Prologue

PROLOGUE

T welve years before

With his brother Fell beside him, Patrin stumbled from the back of the cargo van, landed on his hands and knees…and froze.

Every breath—every single breath—brought him the overwhelming fragrance of evergreens, mosses, and dirt. No harsh cleansers, fear sweat, or death.

He could hear the ugly voices of the humans, the whimpering of cubs younger than him, the pinging of the cooling engine. And his heart lifted because he could also hear wind rustling in the high branches of the fir trees surrounding them.

As a chill breeze from the snow-topped mountains swept over the group of young shifters, Patrin's whole body shivered at the joy of being outside after the long, long months of being held captive in cages underground.

Of seeing the babies and everyone older than thirteen die. Some shot down on the streets of Dogwood. Some from being cut up and…and—his memories flinched away. The babies and anyone past First Shift wasted away from the lack of forest and the metals surrounding them.

He pulled in a hard breath. Mum growing whiter, thinner. Worrying about him and Fell and Darcy…even as she struggled to breathe. And then…then she hadn't.

Gods, Mum. The Scythe didn't bring Darcy with us. How can I keep our sister safe?

All the male cubs from eight to thirteen years old had been stuffed into the van and brought here, wherever here was. At thirteen, only the littermates, Chester and Graham, and Bryn and Rhys were older than Patrin and Fell.

A big human, the one everyone called "the Colonel", stared down at the group of cubs—and all of them clustered closer as if it'd keep them safe.

Patrin knew better.

"Listen up, mutants." The Colonel's face was all sharp angles, his head shaved. His cruel black eyes were like a bald eagle's looking at a nest of helpless mice. "These are your barracks and training grounds."

Patrin glanced around. The cleared area in the forest held two buildings, one a house, the other looked kinda like a barn. Everything was surrounded by a kind of fence, only this one was made of logs, side by side, with the tops sharpened to a point. Like what some weird primitive barbarians might build. "What's that fence thing called?" he asked in the nearly silent speech all the cubs had learned to use.

His bookworm of a brother said under his breath, "A stockade."

A tiny glow lit Patrin inside. Because Fell had answered . His brother blamed himself for being the reason Mum moved them to Dogwood, their village that the Scythe had discovered and destroyed. Fell rarely spoke these days.

Something else to mourn.

"I should just put you abominations to death. Instead, because I'm merciful, you'll get a chance to be useful." The Colonel's lips twisted into a terrifying smile. "You'll learn to fight, no matter how much it hurts. To kill whoever we tell you to. And you'll obey every damn command you're given."

Although most of the cubs were looking down, Patrin stared at the human. Hating him. Obey? Never.

As if he'd heard Patrin's thoughts, the Colonel laughed. "If you disobey, we'll beat you, like any misbehaving mongrel. And then we'll whip the skin from your sister."

Patrin's blood went cold. All their sisters were still imprisoned back at the Seattle compound—including his and Fell's littermate, Darcy.

"Oh, look, the little brains are beginning to get it." The Colonel spoke directly to Patrin. "If one of you stinking mutants act up, your sister will bleed for it. If you run away, we kill her ."

With that, Patrin understood the trap they were caught in. Because none of them would risk their sisters.

Was this why the shifters without sisters had been killed? The horror of it froze him.

Gods, what can I do? Tears burned his eyes, but he held them back as he stared at the Colonel. Even at twelve, he knew an evil person when he saw one.

Humans in black clothing herded them all into the biggest building. The barracks. It held bunk beds around the walls, tables and chairs in the center, and a door leading to a bathroom. After flipping on the light, they closed the door, leaving them there.

The place stank of rancid food, mold, urine, and…humans. They must have used it for humans before the cubs.

The youngest of them began to cry. The others looked at the older ones hopefully. So did Patrin. Someone needed to take charge and tell them all what to do.

But Chester and Graham backed up to a bed, then Graham lay down and curled into a ball, his face toward the wall. Chester sat down beside him.

Patrin's stomach sank. The two had been his and Fell's first friends in Dogwood. Like Patrin, Chester liked to have fun and tell jokes. Graham was just plain nice.

Fell made an unhappy sound, and Patrin nodded. Their friends weren't going to take charge.

The other thirteen-year-old littermates, Bryn and Rhys stared at the floor. Their other brother had been shot and killed in Dogwood. They still hadn't recovered from his littermate bond being broken. They weren't going to take over.

I can't do this.

Patrin looked at Fell who jerked his chin toward the littlest cubs, saying without words, someone must take care of them .

After clearing his throat—and hoping his voice didn't crack—Patrin pointed at the sink and bathroom. "C'mon, cubs. Let's get this place cleaned up. It stinks."

"B-but, they're gonna make us fight. Hurt us." One of the eight-year-olds clung to his littermate, tears on his cheeks.

"Maybe." Resolve formed in Patrin's chest. "But we're Daonain, and we're strong. We'll stand together, and we'll grow tough. And deadly."

Far, far deadlier than their parents who didn't know how to fight against the murderous humans when they'd attacked Dogwood.

Someday, the Scythe would pay for all the deaths.

His brother's shoulder pressed against his—as always, they stood together.

The other cubs turned toward him and Fell. Their faces filled with hope…and trust.

"We'll make it through this and get free." It was a promise. A vow. And he whispered one more, under his breath. "I'll protect them."

Fell's gaze met his as he said the last thing he would for the days to come. " We will."