn into the side of my head, unwilling to look at her because if I look at her, I’ll kiss her, and I can’t kiss her.

“You’re not all that funny, either,” she says breathlessly.

I look at her, into those eyes that captivate me. Later, I’ll blame her for my stupidity.

Our kiss is soft at first. But when she responds, when she presses closer, it’s like a dam breaking. I deepen the kiss, feeling her warmth, the way she fits against me. I wrap my hands around her hips, gentle but firm, and tilt my head, leaning closer. Her chin juts up against mine, and she makes a small noise in the back of her throat.

Her lips taste sharp somehow, sour, like a curse. I inhale and smell whisky.

Just as quickly as it started, I pull away. In the darkness around us, it’s as if the world has let out its breath. I see the surprise in her eyes, the hope and fear, and it twists something inside me. This is where it should end. I should walk away now, leave her with the memory of a sweet kiss and nothing more.

But I don’t. Instead, I stay, lingering beside her, feeling the sheer enormity of everything I’m about to ruin.

She says my name once, then again, with the softness of someone who’s terrified of breaking something. I stare over the water. My pulse throbs in my temples and white noise roars in my ears, incredibly loud and close.

Behind us, the chatter is dying down. People will be headed home soon, hand in hand with their mates, and the lake suddenly feels so large compared to us.

“Zane,” Maisie murmurs in my ear. She rests her warm hand on my forearm. I feel each of her fingers there distinctly. “Come home with me.”

The words send a jolt of panic through me. My entire focus shifts to taking stock of the way she’s swaying slightly, the way the alcohol has softened her edges. I still can’t look her in the eyes again. It’s like a switch flips inside me, and all I can think about is getting away.

“Maisie, no,” I say, sharper than I intend. Her smile falters, confusion flickering in her eyes. “No.”

She leans back, blinking at me as if trying to understand. “What… what do you mean?”

I can’t answer. I just shake my head, the panic clawing at my chest, and I turn away from her. The hurt in her voice when she calls my name cuts deep, but I don’t stop. I can’t. I leave her sitting there by the lake, alone in the dark