Reborn for an Alpha's Fall

Chapter 1

Vera

A phantom kiss of cold steel slices across my neck and I awaken with a gasp, my own scream caught in my throat. My hands fly to my throat, expecting the gush of warm blood, the final, rattling breath. But there is only smooth skin. My heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird. The air smells of lavender and lemon polish, not the coppery tang of my own execution.

My eyes snap open. I’m not on a wooden platform, staring into a sea of accusing faces. I’m in my bed. My old bed, in my old room, tangled in sheets of ridiculously expensive silk. Sunlight streams through the leaded glass window, catching dust motes dancing in the air. This is the room of a girl, not a condemned traitor.

Panic gives way to a chilling, impossible clarity. It is the morning of my Mating Ceremony. The morning it all began. The morning my life spiraled into a nightmare of humiliation and betrayal, ending with Alpha Felix, my intended mate, watching impassively as his executioner’s axe fell.

“My lady? Are you awake?” A soft voice comes from the door. Lyra. My sweet, timid handmaiden who tried to sneak me food in my cell and was whipped for her loyalty. She peeks inside, her face a mask of nervous excitement. “It’s time to prepare. The whole pack is waiting.”

She steps in, followed by two other maids, and they carry it between them. The Gown. A monstrous confection of white silk and silver thread, so heavy it could anchor a ship. It’s a cage made of fabric, designed to make me look pure, docile, and ornamental. I wore it the first time. I smiled and simpered and played the part of the perfect, grateful Luna-to-be.

I remember the feel of this silk against my skin as Felix ignored me at our own celebration, his hand resting on Bianca’s lower back. I remember a rip in the hem from when a guard shoved me to the ground. I remember it being torn from me before they threw me into the dungeons, stained and ruined.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Lyra breathes, her eyes wide with innocent reverence.

My voice is a low rasp, rusty from disuse or maybe from a scream that crossed the barrier of death itself. “Take it away.”

Lyra freezes, her hands hovering over the silk. “My lady?”

“I will not be wearing that,” I say, my voice gaining strength. I swing my legs out of bed, the cool floorboards a welcome shock against my bare feet. I stand before them, clad only in a thin chemise, and for the first time in what feels like a century, I am not afraid.

“But… but the Alpha commanded it,” one of the other maids stammers, her eyes darting toward the door as if Felix himself might materialize. “This is the ceremonial gown. Every Luna for a hundred years has…”

“Then it’s time for a new tradition,” I interrupt, my gaze locking with Lyra’s. “Go to my old training chest. At the very bottom, you will find a set of black leathers. The ones I wore during my warrior trials. Bring them to me. Now.”

Lyra’s face is pale with terror. “Warrior leathers? For your Mating Ceremony? Vera, he will be furious. He will punish you. He’ll punish all of us.”

I give her a small, hard smile. The memory of her loyalty in the face of Felix's wrath is a hot coal in my chest. This time, I will be the one to protect her. “Let him be furious. His moods are no longer my concern. Do as I say, Lyra.”

She hesitates for a heartbeat, searching my eyes. She must see something new there, something unbreakable, because she gives a short, sharp nod and hurries out of the room, the other maids scrambling after her.

When they return, the worn, supple leather feels like a second skin. It smells of oil and sweat and freedom. There are no delicate silver threads, only reinforced stitching and straps for holding knives. As I buckle the last strap on my thigh, I meet my own eyes in the mirror. The girl who cried in the dungeons is gone. The woman who faced the axe remains. Her eyes are ancient, filled with a cold, burning purpose.

Whispers follow me down the Great Hall’s central aisle like a cloud of insects. The entire Shadowclaw Pack is here, packed onto the long wooden benches. Visiting dignitaries from allied packs line the walls, their faces a mixture of confusion and disapproval. I ignore them all. My focus is on the raised dais at the front of the hall, where two figures stand before the ancient hearthstone.

One is the pack Elder, his face already a deep, troubled red. The other is him.

Alpha Felix. He looks exactly as I remember, devastatingly handsome, radiating an aura of power and supreme arrogance. His black hair is artfully tousled, his ceremonial silver armor gleams in the torchlight. He hasn’t turned to look at me yet. He’s too busy accepting the adulation of the crowd, a smug smirk playing on his lips. He thinks this ceremony, this mating, is about him. A confirmation of his status.

Beside the dais, in the front row, sits Bianca. Her crimson dress is a slash of color in the muted hall. She catches my eye, and her perfectly shaped lips curve into a sneer of contempt as she takes in my leathers. She thinks I am a pathetic, classless fool making a scene. Good. Let her think that. Let them all underestimate me. It’s the last mistake they’ll ever make.

I come to a halt at the foot of the dais. The hall falls silent. Finally, Felix deigns to turn. His eyes rake over me, from my practical boots to my braided hair. His smirk falters, replaced by a flash of irritation.

“What is the meaning of this, Vera?” his voice is a low growl, meant only for me, but it carries in the silence. “Where is your gown? Did you think to make a joke of our mating day?”

“I am here, as summoned,” I say, my voice steady and clear.

The Elder clears his throat, his gaze flicking nervously between us. “Let us… let us begin. Alpha Felix, Vera. Step forward and join hands. Let the Moon Goddess bear witness to this sacred union, a bond of strength and fealty that will fortify the Shadowclaw Pack for generations to come.”

Felix’s arrogance returns, smoothing over his anger. He sees this as a childish tantrum, a final, fleeting act of defiance before I am his to command. He extends his hand, a gesture of ownership, not partnership.

“Come, Vera,” he commands, his tone dripping with condescending patience. “Your little display is over. Take my hand.”

I watch that hand. The hand that signed my death warrant. The hand that held Bianca’s as I was dragged away. The memory is so sharp, so real, it feels like it happened a second ago. A fire ignites in my soul, burning away the last vestiges of the girl I was.

I do not move.

His eyes narrow. “I will not repeat myself again.”

The entire hall holds its breath. This is it. The first stone of the avalanche.

I take a single step back.

“No,” I say. My voice doesn’t tremble. It rings through the hall, sharp and cold as the executioner’s blade.

A wave of shocked murmurs ripples through the crowd. Felix’s face darkens, the mask of the magnanimous Alpha slipping to reveal the tyrant beneath. “What did you say to me?”

I lift my chin, meeting his furious gaze without flinching. I project my voice so that every single wolf in this hall can hear my words, my judgment, my vow.

“I said no,” I declare, the words a liberation. “I, Vera of the Shadowclaw Pack, do not accept this union. Before the Goddess and all witnesses, I reject you, Alpha Felix.”

His jaw drops. Bianca leaps to her feet, her face a mask of outrage. The Elder looks like he might faint.

I am not finished.

“I sever this bond before it can be formed,” I continue, the power in my own voice stunning me. “I sever all ties, all claims, all duties associated with it. Now and forever.”

The silence that follows is absolute, a deafening void where a sacred vow should be. It is the silence of a world cracking apart. I can feel hundreds of eyes on me, feel their shock, their disbelief, their fear.

But all I see is Felix’s face. The arrogant confidence has been wiped away, replaced by a look of pure, undiluted, public humiliation. His rage is a physical thing, a wave of heat rolling off him. He thinks I am a hysterical girl who has just signed her own death warrant.

He has no idea. This isn't my execution. It's his.

Chapter 2

Vera

The silence breaks. A hundred gasps, a thousand whispers erupt at once. The Great Hall is a sea of churning confusion and outrage. Bianca’s face is a twisted mask of fury. The Elder looks at me as if I have sprouted a second head. Guards straighten, their hands moving to their weapons, their eyes darting to their Alpha for a command.

And Felix. His face has gone from shocked white to a blotchy, dangerous red. The air around him crackles with raw, unrestrained power. It’s his Alpha presence, a force meant to bring lesser wolves to their knees in submission. I remember how it used to make my bones ache with fear. Now, I feel nothing. It’s like watching a storm rage behind a thick pane of glass.

“Clear the hall,” Felix’s voice is not a shout. It is far worse. A low, lethal snarl that cuts through the noise like a honed blade. “Everyone. Out. Now.”

No one needs to be told twice. Benches scrape against the stone floor as the pack scrambles to obey, a panicked exodus of shuffling feet and averted eyes. They don't want to be caught in the blast radius of his rage.

Elder Marcus takes a hesitant step forward. “Alpha, perhaps a moment to…”

“Did you not hear me, old man?” Felix snaps, his eyes never leaving my face. “Or has your age finally deafened you? Get out.”

Marcus flinches as if struck. He gives me one last look, a mixture of pity and terror, before turning and following the retreating crowd.

Bianca is one of the last to leave. She glides past me, her crimson dress whispering against the stone. She leans in close, her perfume a cloying cloud of nightshade and ambition.

“You pathetic little fool,” she hisses, her voice dripping with venom. “He will break you into a thousand pieces for this. And I will enjoy watching.”

“I’m counting on it,” I say, my voice flat and even.

Her perfect smile tightens. She expected tears or terror, not this placid defiance. It throws her off. She gives a small, frustrated scoff and sweeps out of the hall, her hips swaying with practiced arrogance.

The great oak doors boom shut, plunging the hall into a shadowed silence. We are alone. Just me and the monster I was supposed to marry.

He doesn’t move for a long moment. He just watches me, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. He is a predator, assessing his prey, trying to understand why it isn’t running.

“Do you have any idea what you have done?” he finally says, taking a slow, deliberate step down from the dais.

“I believe I was quite clear,” I reply, holding my ground. “I rejected you.”

He laughs. It’s a harsh, ugly sound with no humor in it. “Rejected me? You are nothing. You have nothing. Your family line is weak, your blood is thin. You were a charity case, a girl I was raising up from the dirt to stand beside me. And you dare to speak of rejection?”

“Is that what you told yourself?” I ask. “That you were being charitable? Not that my father’s dying wish was for our families to be joined, a promise your own father made on that same hearthstone.”

His eyes flash. A direct hit. “You will not speak of my father.”

“I’ll speak of whatever I wish,” I say calmly. “That is rather the point.”

He stalks forward until he is towering over me, close enough that I can feel the heat of his anger. He is trying to intimidate me with his size, his power. It’s a tactic that always worked before.

“You have humiliated me,” he growls, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “In front of my pack. In front of Alphas from the Silvermoon and Stonecrest packs. You have made me a laughingstock.”

“You mistake the cause for the effect,” I tell him, refusing to look away. “Your arrogance made you a laughingstock. I simply pulled back the curtain.”

His hand shoots out, grabbing my arm. His grip is like iron. In my first life, this would have been the moment I crumpled, the moment the tears began.

I don’t even blink. I just look down at his fingers digging into my leather-clad arm, then back up to his furious face. “Take your hand off me.”

“Or what?” he snarls, tightening his grip. “You will what, Vera? You have no one. No allies. No power. You are an un-mated female who has just publicly shamed her Alpha. I could have you whipped for insubordination. I could have you exiled to the barren lands. I could have you back on that executioner’s block for treason.”

The phantom pain on my neck flickers, a cold reminder. But it is not fear it brings. It is fuel.

“You could,” I agree, my voice quiet but carrying the weight of absolute certainty. “But you won’t. Not yet.”

His brow furrows in confusion. “And why is that?”

“Because any of those actions would make you look weak,” I explain, as if to a child. “It would prove I was right to reject you. A strong Alpha is not threatened by a lone woman. A strong Alpha is not brought to heel by whispers and gossip. Killing me now would be an admission of your own fragility. And you cannot stand to look fragile.”

His grip falters. I see the truth of my words hit him. He is a creature of pride and public perception above all else. I know his playbook because I have already read the last page.

“You think you are so clever,” he spits, though some of the fire has left his voice, replaced by a grudging confusion.

“I think you are predictable,” I correct him. “You need my compliance now more than ever. You need to spin this. You will tell everyone I had a hysterical fit. A moment of female weakness. You will try to coax me back, to convince me to go through with the ceremony in a more private setting. You will try to salvage your pride.”

He stares at me, his jaw working silently. He looks at me like he has never seen me before. He is right. He hasn’t.

I pull my arm from his loosened grasp. “So, no. You will not whip me. You will not exile me. You will not kill me. You will watch me. And you will wait. And you will wonder what I am going to do next.”

I turn my back on him, a gesture of ultimate dismissal.

“Where do you think you are going?” he demands, his voice raw with disbelief.

“To my cabin,” I say without looking back.

“The hunter’s shack at the edge of the woods? That hovel is for Omegas and outcasts.”

“Then it seems I will be in good company,” I say, and start walking toward the great oak doors.

Each step feels a lifetime long. I can feel his rage burning into my back. I expect him to roar, to charge, to drag me back. He does nothing. He just stands there, silenced by a power he cannot comprehend: the power of a woman with nothing left to lose.

I push the heavy doors open and step out into the sunlight. The crowd of pack members has not fully dispersed. They linger in the courtyard, gathered in hushed, anxious groups. As I emerge, a wave of silence falls. Every eye turns to me.

I see it all. The shock. The fear. The pity. The scorn. I lift my chin and walk through them as if they are nothing more than stones in my path. I hear the whispers start up again behind me, a rustle of leaves in my wake.

"Madness."

"He will kill her for this."

"Did you see his face?"

I ignore them. Their opinions are irrelevant. They are sheep, loyal only to the strongest wolf. Soon, they will see where the true strength lies.

My path takes me away from the grand stone buildings of the pack center, past the training grounds and the communal longhouses. I walk toward the forest, where the territory becomes wilder, less tamed.

The cabin is just as I remember it. Small, made of rough-hewn logs, with a sagging porch and a single window. Smoke curls lazily from its stone chimney, meaning someone has at least kept the hearth lit. It is a place of exile, a physical manifestation of being unwanted. To me, it is a fortress. A sanctuary.

I push open the heavy, unadorned door. The inside is sparse. A simple cot, a small wooden table with two chairs, a stone fireplace, and a few empty shelves. It smells of dust and old woodsmoke. It is perfect.

I walk to the single window and look out, not at the pack lands, but deeper into the forest. The chaos of the ceremony feels a world away. The adrenaline begins to fade, and in its place is not exhaustion, but a cold, clear focus.

Felix thinks he has time. He thinks he can manage this, control the narrative, and eventually bend me back to his will. He is wrong. The clock is ticking, but it is my clock, not his.

My first life taught me all of his weaknesses, all of his blind spots. His patrols are sloppy, especially on the western border. He relies too heavily on the same routes, the same schedules. Arrogance makes a man careless.

I close my eyes, and the memory comes sharp and clear. A flash of snarling jaws, the screams of young warriors, the sight of Lena, her shield split, standing over the fallen body of a boy no older than sixteen. An ambush by a pack of feral wolves. A patrol slaughtered because Felix dismissed the rumors of feral activity as beneath his notice. It happens in three days.

Three days.

I open my eyes. My new life has been bought in blood. I will not waste a second of it. Lena was demoted and shunned for defending me when I was accused of treason. She suffered for her loyalty.

This time, loyalty will be her reward.

This time, I will be the one standing over her, shield raised.

My plan begins now. Not with a grand declaration, but with a quiet, deadly purpose. I will save a patrol. I will gain an ally. I will forge the first crack in the armor of Alpha Felix’s power.

He is in the Great Hall, reeling from a public rejection. He thinks the game is about his pride. He has no idea that I am already on a different board entirely, playing for stakes he cannot even imagine. And I am about to make my first move.

Chapter 3

Vera

I don’t waste time settling in. The cabin is a tool, not a home. I spend two days moving with a quiet purpose that feels alien and yet perfectly natural. I eat the simple rations of jerky and hard bread left on a shelf. I sharpen the two hunting knives I found tucked under the cot until their edges gleam. And I watch.

From the edge of the woods, I observe the pack's rhythms. The shift changes for the guards. The patrol routes. Just as I remember, they are predictable, sloppy. Felix’s arrogance permeates everything, a sickness of overconfidence. He believes the pack’s borders are secure because he commands it to be so.

On the morning of the third day, I walk to the outcast’s training ring. It’s a dusty, neglected circle of land behind the armory, where those in disfavor are sent to sweat out their frustrations. It’s where I know I will find her.

Lena is there, alone. Her black hair is tied back in a severe braid, and she moves with a brutal efficiency, her sword a blur of silver as she attacks a battered wooden dummy. Each strike is a controlled explosion of rage. She was once the pack’s most promising warrior, before she defended me and Felix broke her career over his knee.

I stop at the edge of the ring. For a moment, I just watch the raw, wasted talent. She doesn’t notice me. Or she pretends not to.

“They gave you a blunt sword,” I say. My voice is quiet, but it cuts through the morning air.

Her movements don’t stop. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. The impacts echo in the quiet. “They don’t want me hurting myself,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“No,” I correct her. “They don’t want you hurting them.”

That makes her stop. She plants the tip of the sword in the dirt and slowly turns to face me. Her eyes are chips of grey flint, hard and unforgiving. She looks me up and down, taking in my leathers. A flicker of something, maybe surprise, crosses her face before it’s gone.

“What do you want, little lady?” she asks, the title a deliberate insult. “Come to see how the other half lives? It’s a long way from the Alpha’s side.”

“I’m no longer at his side,” I state simply.

“I heard,” she scoffs, pulling a rag from her belt and wiping the sweat from her brow. “You made quite a scene. Rejected the great Alpha. Very brave. Or very stupid.”

“Maybe neither,” I say, taking a step into the ring. The dust puffs up around my boots. “I need your help.”

Lena laughs. It’s a harsh, bitter sound. “You need my help? That’s rich. Where was your help when Felix demoted me to guarding the northern fence in midwinter? Where were you when your future mate called me a traitorous bitch for saying you deserved a fair hearing?”

Her words are blades, and I let them hit. I deserve them. The old Vera deserves them. “I was a coward,” I admit. The confession hangs in the air between us. “I was weak, and I was afraid. I let him silence me. And I let him hurt you. I will not make that mistake again.”

She narrows her eyes, suspicious. “What is this? Some game to get back in his good graces? You come to me, get me to do something stupid, and he ‘forgives’ you for your little tantrum at the ceremony?”

“He will never forgive me,” I say, my voice cold with certainty. “And I will never ask him to. This has nothing to do with him. It has to do with the pack.”

“Always the pack,” she spits, turning back to the dummy. “Don’t wave that flag at me. I’ve seen what Alphas do in the name of ‘the pack’.”

“Then do it for the children he’s sending to their deaths,” I say.

The sword stops mid-swing. She turns back to me, her knuckles white where she grips the hilt. “What did you say?”

“The western border patrol. He put Jon and Lyra’s boy on it. And two of the other new trainees. They’re sixteen, Lena. He’s sending them into the Whisperwood with two seasoned warriors who think it’s a milk run.”

Her expression is a mask of warring disbelief and concern. “The Whisperwood is clear. Patrols have said so for months.”

“The patrols are lazy,” I counter. “They stick to the main trail. The feral pack that was driven south last season has circled back. They’re hungry, and they’ve been watching the patrols. They know the schedule. They know the route.”

She stares at me, her mind clearly working, weighing my words. “How could you possibly know this? Did you overhear something?”

I can’t tell her the truth. Not yet. So I give her a piece of it. “I’ve been watching. Felix is so focused on consolidating his power and planning his grand Conclave appearance that he has become deaf and blind. He dismisses any report that contradicts his own sense of order. He calls it fear-mongering.”

“He does,” she admits grudgingly. “He demoted Kael for reporting rogue tracks two weeks ago.”

“Exactly. The ambush will happen at the river crossing. By dusk. The feral alpha is a big brute, grey with a shredded left ear. He’ll lead the attack from the rocks on the north bank to drive the patrol into the water.”

The detail about the alpha’s ear is a gamble. But I remember it from the grim report given after their bodies were found. It’s a detail that lends my story the weight of truth.

Lena’s gaze is sharp, searching my face for any hint of deception. “This is insane. You’re asking me to abandon my post and follow you into the woods based on… what? A feeling?”

“I’m asking you to trust that my reasons for hating Felix are now as strong as yours,” I say, my voice low and intense. “I’m asking you to believe that I would rather die than see more of our own get hurt because of his pride. If I’m wrong, you can march me back to Felix myself and tell him I’ve lost my mind. But if I’m right…”

I let the words hang there. If I’m right, a patrol dies.

She looks past me, toward the Whisperwood, a dark line on the horizon. I can see the warrior in her calculating the odds, the risk. Her loyalty to the pack, the true pack, is stronger than her hatred for me.

Finally, she shoves the blunt sword into a weapons rack with a clang of disgust. “Fine.”

She walks to a locked chest in the corner of the ring, pulls a key from her boot, and opens it. Inside is her true sword, a fine, sharp-edged weapon that hums in the air as she draws it. She checks its balance, her movements fluid and deadly.

“Get two more blades from the armory,” she commands, her voice all business. “And a medical kit. Meet me at the old hunter’s path in ten minutes. If you’re late, I’m gone.”

“I won’t be late,” I promise.

She gives me one last, hard look. “If this is a trick, Vera, there won’t be enough of you left for Felix to punish.”

I just nod. There’s nothing more to say.

We move through the forest like ghosts, sticking to the shadows. Lena sets a punishing pace, but I keep up, my body remembering the rhythms of the hunt. We don’t speak. The only sounds are the rustle of leaves and the distant call of a hawk.

We reach the ridge overlooking the river crossing an hour before dusk. We conceal ourselves in a thicket of ferns, the damp earth cool against my palms.

“We wait,” Lena whispers, her eyes scanning the opposite bank.

“They’ll be here soon,” I say with a certainty that makes her glance at me.

We wait in silence as the sun dips lower, painting the sky in shades of orange and blood. Doubt begins to creep into Lena’s posture. Her jaw is tight. She’s ready to tear into me for this wild goose chase.

Then I hear it. A faint snap of a twig. Not from the patrol’s direction, but from the rocks to our left. I touch Lena’s arm. She freezes, her head cocking as she listens.

One by one, they emerge. Feral wolves. Larger and leaner than our pack wolves, with mangy coats and a desperate hunger in their yellow eyes. They move with a chilling coordination, flanking the trail, melting into the undergrowth.

And then I see him. On the highest rock on the north bank. The alpha. He is huge, grey, and his left ear is a mess of shredded cartilage and scar tissue.

Lena’s breath hitches. Her eyes widen as she looks from the feral alpha to me. The question is there, plain as day. How?

Before she can ask, we hear the patrol. Four young figures in Shadowclaw leather, walking with the careless confidence of youth. The two trainees are laughing at a joke, their attention everywhere but where it should be.

“Gods,” Lena breathes, her hand tightening on her sword. “There are at least a dozen of them.”

“More like fifteen,” I correct her quietly, my mind already working. “We can’t take them all head on. We need to break their charge and kill the alpha. The rest will scatter.”

Lena looks at me, surprised by my immediate tactical assessment. “Break the charge? It’s just us two.”

“You take the three on the left flank. Go for the tendons. Hamstring them. Don’t get bogged down,” I command, my voice low and sure. “I will draw the alpha.”

“Draw the… Are you insane? He’ll rip you apart!”

“He’s overconfident,” I say, unsheathing my blades. “He’ll come for the throat. I’ll be waiting.”

There’s no more time to argue. The patrol steps into the clearing by the river. The trap is sprung.

The feral alpha lets out a piercing howl. The world explodes into a blur of fur and teeth. The trainees scream as wolves burst from the trees. The two senior warriors are overwhelmed in seconds.

“Now, Lena!” I yell.

She doesn’t hesitate. She launches herself down the ridge like an avenging fury, her sword a silver arc of death. She slams into the flank of the attack, her blade weaving a deadly pattern.

My focus is singular. I stand, step out from the ferns, and raise my knives. “Hey!” I scream, my voice raw. “Looking for me, you ugly bastard?”

The grey alpha’s head snaps in my direction. He was moving toward one of the downed trainees, but my challenge diverts him. He bares his teeth in a snarl, yellow eyes fixing on me with murderous intent. He sees me as a lone, foolish female. An easy kill.

Good.

He bounds toward me, covering the ground with terrifying speed. I hold my ground, my heart hammering, my vision narrowing to the space between his eyes. He leaps.

I don’t back away. I drop. I slide under his flying body, the stench of wet fur and rot filling my senses. As I go, I drive both my knives up into his exposed belly, burying them to the hilt.

He lands with a strangled yelp of shock and pain. He stumbles, trying to turn, to get at me, but the damage is done. I roll to my feet as he collapses, blood pouring onto the forest floor. He gives one last, shuddering gasp, and is still.

Silence falls over the clearing, broken only by the whimpers of the wounded trainees. The remaining feral wolves, seeing their alpha fall, falter. Their pack bond is broken. With a few panicked yips, they turn and vanish back into the trees.

Lena stands over the bodies of three of them, her chest heaving. She stares at the dead alpha, then at me. Her face is a mask of utter, profound shock.

The surviving patrol members, two of them wounded but alive, crawl away from the carnage, their eyes wide with terror and awe.

I walk over to the alpha’s body and pull my bloody knives free. I wipe them on the grass and slide them back into their sheaths. Then I turn to face Lena.

She meets my gaze, the fury and suspicion gone, replaced by a dawning, fearful respect. “That wasn’t a guess,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “The shredded ear. The attack from the rocks. You knew. Every detail. How?”

I walk over to her, my legs feeling steadier than they have any right to be. “I know that Felix is a liability. His pride is going to get this entire pack killed.”

“That’s not an answer, Vera.”

“It’s the only one that matters right now,” I say, my eyes boring into hers. “He left them to die. We saved them. That is the only truth you need. You have a choice to make, Lena. You can continue to serve the Alpha who threw you away and would have let these children be slaughtered, or you can stand with me.”

I extend a hand, not in command, but in offering. It’s streaked with the blood of the feral alpha.

She looks at my hand, then back to my face. She sees the girl who was once a coward, and sees something new standing in her place. A leader. A warrior. A survivor.

She sheathes her sword. Then, without a word, she clasps my forearm, her grip as strong and unyielding as iron.

“To the death,” she says.

And I know she means it. The first stone of my new foundation is laid. And it is sealed in blood.