KAELYN

I haven't slept in two days. I haven't told Aunt Cinda, of course.

Not making that mistake again.

Last time, she pulled out her essential oils, dabbed lavender and ylang ylang on my temples while I tried not to choke on the scent, and dug her thumbs into me, massaging the insides of my wrist. Then, worst of all, she sat on my bed and insisted I talk to her and tell her why I was having trouble sleeping.

How could I tactfully explain to my sweet, fragile aunt that I couldn't sleep because my heat was so bad I wanted to hump everything (and everyone) in sight?

I ended up mumbling something about how I was just stressed about how I don't think I'm good enough to be Alpha one day and how I miss Dad so much and all I want is for him to be proud of me, blah, blah, blah. I chose topics I knew would keep her talking all night, so all I'd have to do is lie there and suffer.

Saying all of that makes me feel like a week-old elk carcass in the peak of July: absolute, festering garbage. I hate lying to my Aunt Cinda, but, what's worse is, in a way...I'm not.

That's kind of the super messed up part. All those things I told her are true. And to manipulate her like that using my actual feelings, especially about Dad...ugh.

As if I didn't hate myself enough already.

I can't go through that again. So I've been hiding out in my chambers, feigning a bad cold in order to, ironically, get through a far worse heat.

You know we could fix this, right, Kaelyn? my wolf says slyly.

Shut up, I plead with her once more.

I'm lying face-up on my bed. I stopped bothering to wipe the sweat dripping from my face, even as it trailed down my neck, pooling in my navel. I can't bear to wear anything more than my white cotton bra and panties.

Crook a finger, Kaelyn, she ignores me, swing your tail. They'll come running. They all will.

"That's it, I'm taking a shower," I say, throwing the pillow across the room and marching to my en suite bathroom. I peel the sweat-damp bra and panties from my body. I don't even bother to look in the mirror, I know what I'll see:

Long, auburn curls, tangled down my back. A hot flush spread all over my entire body, even down my long, pale limbs. Wide eyes, usually a light brown, blown a hungry, desperate black.

I'm an absolute mess.

I turn the cold tap on and step immediately under the rainfall shower. The water is ice, and when it hits me, my whole body seizes, frigid. Bliss.

Four seconds of absolute bliss.

No thoughts. No feeling.

Just freezing, terrible, perfect cold.

If it didn't work the first ten times today, why would it work now? Jump in the Arctic, babe. You'll still be on fire. There's only one way to fix this.

"I can't do that," I whisper into the water. The feverish feeling is back, and I might as well be in a sauna for how hot I'm feeling again. The ache in my womb flares, and my core is throbbing.

I lean my forehead against the cool shower wall, closing my eyes. I press a hand to my smooth stomach and slide it down. Down, past my navel, down, down to the apex of my thighs, to where every alight nerve in my body is guiding me.

No.

I can't.

If I do, if I touch myself, make myself come, it'll be like drinking seawater to quench my thirst. It'll only leave me thirstier, sicker, needier. It'll make something already difficult impossible.

This is so. Incredibly. Unfair.

Any other twenty-two year old girl, wolf or not, gets to bed whoever they please, whenever they please.

But I'm not just any other twenty-two year old girl: I'm Kaelyn Hart, and I will one day be Alpha of the Silverfang Pack.

That is, of course, if I prove to the rest of the pack that I'm capable. And how do I do that? By being strong (check), smart (check check), and incredibly charming (just kidding, but check check check). But not just that. Apparently, I am also supposed to be pure and perfect.

My heats started last year, right after I turned twenty-one, and they were terrible. But I just didn't know how to deal. So I turned to the resources at hand: vodka and super hot Omegas.

When my heats flared, especially in the beginning, I could barely function. Liquor took the edge off, made the sharp, hot corners fuzzy, and the Omegas took my clothes off. I had fun (though a few got kinda clingy) but more importantly, I'd get my mind back. Myself back.

But you see, that's when the rumors started.

"I'm sorry, but Kaelyn? She's more worried about finding her next lay than taking care of our pack."

"I heard that Alpha Davis killed three people in a bar last week just for saying the song he chose on the jukebox was shitty. What do you think he'll do if any Shadowclaws show up in our territory? But Kaelyn? She'd just try and fuck them."

"Silverfang just hasn't been the same since Alpha Timber was killed. She's just not her father."

That last gem was from Tessa, one of our gardeners. I was craving fresh apples, so was on my way to the orchard when I heard her talking to another gardener, Gabe. She was wiping dirt from her brow and sighing as she said it.

That's what got me. Tessa wasn't trying to be mean. She was just lamenting a sad truth.

The price of milk has doubled. The politician I voted for cheated on his wife. The Silverfang Pack is falling into ruin and Kaelyn is failing her father's memory.

I can still remember how my eyes burned, thinking it was my wolf showing her anger, the iris's flashing to a canary yellow. But when I touched my cheeks, they were wet.

I was crying.

There had been a moment where I decided I would fire Tessa on the spot, banish her from the pack.

Instead, I walked into the manor, pulled all the Grey Goose bottles from beneath my mattress, and poured them down the sink. Then, I pulled out my phone and blocked the number of every Omega I had.

That's when I took my vow of celibacy.

Sure, it may be some sexist-ass bullshit. But I can't....

I can't let down Dad.

Even if it kills me.

I can't feel the top of my head anymore. It's numb from standing under the icy rush of water for nearly half an hour. You'd think I'd be shivering, but the goosebumps blooming on my arms and thighs aren't from the cold, but from the needy tingling skirting just under my skin.

I need to get the hell out of here.

In quick, jerky motions, I switch off the shower and stagger out of the stall towards the bedroom door. I'm a little lightheaded as I make my way to my walk-in closet. I need to grab something lightweight and easily rippable and throw it on.

And then, I need to run. My wolf needs to run.

We both do.

I throw on some clothes and push open the doors to my chambers as softly as I can. It's late, and I really don't want to answer any of Aunt Cinda's millions of questions and concerns right now.

Which is why, as soon as I round the corner, I bump right into her.

"Oh my goodness, Little Love!" she startles, hand clutching at her chest. "You gave me quite a fright!"

An eighty-year-old turtle stuck in molasses would give Aunt Cinda a fright.

"I know, Aunt Cinda. I'm sorry. I just needed...a glass of water from the kitchens."

Aunt Cinda raises a single, dark brow.

"Wearing...your tennis shoes?"

"Yes?" I say weakly. I don't have it in me to come up with something better. All I can think about is letting my wolf burst free from the damp cotton clinging to my skin. About feeling the cold wind like lover's fingers through my fur.

"Oh, Kaelyn," Aunt Cinda lifts a cool hand to smooth a sweaty lock of hair back from my brow. "It's very bad this time, isn't it?"

I open my mouth to deny it again, to say anything to deflect her worries. But I'm just so very tired, and her palm on my forehead feels like balm on a burn.

"It gets worse and worse the longer I resist," I whisper. "I know it's late, Aunt Cinda. But I need to run. Please?" Aunt Cinda's brows furrow, and her soft, sweet face crumples a little.

"Of course," she says, her bottom lip trembling, "Oh my heavens, of course, sweet girl. You're doing the right thing, though." Aunt Cinda takes my hands into hers and starts to gently massage the webbing between my thumb and forefinger.

"The Union Valley point," she explains in a soft voice, her eyes lowered to where her hands are massaging mine. "For stress."

After a beat or two of peaceful silence, Aunt Cinda raises her eyes to me. When she does, they're swimming.

"It's so much harder on us, isn't it Little Love?" she says, "The burdens of women are considerable. Those of a she-wolf, even more so. And the burdens of a she-wolf intent on reclaiming her bloodright?" She smiles sadly. "Those are the burdens of Atlas himself."

I actually give her a smile. A real one. Not the tight stretch at the corners of my mouth I've been showcasing of late.

"Ah, yes," I laugh, "Condemned to hold up the sky for all of eternity. That's not at all even a little melodramatic, Aunt Cinda."

Aunt Cinda laughs too and gives my hands an affectionate shake.

"Maybe so, my dear, maybe so." She shakes her head. "All the same...it sometimes feels like it, doesn't it? Like men, even your Uncle Davis, are handed lit cigars and suckling pigs and we she-wolves are meant to cobble feasts from their crumbs?"

Again, a little melodramatic.

But I nod. She's right. Find me one male Alpha that's had to govern his conquests to prove his worthiness to rule, and I'd abdicate my birthright immediately; both are things that would never happen. I've been dealing with this for a year, and I'm already exhausted.

Aunt Cinda's weariness and frailty are beginning to make sense.

The grandfather clock in the atrium chimes nine times. Even down this upstairs corridor it resonates in my chest, the bell tolls magnified by the marble of the grand staircase.

"It's late, my Love. Go run. Fight it. I know you can. You and your wolf are strong." Aunt Cinda gives my hands one more gentle squeeze before releasing them. She lifts her chin. "Never forget. You are a Hart woman. I loved my brother. He was a good Alpha and a better man." There's a tremble in her chin.

"But," she continues, "Hart women have always had to fight harder and longer." Her green eyes are boring into mine. "Our ancestors strengthen your blood. You carry the fight of generations of Hart women in your spirit—and we are not to be trifled with, Kaelyn. Remember that."

Whoa. Since when did Aunt Cinda become a badass?

But almost immediately, something in her shrinks, like her little speech took it out of her. I'd be surprised if she doesn't stay in her chambers all day tomorrow, the maids scuttling to and fro tending to her migraine and "frayed nerves."

Still, I love her. And her words struck home.

"I won't fail you, Aunt Cinda," I say. And, for once, I believe it. I lean forward and kiss her forehead.

I turn to head down the stairs, my limbs still buzzing, my wolf still howling, but this time, I feel like I have the upper hand.

"Kaelyn," Aunt Cinda calls as I begin my descent.

"Yes, Aunt Cinda?" I turn to face her.

"Be careful," she says, wringing her hands. "Fenneck's patrol reports in the last few weeks...he says that Shadowclaw scouts have been far more bold as of late. Child, please, please—"

"Aunt Cinda, don't you worry." This speech is memorized by rote at this point. "I'm faster, stronger, and far cleverer than anything out there. I look both ways before I cross the stream. I'll be tucked under my covers before you've even made it back to the doors of your solar."

That isn't saying too much. The corridors of the castle are long, and Aunt Cinda's knees have her hobbling on a cane half the time.

But this seems to assuage her fears, so with a final, trembling wave, she turns, and I bound down the stairs.

Kaelyn, it won't help—

But this time, I'm able to block her voice.

This time, she listens to me.

I am going to run. And it will be enough.

***

The Silver Ghost.

That's what they call me.

Because when I fly through the night, my paws barely touch the forest floor.

Tonight, the crisp cold of the night flowing through my fur is like Aunt Cinda's hand on my fevered brow. Soothing. Reassuring.

I leap onto a fallen tree, swiftly dancing up the long trunk, then bound from the top. Here, in the forest, under the light of the moon, I'm invincible. There's no boulder I can't summit with a single, effortless vault, no keen eyes or nose I can't outrun.

Kaelyn. Kaelyn, listen to me—

Wow, I say to my wolf smugly. Are you really panicking? Over not getting to bang some pathetic—

Kaelyn, please. There's something else out here. Get out of here. Get out of here NOW.

Okay, that has my attention. My wolf may sometimes be a little dramatic but easily frightened she is not. Maybe I was being a little careless.

I don't slow down, but I do stop my wild acrobatics and raise my muzzle to the air, prick up my ears.

Holy shit.

I know. Now fucking RUN.

And I fly. Fly through the woods for my life.

Because I've just caught the scent of what is most assuredly a monster. I can hear this giant, male wolf bulldozing through the forest, falling small trees like stalks of wheat with what is surely a hulking mass.

There's no question who its target is. I smell hunger. I smell bloodlust. The wolf wants to eat me alive, no doubt about it. And he smells and sounds so powerful, I realize, for the first time in my life, that I very well may lose a race.

I very well may lose my life.

No, no, no, no I promised Aunt Cinda I'd come back. I swore on my father's grave I'd be the best Alpha Silverfang's ever seen.

I swore I would avenge him.

We'll do all of that, Kaelyn. We will. Just keep running.

I AM, I snarl, panic seizing every neuron firing in my brain. Where does my wolf get off, being all calm and collected now?

As for me, I've never been so terrified in my life.

Who are you?! I link wildly to whatever is chasing me. Maybe it's dumb, but I'm not exactly thinking clearly here. Maybe we can talk this out?

Tell me what you want! I broadcast again. Maybe it's money? Maybe it's not me he wants, but Uncle Davis? That guy has plenty of enemies.

But all I hear is the thundering gallops of a creature the size of a small car bulldozing the forest behind me. Ancient tree trunks are exploding and splintering. Ravens are screaming, fleeing.

And it's getting closer. So. Much. Closer.

I'm grappling with my sanity, fighting the mindless horror threatening to swallow me whole.

Hart she-wolves are not to be trifled with, Kaelyn.

This time, the calm in my wolf's voice grounds me. She's right. Aunt Cinda's right. I'm not going down without at least a hell of a fight.

I broadcast to the beast a final time, a little less afraid, a little more demanding:

What. The fuck. Do you WANT?