Page 1 of Red

Chapter 1

The knocks confirm what I already know.

He’s dead.

Chapter 2

It took a knock at the door and a letter to pull me out of hiding. My shoulders heave in release as the overstuffed bag hits the dark hardwood floor. I’m not sure what I grabbed. I refuse to stay in this house for long, but it’s good enough to stay for a week or two.

Two days ago, four bullets changed my brother Pratt’s life.

And now mine.

Pain has radiated in my chest ever since. Humans and werewolves have often been in a balance between a truce and war, but there are always the few who refuse to let us—well, them—exist.

A shadow blocks the light from the hallway to my temporary bedroom. Stark fills the entire eight-foot doorframe. Werewolves are tall beyond just the Toridge pack line—six feet minimum, a side effect of wolf blood. The spirits wanted our human form intimidating too.

My height, on the other hand, remains lost to everyone’s knowledge. Except Pratt—he knows. Knew, damn it.

Nails digging into my opposite wrist. “Do you need something?” My eyes nearly betray me, but deep crescent moon shapes form in my skin to distract them from flowing. Crying in front of Stark is not an option. It would ruin my plan to get out of this house. His house.

“Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes, Aloka. There’s time to shower.” He exudes calmness, one hand in the pocket of his dark pants. No sign that this invasion of his home has affected him.

Me—I’m the invasion.

“Right.” I nod and move to grab the door handle to get the point across, as he steps back and walks away.

My head tips back against the hard surface of the closed door. The bedroom is something I shouldn’t complain about—it’s the perfect balance of grand and cozy. Bookshelves line the entire wall opposite the closet and bathroom, and deep wood-burnings of werewolves running wrap each post on the four-poster bed in the middle of the wide room. A flannel blanket is thrown across the corner. If it were my own, if it were in my home, there’s nothing I would change.

Sounds of water rushing onto the stone fill the bathroom as I strip my clothes off. What Stark doesn’t know is I’ve practically lived in the shower for the past two days, washing my tears down the drain. They expect me to be sad and weak, so I can’t give the pack more ammo than they already have to control me.

Bare, I step in and test the cool water on my arms, watching it splash onto the brown stones that line the floor and walls. My own soaps look back at me from the shelf indented into the layered stones, but I haven’t unpacked anything yet. Someone must happen to like what I use.

The pink rose soap fills my hand by habit, though there’s nothing to wash off. I haven’t had a moment alone besides the shower since the Elders of the Toridge pack came to tell me.

A pack’s bond might be strong, but a sibling’s . . . I never pictured a moment without him. Being the younger sibling, I have no memories without his existence, a comfort I can’t explain. Some brothers give everything they have, but Pratt gave everything he didn’t.

He was second-in-command in his cohort when it came to protecting the pack. The pack has always sent out groups on patrol to keep an eye on the other humans, but even more so in the last while. Though we look the same, the intense height and build usually give werewolves away, or maybe it’s that we live in the wilderness, a day trip away from human civilization, that does it. Some manage to live with the humans—go to school, come back with knowledge. It depends on how well you can blend.

Fresh and clean again, I shake from head to toe before stepping out of the shower, nearly dry except for my hair. Pulling the soft towel off the rack and patting down the dampness, I slide the towel across the fogged glass of the mirror, leaving just enough of a space to see myself. You’d think loneliness would show, but my skin and face haven’t changed, minus the small puffs below my eyes from rubbing tears. No one would know my brother, the only person left who loved me, isn’t here.

I dress in a casual pair of leggings and a white T-shirt, tucking it into the side of my waistband for dinner. My goal is to get approval to leave the house so I can get out of sight. The pack loves rules, and staying here makes it harder to ignore them.

Loud voices boom and echo down the hallway. I am more out of it than expected. I didn’t even notice anyone arrive at the house. I turn my ears down a notch so the noise quiets enough to not be overwhelming. The hallway stretches down into the large center space that I passed walking in. It’s designed to entertain or host informal meetings. Eyes turn my way the second I step into it, and their thoughts amplify in my mind.

She looks better than expected.

Did you know she was so tiny?

No wonder Pratt liked to keep her away in that house.

I close the internal path to them. They think I can’t hear the pack’s thoughts. I understand, but it doesn’t mean I want to hear them all the time.

“Hi, Aloka.” Stark steps forward, away from one of the Elders next to him.

“Hey, um, did everyone have to be here?”

“They’re usually here.”