Prologue

GHOST

B etter to fight and fall than live without hope.

Fuck that noise. My bastard father can take his sayings and shove them up his ass. I'm not here to fall. I'm here to fucking conquer.

I stand at the edge of the Gravewater pool, my eyes fixed on its inky black water. Spirits writhe just beneath the surface, flashes of white here and there, hungry for their next meal. Well, they can keep waiting. I'm not on the menu today.

The magic that once bled into the land from those who lived here before us still lingers like a sickness. It belongs to the few fae who were sent to this place initially before the wolf shifters arrived and slaughtered them all. And now the water at my feet is where the dead souls of this island end up.

With the balmy breeze blowing through my hair, I lift my gaze to the sky bleeding crimson, like Nightmare Island itself is anticipating the bloodshed to come. We're on a lofty stone ledge, halfway up one of the two Shadow Piton mountains that dominate the coastline.

Before us rises a solid rock face—the side of the mountain—the lower half twisted into a massive skull. Water pours from its empty eye sockets, raging into the pond with a fury that steals the silence.

I tear my gaze away from the scene to face Sten, the soon-to-be former Alpha of this godforsaken island. He's standing at least twenty feet from my location by the Gravewater pool, smirking in my direction—cocky bastard. His dark blond hair sits in a mess around his round face. Those dead gray eyes of his are smiling at the corners, but there's only the promise of violence behind them.

Good . I'm in the mood for fucking brutal violence.

"You dared to challenge me," he growls gravelly, his tone filled with dark amusement. "Then show me what you're made of."

Squaring my shoulders, I lift my chin higher. Around us, at least two dozen shifters in their wolf forms surround the water, their eyes gleaming with hunger. These fuckers are always hungry for something—food, women, or death. Today, they'll get at least one of those things.

"It'll be over soon enough," I reply steadily. I'm not putting on a show for these animals. "You still have a choice, Sten. Yield the position of Alpha of your pack to me, and we don't need to do this. Save yourself the humiliation."

Sten barks out a vicious laugh. "You need a lesson, boy, to remember your place."

I grimace, anger flaring hot in my chest. I'm barely two years younger than this prick, and he has the audacity to call me boy ?

"I saved you when you first arrived," Sten continues, his voice dripping with contempt. "Protected you like a brother. And this is the fucking reward you offer me?" His face twists into a mask of hatred. "I'm going to cover the mountain with your blood." His eyes narrow, a cruel smile warping his lips. "We're doing this officially, with our ritual to show everyone I'm a man of my word who makes anyone who challenges me pay the price with their life. Then, when I win, I will gut you from groin to throat."

Something stings in my chest, a traitorous pang of… what? Guilt? Regret? I push it down ruthlessly. Yes, Sten had helped me when I first washed up on these shores less than six months ago, but the fucker has a demented notion of what protection means. He'd also broken my ribs, chained me like a dog to a tree, and thrown me scraps to drive fear into me.

He had no idea who he was dealing with then. He's about to find out now.

"We doing this, or are you getting emotional?" I snap, tired of the bullshit. Sentiment gets you killed in this world. I saw it happen often enough back in Denmark, where I grew up with the Balor Wolf Pack, and again here on Nightmare Island.

Sten nods sternly, and we make our way around the pool to the black rocky wall in front of us, keeping a distance between us of around five feet.

I glance back at Aiquen—one man amid the wolves—the oldest on the island, fifty-two, if I remember correctly. He steps forward, his weathered face solemn as he calls out.

"Rules are simple. Challenge for Alpha has been claimed. The first one to make it to the top gets the first strike for the death match. Last man standing becomes the Alpha of Nightmare Island."

The surrounding wolves howl in response, sounding impatient for the challenges to commence rather than the formalities.

Part of me wishes it was as easy as straight combat. I'd take Sten out in a heartbeat. But since arriving in this hellhole, I've discovered there are many feral rules in this place that make no fucking sense to me. I'll abide by them. For now.

As I stare up at the treacherous climb before us, my mind wanders back to how I ended up here.

Exiled.

Dumped on this island to rot by those bastards back in Denmark. The Balor Wolves, my fucking father, always treated me like an outcast. They thought they were sentencing me to death by sending me to the Exiled Sector, but they underestimated me. They always have. I'll make this island mine!

I can't keep living under someone's thumb. Not again. So, this is my chance—my only chance—to create a new path. Not just to survive but to thrive in this place of nightmares.

Aiquen's voice cuts through my thoughts.

"Are you two ready?"

Sten and I lock eyes across the gap between us. There's a flicker of something in his gaze—respect, maybe? Or just bloodlust. It doesn't matter. I give a curt nod, and Sten does the same.

"Then begin!" the old man shouts, his voice carrying over the constant rush of water.

I don't hesitate. The moment the word leaves his mouth, I'm moving. My hands find purchase on the rough stone, muscles bunching as I haul myself upward. The rock face is fucking slick with spray from the waterfall.

Jagged edges dig into my palms, drawing blood, but I barely notice. Pain is temporary. Victory is forever. My bare feet scramble to find my footing on the ruthless surface, toes curling around the smallest of ledges. Each step is a battle against the mountain itself.

Sten is moving, too, his larger frame giving him an advantage as he reaches for handholds farther up, but I'm quicker, more agile. I scramble up the initial incline, ignoring the burning in my muscles.

The wolves below us howl and snarl. To them, this is entertainment—the best kind. Blood sport. I tune them out, focusing on the climb and on Sten's progress beside me.

We're neck and neck as we reach the first major obstacle—a sheer rock with barely any handholds. Sten grins at me, feral and wild, before launching himself at the wall. His fingers dig into tiny crevices, his boots scraping against the stone as he hauls himself upward.

I grit my teeth and follow suit, finding fingerholds to pull myself up. The muscles in my arms scream in protest, but I push through it, heaving for breath.

Pain is just weakness leaving the body, and there's no room for weakness here.

As we near the halfway point, I chance a look up. The summit seems impossibly far, a jagged spire thrust up against the blood-red sky. Doubt creeps in. Can I really do this?

I snarl at my own shortcomings. Fuck yes , I can do this. I'm going to own this damn mountain, this insane island, and every lunatic shifter on it.

My heart pounds in my chest. Sweat stings my eyes, blurring my vision. I blink rapidly, trying to clear it. One wrong move, one misplaced hand, and it's all over.

Sten is just to my left, his breathing heavy and labored. I can smell the bitter fear on him, my inner wolf stirring inside me, eager to battle.

The wolves' howls down below grow louder, more frenzied, stirring my own.

My fingers slip on the slick stone, and my pulse charges. I'm convinced I'm going to fall, but I dig deep, drawing on my strength, and pull myself up.

A sharp edge catches my forearm, slicing deep. Blood wells up, hot and sticky.

"Fuck," I hiss through clenched teeth. The cut throbs.

Sten notices my slip and grins. Fucker! He pushes harder, gaining ground. I can't let him win. I won't.

I force myself to go faster, ignoring the stinging of my wounds. Each movement is agony, but I embrace it. Pain means I'm still alive, still fighting.

Three-quarters of the way up, each breath is a struggle. My lungs burn, desperate for oxygen, but I can't slow down. Can't stop.

Sten's breathing grows ragged, too. Our gazes meet for a brief moment. There's a wild desperation in his gaze that sends a chill down my spine.

Suddenly, Sten's hand darts out. He's holding something—a loose rock, jagged and deadly. Before I can react, he hurls it at me with a snarl of rage.

Time seems to slow. I watch the rock spinning toward me, but it misses my head by inches, clattering down the mountainside.

I snarl in response, anger busting within me.

The force of the throw must have pushed him off-balance because as I glare back at him, I watch as his foot suddenly slips, and he's scrabbling for purchase on the smooth stone. He hangs there by one hand.

I grin, watching fear crowd in his eyes as his brow furrows and his lips tighten.

His grip slips.

He falls.

His snarls tear through the air, raw and primal. He plummets, arms flailing wildly as if he could somehow catch the air and stop his descent.

I watch, heart in my throat, as he hits the Gravewater pool with a sickening splash.

The spirits waste no time. They surge toward Sten, a writhing mass of ghostly forms, eager for his death, so he can join them. He thrashes in the water, fighting against the spectral hands that grab at him. Falling in is survivable if you don't let them drag you under to drown you…

Sten frantically claws his way toward the edge.

I can't watch anymore. Can't afford to because he'll be back up the mountain the moment he gets out of the pool. This is my chance. Victory is within my grasp. I turn back to the climb, pushing myself harder than ever.

The summit is just there. Just a few more feet. My muscles ache in protest, but I ignore them. I keep going, my blood smearing the stone.

Then, the rock beneath my foot crumbles, disintegrating under my weight. For a heart-stopping moment, I'm falling, the world spinning around me. My hand shoots out, grabbing desperately for anything to stop my descent.

Panic strangles me.

My fingers catch on a tiny ledge, halting my fall. Pain lances through my arm as my full weight yanks on the joint. The screaming pain is agonizing, and I bite down a bellow. I hang there, heart pounding, breath coming in ragged gasps.

I can feel my grip starting to give way, tiny pieces of rock showering down as the ledge crumbles beneath my grip.

Goddammit.

The ledge gives way, and I fall.

"Fuck!"

Seconds is all it takes.

I plunge into the icy touch of the water, dunked deep under. Instantly, I'm swimming to reach the surface.

Fighting against the current of grabbing arms, I desperately kick and push myself up, my head breaking free as I gasp for air. I catch Sten's glare across the pool. Idiot.

Freezing touches of the dead souls are all over my body, as if they're trying to burrow under my skin. Their moaning echoes in my head, and my skin crawls.

"Having fun over there?" I call out sarcastically to Sten, who only snarls in response.

Fear claws at my gut, but I shove it down. I refuse to let it control me. Instead, I channel it into determination. I push harder through the water, kicking and swinging my arms. The edge is close, and I can almost taste freedom. A smirk tugs at my lips as I near the edge. That's when a shadow looms over me from behind.

Stiffening in response, I whip around, my body protesting in aches from the sudden movement. The glint of a blade catches my attention, and I'm stunned. Sten's expression screams desperation and rage as he slashes the knife at me.

I jerk back, but the blade catches me, slicing from my forehead down over my eye.

Pain explodes through my head, white-hot and blinding. A scream of agony tears from my throat as I instinctively cover my face.

"Fuck!" I shout, blood pouring between my fingers. My vision dances in my good eye, the other completely useless now.

Sten's vicious laugh cuts through the haze of pain. "That's your payment, you piece of shit. For daring to think you could be an Alpha."

"Is that all you've got?" I snap back, my voice heavy with a thunderous growl, even as the spirits tug harder at me, more frantic than before. My skin pinches at their touch, but I force down the revulsion. I'm already drowning in agony, my skull pulsing.

"I'm just getting started," Sten growls, raising the blade again from the water.

Rage fuels me as I lunge at him in the pool, but he moves faster and drives the blade into my chest, right over my heart. I feel it sink in, a cold shock that quickly blazes into searing agony.

Pain. Fuck, so much pain. It steals my breath, making the world spin. Is this how it ends? Rejected by my family for being different, for my mistakes, only to die in this shithole? This isn't how it was supposed to go.

As darkness creeps at the edges of my vision, a last burst of fury surges through me. With a roar, I shove Sten with all my remaining strength, driving my hands against his shoulders that bob out of the water.

His gaze widens in surprise as he's shoved, and his head flings backward, slamming into the sharp stone edge of the pool with a horrid crack. Blood pours from the back of his head as his body convulses, then goes limp. The spirits swarm over his body like fucking insects going to town on a corpse.

My gut turns.

The howls of the wolves around us fall silent.

As Sten slips beneath the surface, the spirits start swarming toward me. My last coherent thought is a grim satisfaction that if I'm going down, at least I'm taking that bastard with me.

The taste of copper floods my mouth. My lungs ache, each breath a struggle.

Around me, the wolves and the old man stare in shock. But I don't have time to worry about them when my strength fades fast, the sharp ache rattling through my head and my chest.

I feel myself slipping away, yet I keep fighting to get out of the pool. Still, I ponder about why I have no regrets, even on my dying breaths. Only hatred, only anger.

Faces flash before me—my so-called family back in Denmark. The sneers, the disgust, the final look of contempt as they exiled me out of our home. They never saw me as a son, only as a mistake.

I have no regrets because there was nothing to regret. No love lost, no bonds broken. They threw away a wolf who could've been loyal, who could've been strong for them.

Instead, they'll live with the knowledge that they created the very monster they feared.