Chapter One

Willow

I wake up cold, my heart pounding. Remembering.

They’re laughing at me. It hurts, and somehow they’re still laughing. I don’t even know if I’m screaming anymore. All I can hear is … is …

“You’re ours now, princess.”

Dawn purples over the horizon like an old bruise. I pull up my socks, cringing at the coarse floorboards beneath my feet. The entire cabin seems to groan as I make my way into the kitchen, every step a reminder that I’m not welcome here.

Or anywhere.

I put a cauldron over the fireplace, only to remember I’m out of wood. I was supposed to chop some more last night, but it got so cold I could barely grip the axe.

Well, there’s my first task for the day.

It takes me a few minutes to get dressed—layers are key if I want to survive the oncoming winter—in a thick blouse, corset, and dress. I’d kill for a pair of pants, especially while I’m out foraging, but omegas aren’t normally given that luxury.

Especially fugitive omegas.

My hair is still braided from the night before—long auburn curls that are best kept off my face. When I look at myself in the rusted mirror above the basin, I hardly recognize the omega staring back at me. Her green eyes are bright, but tired. Her lips are hard and pale. Even in all my winter clothes, I can tell I’ve lost weight.

I lace up my boots and take to the outdoors. It’s not snowing, not yet, but the frost isn’t far off. The forest is quiet apart from the brittle rustling of leaves.

About a mile through the trees, I find my established log pile. I’ve been carving it out for months, chopping down the younger pines, hauling back an armful at a time.

If only my mother and fathers could see me now, I think with a bitter pride. Their youngest daughter—trained in every manner of omega refinement—lugging firewood.

My running away will be an inconvenience at best, and at worst, a scandal. The almighty Pack Shire in disgrace. A part of me revels at the thought.

The other, weaker, part fantasizes about begging their forgiveness.

Finally, I get a fire started. For a few minutes I just sit there, willing the warmth to seep into my blood, before I make myself some tea. The leaves taste muddy with the faintest hint of bitterness.

I’m starting to lose count of the number of mornings I’ve sat in front of this fireplace, drinking this muddy, bitter tea. If we’re going into winter … I’d guess two months. No. Three.

It’s not a life I ever imagined for myself. Crazily enough, I used to pity my older brothers and sisters—three alphas inducted to the council, the church, and the sentinels. Our firstborn omega assuming his place as council attendant.

Then there was me.

“ You’re so beautiful, Willow ,” my mother used to preen. “ An omega made to be loved.”

She said I’d be a dam of the highest order—cherry-picked by the first-class sentinels. They’d take care of me, and in return, I’d bless them with pups. Bolster their forces with the strongest possible generation of alphas.

It sounded so simple. So righteous. Almost like … destiny.

“You’re ours now, princess.”

I grip my mug with trembling hands. These days, as far as I’m concerned, destiny can go fuck itself.

The fire is still burning as I gather my things. I can feel the tea, hot and bitter in my chest, as I walk out the door.

There’s a lot of work to do if I want to stay alive this winter.

Guess I’d better get started.