Chapter One

The Mating Ball

The chandeliers of Moonridge Hall dripped honeyed light onto a sea of wolves pretending to be human—they were in their human form. Silk rustled like whispers over coiled muscle, champagne flutes trembling in hands that could sprout claws in a heartbeat. Asher Voss hated every damn second of it.  

“Stop slouching,” his mother hissed, her manicured nails digging into his forearm. Selene’s smile never wavered as she nodded at a passing Alpha, her silver-threaded gown swallowing the light. “The Blackthorns have been eyeing you since we arrived. Smile, or I’ll rip it onto your face myself.” She said with a foreboding smile.

Asher bared his teeth. “Happy?”  

“Delightful.” She jerked her chin toward the dais. “Now move. Vera’s waiting.”  

Vera Blackthorn lounged against the marble steps like a panther sunning itself, her blood-red gown pooling around her. Her smirk sharpened as they approached. “Took you long enough. I was starting to think you’d rather marry a Bloodfang mutt.” Vera teased.  

“Dante’s pack doesn’t do marriage,” Asher said flatly. “Just slaughter and bad cologne.”  

Vera’s laugh was all edges. “Careful, Voss. My brother might be your rival, but I bite harder than he does.” She flicked her gaze to Selene. “Your boy’s got a mouth on him. I like that.”  

Selene’s grip tightened on Asher’s arm. “He’s spirited. A quality your future pups will appreciate.”  

Asher’s stomach turned. Pups. The word clanged in his skull as his mother prattled on about “strong bloodlines” and “territorial alliances.” Vera leaned closer, her rose-and-gunpowder scent aggressive.  

“Relax, Alpha,” she purred, dragging a nail down his lapel. “I don’t actually plan to mount you in front of the council. Unless you’re into that.” Vera said with a smirk on her face.

“Vera,” Selene warned, though her eyes glittered. “Perhaps a dance would—"  

A sudden hush cut through the hall. It was time.

Selene stiffened, then smoothed her gown with a predator’s grace as she ascended the dais. The crowd stilled, wolves straightening under her razor-sharp gaze.  

“Our ancestors didn’t survive the Purge by cowering in forests,” she began, her voice carving through the silence. “They built empires. Forged bonds stronger than silver.” She raised her goblet, wine glinting like liquid rubies. “The Mating Ball isn’t a choice. It’s a reckoning. When the bond strikes—” Her free hand pressed to the mate mark peeking above her collar, a twisted scar in the shape of crescent moons. “—you become more than wolves. You become a legacy.”  

Polite applause rippled through the room. An elderly she-wolf near the front wiped her eyes; others exchanged knowing smirks. Asher’s jaw ached. His father’s ghost hung thick in the air—the way he’d claw at his own mate mark every winter, howling for a woman a decade dead.  

“Dance,” Selene commanded, flinging her arms wide. “Hunt. Let the fates decide your worth.”  

The orchestra surged, violins shivering into a waltz. Vera snatched Asher’s wrist before he could retreat.  

“Don’t look so miserable,” she said, steering him toward the floor. “I don’t sully myself with weaklings. Consider this a compliment.”  

“I’d rather you insulted me.”  

Vera’s fingers dug into his shoulder. “You think I want this? My brother’s orders. Your mother’s scheming. But you—” She spun him sharply, the crowd blurring. “—you reek of resentment. It’s pathetic.”  

Asher glared over her head. “We’re both pawns. Don’t pretend otherwise.”  

“Pawns?” Vera huffed. “Please. I’m the knife poised at your pack’s throat. Marry me, and the Bloodfangs stay yours. Refuse…” Her smile turned feral. “Let’s just say Dante’s been itching to redecorate Moonridge Hall with your entrails.”  

Lila Hart lurked by a table of appetizers, half-eaten canapé crumpled in her fist. The gown itched—a borrowed navy thing with mismatched beads that screamed charity bin. She’d rather have worn fur.  

“Enjoying the view?”  

Lila spun, nearly elbowing a server carrying caviar. Vincent, her half-brother and Moonridge’s head guard, loomed behind her, his ceremonial dagger glinting.  

“You look like you’re planning a murder,” he said, snatching a smoked salmon toast.  

“Only if the salmon’s poisoned.” Lila said, rolling her eyes.

Vincent snorted. “Relax. No one’s looking at you.”  

Liar!. Lila felt the stares like physical blows—lowborn mutt, fatherless whelp, the Hart girl who couldn’t shift fully last moon. She edged behind a potted fern.  

“Why’d you even come?” Vincent asked, mouth full.  

“Selene’s orders. ‘Every wolf of breeding age,’ remember?” Lila said slowly wiping crumbs of canapé from her outfit.

“Ah, right. You’re here as a chew toy for the Alphas.” He flicked her shoulder. “Cheer up. Worst case, you bond with some crusty elder who croaks by sunrise. Inherit his land. Live deliciously.”  

“You’re a comfort, Vincent.”  

The music swelled. Lila watched Asher Voss stumble through a waltz with Vera Blackthorn, the she-wolf’s crimson nails digging into his neck.  

“Bet they’ll name their firstborn ‘Obnoxious,’” Vincent muttered.  

Lila didn’t laugh. Asher moved like caged lightning, all coiled rage and sharp angles. She’d seen him once after a border skirmish, shirtless and bloodied, roaring at the moon—a primal thing that made her wolf stir uneasily.  

“Don’t stare,” Vincent warned. “Selene’s already planning his wedding night.”  

The dance continued.

Vera abandoned Asher mid-dance when a Bloodfang ally waved her over. He retreated to the balcony, cold air biting through his shirt.  

Mating bond. The words curdled in his gut. His parents’ bond had been a shackle, his father’s grief a rot that consumed their pack. He’d rather die than—  

A scent hit him—wild mint and iron.  

His wolf lunged.  

Asher gripped the railing, knuckles whitening. The pull was violent, hungry, yanking him back inside. He crashed through the crowd, shoving past startled nobles.  

There.  

Near the terrace doors, a girl in a frayed navy dress stood frozen, a shattered glass at her feet. Their eyes met.  

Gold fire erupted.

Gasps echoed. Lila staggered back, clutching her chest. The bond slammed into Asher, a live wire burning through bone. His wolf howled. Mine. Ours. NOW.

“You’ve got to be joking.” Vera materialized beside him, wine sloshing over her wrist.  

Selene appeared, her perfume sour with panic. “Asher. Stop this.”  

He couldn’t. The bond was a riptide, dragging him toward Lila. Her pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out his mother’s hisses.  

“Look at her!” Selene spat. “No family. No standing. She’s a Hart!.”  

Lila flinched. The crowd murmured.  

Hart. The name hit Asher like a slap—a disgraced line, her father executed for treason.  

“The bond doesn’t care about bloodlines,” he growled.  

“It should!” Selene’s composure cracked. “You think the pack will follow a Luna who can’t even hold her shift? She’s weak, Asher.”  

Lila’s eyes flashed. “I can hold a shift just fine.”  

“Prove it.” Vera stepped forward, fangs glinting. “Shift now, little mouse. Let’s see those pretty claws.”  

The crowd rippled with anticipation. Lila’s throat bobbed. Asher saw it—the tremor in her hands, the sweat beading her temple.  

“Don’t,” he said, reaching for her.  

Too late.  

Lila’s spine arched. Fur erupted along her arms—then faltered. Her scream guttered into a whine as the shift collapsed, leaving her gasping on all fours, half-human, half-wolf.  

The hall erupted in laughter.  

“Pathetic,” Vera sneered.  

Asher moved before he could think. He hauled Lila upright, her claws drawing blood from his wrist.  

“Enough,” he snarled at the crowd.  

Selene blocked their exit. “You walk out that door, and you’re no son of mine.”  

The bond writhed in his chest, vicious and sweet. Lila trembled against him, her mismatched eyes wide.  

Asher met his mother’s glare. “Then I guess I’m father’s son.”  

He led Lila into the freezing dark, her fractured growls harmonizing with his wolf’s roar.