I was a sickly child.

The High Priest said my weak temperament came from my mother. Bad blood, he'd said. It was thought I would die of the same illness that took her.

Before that haze of death and burning herbs and the blurry insides of the room I didn't leave for months, I remember my mother taking me to the countryside in the south. It was just her, and her lady-in-waiting, and me.

I must have only been about four, but I still remember the fields of golden crops, and the rolling hills—scattered with farms and small villages—and the cabin in the woodland by a great blue lake that we stopped at.

I suppose our early memories shape us in some ways, and I wonder if that small taste of adventure stirred something inside me all those years ago. Something I buried within me. Something that set me on a path that would one day lead me here—sitting on the back of a large grey horse, caged within the arms of the enemy, surrounded by Wolves.

My captors talk among themselves as we ride for what feels like hours. The sun rises high into the sky, and we don't stop, though I am weary and the horses are slower. I wonder if the Wolves are worried they are being pursued.

They should be.

Sebastian and my father will have sent people to retrieve me by now. Not because they care that I have been kidnapped. But because both men need me to secure their future alliance. And because both need me untouched.

I don't know how I will feel if they find us. I do know my captors will meet certain death.

If the alpha is worried, he doesn't show it. He remains silent, but he feels at ease behind me, his body pressed against my back, my thighs held within his.

It is highly inappropriate for us to be this close, for him to be this familiar with me. Every time the thought occurs to me and I stiffen, trying to put some space between us, he nudges me back again. After a while, whether it's the lull of his warmth, or the ache in my bones, or the fact I am distracted by the surrounding terrain—I stop bothering.

I find myself thinking about my memory of the southern countryside once more. The scenery back then, which filled me with such awe at the time, was so. . . soft compared to what we pass as we ride deeper into the Northlands.

The grass I played in with my mother was trimmed, the sunlight was warm and kind, and the hills were curved and gentle. Even the lake, which seemed to me like it stretched on forever, was blue and soft and still.

Here, the landscape is alive.

It is rugged, and harsh, and dangerous. The mountains jut out of the earth in stiff, jagged peaks, and the grass on the sides of the rocky road is so long it tickles my feet. Above, the sky is filled with rolling grey clouds that cast shadows on the land as the wind howls. Even the air has a harsh bite to it.

There is nothing gentle here.

Before long, it seems, the sun is setting again—and I remember my mother's lady-in-waiting telling me stories about how the gods and goddesses of the night staked their claim on the Northlands before they went to rest, making the days shorter and the nights longer so the creatures that revered them had more time for worship.

A shiver ripples through me as the shadows lengthen.

The alpha's arm momentarily tightens around my waist as if he senses it.

Soon, the sky is a dusky blue, and we're stopping at the edge of a great loch surrounded by mountains. The water is so black it looks bottomless, and it churns in the wind.

"A word," calls Fergus, gesturing to a copse of evergreens by the shore as he gets off his horse.

The alpha sighs, his breath tickling my cheek. "Aye. In a minute."

He dismounts the horse, and the coldness wraps around me in his absence.

"Need a hand, Princess?"

I don't answer him as I glance down at the earth. I'm aching, and I'm not wearing shoes. I do not want to seem weak, though. I take a deep breath, then shift my leg over the beast. Before I can jump off, the alpha grabs me by the waist and lifts me down.

When my feet touch the ground, my legs crumple and the alpha hooks an arm around my front and pulls me into him.

Damn it.

"Steady, Princess," he says. "I suppose you're not used to riding. Never mind. I've got you."

He scoops me up into his arms while the other men dismount around us.

"What are you doing?" I snap.

Those nearest to us avert their eyes, some grabbing flasks from their packs to fill at the loch, others gathering branches to make a fire on the bank.

"Stop manhandling me! I'm quite capable of walking by myself."

"Aye. I'm sure you are. But as I'm already carrying you, I may as well put you down by this nice tree over here."

He gently places me by a tall evergreen away from the group, where the sweet scent of pine is thick in the air. The earth is hard and cold. When he stands and whistles at Ryan, I pull my knees to my chest beneath the fur cloak.

The alpha crouches in front of me, and a wave of his heat washes over me once more. The warmth must be a wolf thing, because he is only wearing a damp shirt over his kilt.

"Back in the castle, I told you that if you ran, I wouldn't chase you. I need you to know that is no longer the case." In the dusk, his eyes are the color of the deepest part of the forest. "If you run, I will catch you. We're not in the south any longer. Understood?"

We're in the middle of nowhere. I have no idea where I am. Where does he think I would run to?

I give him a look. "I'm not a fool."

"No. I'm sure you're not." He glances at my hair, which must look like a tangled mess right now. "You do have fire in your soul, though. So be good, okay? I'll be back in a moment."

He stands before I can retort, and whistles again. Ryan walks over, tailed by the girl he rescued from the castle.

"Get the princess some food and water. And keep an eye on her. This is important, so no pissing about."

Ryan lifts his chin, chest puffing out slightly as he solemnly nods. "Aye. I will take care of her."

The alpha glances at me, the corner of his lip slightly lifting, before he stalks across the camp to Fergus.

Ryan hurries to his horse, gathering supplies from his pack, while the girl merely stares at me warily. I avert my gaze from the brand on her neck.

"Hello," I say. "I'm Aurora."

"I know who you are."

Hostility radiates from her. I understand why. I am betrothed to the monster who must have captured her.

Even though our people are at war, I do not want her to think me a monster too.

"What is your name?" I ask.

"That's none of your concern."

Something hardens inside me. I was trying to be nice.

Before I can respond, Ryan is back, passing me a stale loaf of bread and a leather flask filled with water. All I can think about is easing the gnawing ache of hunger that's been building in my stomach all day.

"Thank you," I say, gulping down the ice-cold water.

I stare at the bread for a moment before deciding there is no ladylike way to eat it. I tear into it, washing it down with another swig from the flask.

When I'm done, the girl is still eyeing me warily. Ryan, however, seems relaxed beside her.

"How is your arm?" I ask him.

Slowly and stiffly, he stretches it out—clenching his fist a couple of times. "It'll be alright. I'll be fighting again in no time." Even in the growing darkness, I see the flush in his cheeks. "I. . . er. . . Thank you for what you did for me."

"You don't need to thank me. I'm sorry you were in that position."

When his female friend whispers something in his ear and tugs on his good arm, he nods, then glances at me. "We'll be over here if you need anything."

They go and sit a few feet away.

"She's alright, Becky," I hear him murmur to her. "She's not like the others."

The men sit around the fire, drinking an amber liquid that I think is alcohol. They're far enough away that I can't hear their conversation. Though I can see the looks they throw at me every now and again, some hostile, others curious, others predatory.

By the water, the conversation between the alpha and Fergus seems heated. Fergus gestures wildly, and the alpha's face is like stone. When the red-haired man points at me, I avert my gaze.

I am clearly unwelcome here.

I do not know how long I sit here, the conversation and laughter becoming more raucous around the fire. The alpha has stepped into the trees with Fergus, and Ryan and Becky are now deep in conversation.

Every part of me aches, yet I am alert as a rabbit surrounded by Wolves.

I feel horribly alone.

When I accidentally catch Magnus's eyes, a slow grin spreads across his face and he says something to the ratlike man who sits beside him. I quickly look away, pulling my knees closer to my chest.

They both get up and saunter over, and my pulse begins to race. I can smell the alcohol on the air and see the intent in their eyes—even in the near darkness.

Ryan jumps to his feet. "Magnus—"

"Sit down, lad," says the ratlike one with a grin, brushing him aside. "This doesn't concern you."

"Hello, sweetheart," says Magnus as he prowls forward. "It's cold out here. Perhaps you can keep us warm."

My insides twist. "You're disgusting," I say, pushing my back closer to the tree, grasping along the ground for something, anything, I can use as a weapon.

"Now, now, that's not very nice," slurs Magnus. "We're only being friendly. I can think of much better uses for that pretty little mouth than insulting us."

My fingers close around a rock as he gets closer. My pulse is racing as I stumble to my feet.

"Leave her alone," says Ryan.

The rat pushes him back.

There's a crunch as the alpha steps on a twig beside me, and his warmth wraps around me.

"If you're cold, Magnus, there's some whisky in my pack that'll warm you up," says the alpha. "I suggest you go and drink it before you and I have a problem."

His tone is easy, but the sleeves of his shirt strain against the muscles in his arms and his jaw is a hard line.

A hush falls over the camp. The air is tense as if the rest of the Wolves sense that blood might soon be spilt.

But then Magnus cracks a grin. "Hear that, lads? More drink for everyone!" He slaps the alpha's arm before sauntering off to collect his prize.

The alpha watches him go before sitting down by the tree. When my breathing has steadied, I sit down beside him, my fingers still curled around the rock.

His profile is stern as he watches the others. He doesn't speak. He doesn't reassure me. I suppose there is no point. He has probably realized the same thing I have.

I am in danger here.

I have made a terrible mistake.

Dread curls in the pit of my stomach as I stare at the group of Wolves. The night becomes darker, and the conversation becomes quieter. Gradually, snores add to the crackle of the fire and the lull of the wind.

Though my eyelids are heavy, and though the alpha sits beside me, I do not dare close them—not even for a moment.

When the last of the Wolves has fallen asleep, the alpha stands.

Up, he mouths, gesturing with his head.

He holds out his hand. I frown, but cautiously, I take it. I wince when the sharp stones dig into my already sore feet. The alpha's eyebrows dip. He puts a finger over his full lips, then scoops me up again.

This time, I do not protest for fear of waking the others.

He takes me to his horse, tied to a tree a short way from the sleeping pack, and puts me in the saddle before mounting behind me. Before I can ask him what's going on, we're riding away from the others.

I look over my shoulder. Only Ryan stirs, but when the alpha pushes his finger to his lips, he nods and settles back down beside Becky.

"Where are we going?" I ask when the camp is a small dot on the other side of the loch.

"We'll be making the rest of the journey back alone," he whispers roughly against my cheek. "I won't have them threatening you."

"You can't just tell them to leave me alone?" I say. "I thought you were supposed to be the big bad alpha."

He lets loose a quiet laugh. "Aye. I suppose I am. But what did you notice about their kilts?"

I think of the different patterns the eight men were wearing—some blue, some green, and only Ryan's red like the alpha's. "You're from different clans," I say. "You're not their alpha."

"No, I'm not. And while some respect my status, others. . . less so."

"Like Magnus," I say bitterly.

"Aye," he agrees darkly. "And if he were to directly challenge me, I couldn't let it stand. But when I'd killed that despicable prick, it would really damage what we're trying to do here in bringing the clans together. It's for the best that we make our own way." He pauses. "Because I really want to kill that despicable prick."

Something warms in me at that—though I realize it's not very ladylike to revel in the idea of someone being killed.

"Where are we going?" I ask, my chest feeling a little looser.

His arm tightens around my waist. "I'm taking you to the Wolf King."

A spark of panic ignites inside me. Curiosity pulses through me, too. "Who is the Wolf King?"

"You'll see."

"And what? You're just going to hold me for ransom for something you think Sebastian has stolen from you?"

"Aye."

"What do you think he has?" I sigh, and my breath mists in the darkness before me. "What exactly is going on?"

--

Author note:

This is the end of the sample. I hope you enjoyed it!

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