CHAPTER ONE

7 years later

"There she goes again, playing warrior while we do real women's work," a maid whispers as she passes the training field, her pristine white apron a stark contrast to my dirt-stained training clothes. The morning sun beats down on my shoulders as I slam my fist into the practice dummy, its worn leather surface telling stories of my daily visits.

My enhanced hearing picks up their continued muttering, and I roll my eyes. Being a werewolf has its downsides – like hearing every bit of gossip and judgment thrown my way. But their words bounce off me now, unlike the early days when each whisper felt like a knife. Seven years of this has given me a thick skin.

Let them talk. In our world, she-wolves are expected to be docile, to cook and clean, and bear pups. But I couldn't care less about their precious traditions. Every punch, every kick, every moment of training brings me closer to my real purpose – finding the bastards who murdered my family and watching the light fade from their eyes.

"Hey bitch!" A familiar voice cuts through my thoughts, deep and grating like stones in a grinder.

A sigh escapes my lips as I recognize Fredrick's voice, but then a smile creeps across my face as I remember our last sparring session. The memory is still fresh, sweet as honey...

My knuckles throb from connecting with his jaw, again and again. He's twice my size, this fool who thought he could "teach me my place," but size means nothing against speed and skill. I spit blood onto the packed dirt, grinning despite my split lip. The gathered crowd might not approve, but victory is mine as he wheezes on the ground, struggling to breathe through his broken nose.

I spin around, the memory adding an extra edge to my smirk. The morning sun catches on my dark hair as I face him, loose strands escaping my practical braid. "Need another trip to the clinic, Fredrick?" I cross my arms over my chest, my fingers still wrapped in training bandages. "I hear they just restocked their healing herbs. Perfect timing."

He opens his mouth, probably for some witty comeback, but his words never register. A voice cuts through my mind, clear as a blade:

"Audrey. My office. Now!"

The smugness drains from my face. My heart stutters then races for an entirely different reason. He must have sensed my anger– his royal Alpha bloodline giving him that intimate connection to the werewolves' emotions. Something warm unfurls in my chest at the thought of him reaching out to me, wanting to help. 

"On my way, Your Highness," I reply through our mental link, already hurrying toward the manor's weathered stone facade. Despite my exhaustion, each step that takes me closer to him feels lighter, my skirts rustling against the dewy grass of the training yard.

Prince Jax, firstborn of the Alpha king, is the only reason these training ground vultures limit themselves to whispers. Without his protection, they'd have torn me apart with more than just their words long ago. He saved me that blood-soaked night, and he's the only one who's ever bothered to investigate what really happened, refusing to accept the convenient rumors that paint me as a monster. 

Yet sometimes, when he summons me like this, doubt creeps in. There's always that fleeting shadow in his storm-gray eyes, that barely perceptible hesitation in his voice. As if some small part of him wonders whether the whispers might hold a grain of truth. Those moments cut deeper than any training wound ever could.

Still, my traitorous heart races at the thought of seeing him. He thinks I view him merely as my savior, my protector – if only he knew how my pulse quickens when he's near, how I memorize every detail of his face during our training sessions. His strong jaw always set with determination, the way his dark hair falls across his forehead when he demonstrates a new fighting technique, that rare smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

At twenty-one, I'm no longer the trembling thirteen year old he rescued, though that's all he seems to see. He maintains a careful distance, his affection never straying beyond that of a concerned mentor. The ache of it sits heavy in my chest, but I tell myself that time will change things. Once I prove myself worthy of standing beside him, once I solve the mystery of my family's murder and clear my name... then, perhaps, he'll see me as the woman I've become.

"I pray that day never comes," Aria, my wolf, whispers through our bond. Her voice carries a mixture of sympathy and stubborn determination. "Those feelings are meant for our mate, Aubrey." 

"Jax saved us," I argue back, the familiar debate rising between us. *"He deserves—" 

"He deserves our gratitude, yes. But not our heart. That belongs to our mate, whether you wish to accept it or not."

"We're not having this discussion now," I cut her off, my hand already raised to knock on the heavy oak door of his office. "He's waiting."

I rap softly against the wood, the sound echoing in the empty corridor. No verbal response comes. Since he summoned me, I push the heavy door open without waiting longer – and instantly wish I hadn't. The scene before me stops my heart mid-beat, the air rushing from my lungs as if I've been struck.

Prince Jax has Witch Avery perched on his lap, his fingers tangled in her perfect golden curls as he kisses her. Her expensive emerald silk gown pools around them both, a stark contrast to my training-worn attire. The intimacy of the moment pierces through me like a blade between my ribs.

I can't move. Can't breathe. Can't tear my eyes away from this nightmare made real. Every sweet daydream I've ever had of Jax shatters like glass in my chest. I've always told myself that his lack of interest in the noble ladies meant something – that perhaps he was waiting, that perhaps I wasn't as foolish as everyone said for daring to hope. The truth of my delusion burns worse than any training wound.

"Aubrey, you're here." Jax's deep voice cuts through my spiral of pain. He shifts Avery from his lap with casual familiarity, her skirts rustling as she rises to her feet with perfect grace.

"Yes, Your Highness, you called for me." I force the words past the lump in my throat, quickly brushing at my eyes and praying he doesn't notice.

"You have been assigned as personal guard to Prince Knox." 

My stomach drops. Prince Knox – the king's legitimate son and Jax's half-brother. The enemy.

"Calm your horses, Aubrey." Jax rises from behind his ornate desk, his boots clicking against the polished floor as he approaches. "I'm only letting you go there because you're the only one I trust."

"Trust?" The word comes out barely above a whisper.

"Yes, trust to be my eyes and ears around the crown prince."

My eyes widen as his meaning sinks in. "You want me to spy for you?"

His expression shifts to one of condescending amusement, and something in my chest cracks further. He steps closer, placing his hands on my shoulders. The touch that once would have thrilled me now feels like shackles.

"Aubrey," his voice drops lower, dangerous. "I saved you when your life was almost taken. When I ask you to do something, you shouldn't look like you're about to refuse my order. You obey without argument." His fingers dig into my shoulders, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me of my place.

"Yes, Jax, you're right." The words taste like ash in my mouth, but a part of me believes them. He is my savior. He has the right to command my loyalty. And the thought of him casting me aside... I couldn't bear it.

"Good." He pats my head like one would a faithful hound, that false smile still playing on his lips. "And it's Prince Jax. Don't forget that."

I mirror his empty smile, hating myself for it. "May I leave, Your Highness?"

He dismisses me with a nod. As I close the door behind me, I try to focus on the mission ahead rather than the image of him with Avery burned into my mind. This is my chance to prove my worth to him. To make him finally see me as more than just the broken girl he saved.

But deep down, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Aria whispers that I'm only lying to myself again.