Prologue
Emily
Twelve years earlier.
“Quick, sweetie, put away your toys.” Mom’s voice is clipped as she rushes around tidying the already pristine rooms. Removing any signs that our home is lived in. My heart hammers as I scramble to scoop up my dolls and shove them into the toy box in my bedroom. Dad will be home soon. Play time is over.
I pause in front of the hallway mirror to check my reflection. I smooth a stray lock of my long blonde hair and ensure my dress looks presentable enough on my way back to join Mom.
I shift from foot to foot, eyes flicking to the large clock above the fireplace. There’s still time—maybe half an hour—but we never take the risk of not being ready and waiting. Not after the last time. “Don’t make him angry,” she whispers, her voice calm but firm.
What mood will he be in tonight?
Mom tries to keep me distracted by playing games like I spy and quizzing me on math questions. I think she asks me about math because it’s my best subject at school, so it’s easy to get the answers right and it gives her a chance to praise me. She’s the best like that.
“You’re so smart, baby girl! I’m so proud of you,” she says with a smile, tucking that wayward strand of hair behind my ear again.
A wide grin stretches across my face as her comforting words fill me with warmth, chasing away the lingering worry I always experience waiting for Dad to get home. We never know what to expect. Sometimes it's okay; he's had a good day and as long as we are good enough, he won't get angry. On the worst days, it almost like hewantsus to do the wrong thing.
Crunching leaves signal his approach. Each loud, stomp through the fallen pine needles driving dread through my chest. Dad storms in, the hinges rattling on his forceful entry. My stomach sinks; when he’s already in a bad mood, it doesn’t take much to upset him.
A snarl erupts from his throat and Mom steps before me, shielding me from his anger, as she has always done.
“Can I get you a beer? Or would you like to wash up for dinner first?” She asks in a soft, measured tone. She doesn’t show fear, but her usually sweet scent picks up with a bitter edge.
Dad growls. I can’t see his face from behind Mom, but I’m sure his brows are furrowed, eyes dark and mouth twisted in a grimace. I hold my breath, waiting to see what will happen next, only releasing it when he storms off, muttering to himself. As soon as he leaves the room, Mom rushes to get dinner on the table. I stand still. Rooted to the spot as my breathing slowly returns to normal.
He never hits me, but I know the importance of not upsetting him. Mom will pay the price if my toys are left out or I’m too loud. She does her best to protect me from how he treats her, but I’m not stupid.
I hear everything. The dull thuds of his hits, her muffled screams, the smashing of plates and cups. They think he doesn’t leave visible bruises, but I see enough. The way she pulls her sleeves down to stop me from seeing the bruises on her wrists. I’m not naïve enough to think the scarves she wears during the height of summer are a fashion statement.
I asked her once why she stays. She said you can’t leave your mate. Fate doesn’t get things wrong.I wouldn’t have you if I hadn’t listened to fate.The tears in her eyes made it clear how much she hates me being exposed to it.
So, I pretend everything is okay. I make sure I tidy up after myself and get good grades. I keep out of the way. I stay quiet. Seen but not heard.
I can’t stop him from hurting her.
But I can make sure I don’t cause it.
Chapter 1
Emily
Running through the dense woods of the Blood Moon pack lands during a rainstorm is one of my favorite things to do. The forest, slippery and deserted, becomes my sanctuary. The damp, earthy scent of wet soil and the steady slap of my paws against moss-slick earth soothes my usually racing mind as I speed in wolf form. Weaving between pines and vaulting over soggy underbrush, I race towards the rapidly moving river that marks the pack border. Thunder rumbles overhead as I streak toward the churning water.
My wolf form is pure white and tiny, but she is also nimble and fast. My small stature allows me to race through gaps in trees, lunge under branches, and squeeze between gaps in the rock formations.
It’s oppressively hot this time of year and I’m grateful for the relief brought by the thunderstorm. The temporary coolness lets me push my wolf faster than normally possible. Only my paws hitting the earth, the natural sounds of the forest, and my pounding heart breaks the silence. A suspicious bunch; wolves here tremble at lightning’s crack and fear mudslides—but precisely because they avoid these woods in storms, I get this fleeting freedom all to myself. I know there’s a risk with this kind of weather, but I’m willing to take any chance I get to run.
Running allows me to experience the idea of freedom, even though it couldn’t be further from my reality. But I need to pretend I could leave this pack. To dream that I’m more than a glorified prisoner. Blood Moon is a harsh and cruel place to live. It’s worse because I have been completely isolated despite living here my entire life. I’ve played my part in my segregation, helped to earn my isolation. But knowing it’s your own fault doesn’t make acceptance or loneliness easier. The knowledge only adds shame and guilt to the melting pot that is my emotions.
In Blood Moon, physical strength is valued more by the pack than anything else. As an omega, my strength doesn’t lie in my physicality. Both my wolf and I are tiny and weak. And who am I kidding? I don’t have strength in any other shape either. I’m not allowedto participate in warrior training or patrols. Aidan, the Alpha and my soon-to-be bonded mate says that’s not my role. As an omega, I am only good for two things. Breeding and keeping my Alpha happy.
And I'm not even good at that.
That thought hits me as I arrive home to the cabin we share. I look around to make sure no one is nearby before shifting back into my human form and quickly slipping through the back door. The alpha cabin we share is impeccable, as always. Other than the timber walls, everything is pristine white. Not a drop of color to soften its austerity. Nothing comfortable or homely, but it’s how Aidan likes it.
And obviously, what he wants is what is important. I dash into the bathroom to remove any trace of my wolf’s run in the rain, knowing he is due home in an hour or so. Turning the water as hot as possible, I step into the steamy shower and wash away the evidence of being outside.
