Chapter 1: Willa

I stood at the kitchen sink and finished washing the dishes from dinner. My father started to snore softly in his chair in the next room, and a smile tugged at my lips. This was a typical night for us. We'd make dinner, talk about our day, then one of us would clean up. When it was my turn, Dad would read in his chair but was always asleep by the time I was done.

Just the two of us.

I put the last of the dishes away and hung the towel on the oven handle. I went to the living room and rested a hand on Dad’s shoulder, gently nudging him. He jerked awake as I knelt by his chair, resting an elbow on the arm and my chin in my hand, looking up at him with a grin.

“Did you get any further in that book?” I chuckled.

“Ha.” He lifted the book from his lap, placing the bookmark in its spot and closing it. “I suppose I didn’t.”

“You’ve been on this one for two weeks,” I said, plucking it out of his hand while I stood. I returned it to the small shelf in the corner.

“I’ll get it done eventually,” Dad laughed softly behind me.

“Yes, but not tonight. Go get some sleep.”

He stood slowly from his chair. He rested his hands on my arms, giving me a soft smile before kissing my forehead.

“You heading to bed, too?” he asked.

“Mhmm,” I lied with a nod. His eyes narrowed at me.

“Willa?”

“I’m not really tired yet. But I will be in my room. I’ve got some sketches I want to finish.”

“Okay,” he said, dropping his hands. “Just no more patrolling.”

“I know, Dad,” I said with an eye roll.

He nodded and turned toward the hall. I made sure the front door was locked before heading to my room. It was a small house. Just a little two bedroom with one bathroom. The bathroom only had a shower, toilet, and a sink. There wasn’t much to it, but it was home.

I shut my bedroom door behind me and listened for the familiar sound of Dad snoring in his bed in the next room. I smiled and shook my head. I grabbed the black hooded sweatshirt hanging on the footboard of the twin bed I still slept in and threw it on over my t-shirt. I slid my window open and climbed out, making sure to shut it behind me.

I hated sneaking out like this. Like I was a damn teenager. But after my dad found out I had been venturing into lycan territories, he forbade me from patrolling anymore. Or at least he tried to. It’s hard to do when I’m an adult and the only one that keeps our little home safe and hidden. Living outside a pack meant we needed to stay out of sight and out of pack territory.

Typically, if you follow those rules, they leave you alone. But sometimes, the younger warriors would get a hair up their ass to go rogue hunting just for the fun of it.

I slipped into the woods, allowing my wolf’s night vision to take over as I made my way down the familiar game trail that led east. We were only a few miles from the border of Whearhal, the lycan kingdom. Another downside of living the life of a rogue wolf. Rogues often spent their time moving from one location to another, mostly sleeping rough or squatting in abandoned buildings. We were lucky to have our little house and managed to find a way to keep the lights on and the water running.

I walked about two miles from home before I stepped off the trail. I kept an eye on the trees watching for the nearly imperceptible markers that I had been leaving to let me know I had already gone from that point. Finally, a quarter mile after the last marker, I stopped and slipped behind a tree. I pulled out my knife and the red powder I kept with me. I carved into the trunk and sprinkled the powder over it, mixing in some of my spit. It wasn’t glamorous, but it sure was handy. Once that was done, I stripped down and shifted into my wolf.

I loved the feeling of going for a run. It was the ultimate form of freedom. But I couldn’t let go for long. The marker was only a mile from the lycan lands at this part of the border. Once I reached the border, I hunkered down in a hiding spot and waited for the patrol.

After waiting for over an hour, I still hadn’t seen a single sentry pass by. It was odd. Since I started these trips over a year ago, I had never not seen a guard. Don’t get me wrong. They were hard to spot most of the time. They were well-trained and diligent. But they still always made their presence known if you knew what to look for. And however diligent they were, I was always just a little bit smarter.

But for there to be no guards at all?

I remained focused on my surroundings. I needed to make sure to stay out of sight, but I was also here for a reason. I was trying to find the best way in and out of Whearhal. If I could find the border patrol’s weak points, I could get in and out regularly, allowing me to scope out the lycan city that lay only fifteen miles from the border.

With still no sign of any guards, I took the opportunity and crossed the border. The city backed up into the southern mountains. But for being as close to the werewolf territories as it was, I seemed to never see any sign of them in these woods. Save for the border patrols, of course. But gratefully, I seemed to be the only one in the woods that night.

In hindsight, I should have found that suspicious.

I was cresting a ridge when Dharlow came into view. Built up against the mountainside sat a massive castle. It was where the lycan king and his council lived. A large town sat a short distance away from the base of the massive structure. The modernity of the town seemed strange against the classic fairy-tale castle backdrop. That was my goal. To one day find my way into the town. The western lands were now run by several werewolf packs that had rebelled over a hundred years ago, taking their own territory to escape lycan rule. However, the lycans still had a population of werewolves that served under them.

That would be my way in. I had been searching for a safe way in and out of the territory. A way that would allow me to sneak in and start being seen in the town a little. Become familiar. Work my way into a job that would get me into the castle. Looking at the sight before me, my goal only a few short miles away, and knowing I had found an unguarded stretch of land, my heart was racing out of my chest.

I sat for a while, taking in everything I could from my perch on the hill and committing it to memory. As it got later, I stood and started making my way back home. I was almost giddy with what I had discovered. But I knew that I needed to stake out that part of the border for a while longer before I could fully determine if it was the safe route I was looking for.

I was halfway back when I paused. Suddenly, I felt a shift in the air. As if I wasn’t alone. I tucked into a shadow and sniffed the air, trying to make out a scent. I caught nothing for a few moments, and just when I was about to move again, I caught a peculiar scent. It was faint and brief, but there was something about it I couldn’t put my finger on. I stayed put for a while longer, but the scent didn’t appear again.

I was still a bit on edge, but I knew I needed to get moving. So, I emerged from my shadow and trekked my way through the forest. I kept a steady pace, but I didn’t want to run full-on, afraid it would draw attention to me. It was a long trip. I would feel as if I was alone for a distance, and then the feeling of being watched would settle in my bones again for a while. It was off and on the whole way to the border.

Once I passed out of Whearhal, I took off at a run. I swerved around some and backtracked a few places. I didn’t want to lead anyone back to my spot if there was someone still trailing me. By the time I made it back to my clothes, I was worn out, but I felt confident I was alone.

That was a mistake.

I shifted back into my human form and slipped on my clothes. As soon as I tugged my t-shirt down, I caught that scent again. But this time, it was much stronger.

My heart started pounding as I felt a presence behind me. I shot around quickly to see a male standing in the moonlight only feet away from me. His voice crossed the short distance between us.

“Mate.”