Chapter 1

Blake

They say the battle’s over, but the air still smells like scorched fur and something worse—like the pack is bleeding from somewhere we can’t stitch shut. Like loss, thick and coppery, crawling up my throat. If this is peace, I’d hate to see surrender.

Ash floats down like cursed snow. The barn’s still smoking. A half-burned arm sticks out from what used to be the side wall. I step over it. Not because I’m heartless. Because I’ve seen too many of them to keep flinching.

The courtyard is wrecked. Blood streaks the stone like war paint. I pick the glass out of my palm and focus on the sting, because the alternative is looking at what’s left of Mom’s greenhouse.

“Blake.”

I don’t turn around. “If you’re here to tell me to go inside, save your breath.”

Dorian exhales through his nose. His steps are uneven—he’s dragging one leg. “Dad called a chamber. Now.”

“Of course he did.” I let the blood bead before wiping it on my jeans. “Wouldn’t want to miss another emotionally detached lecture on survival. Nothing like a post-massacre family meeting.”

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t argue.

We walk in silence. The house creaks like it’s grieving. Broken windows. Cracked beams. The scent of death still thick on the walls. The wolves who aren’t dead are worse—they’re quiet.

Ezra’s leaning against the wall near the chamber doors. His leg is wrapped and stiff, but he still manages that crooked smirk.

“Dad summoned you too?” he asks.

“Guess I made the cut,” I say.

He snorts, but it’s hollow. “Don’t let him get to you.”

I roll my eyes, but I don’t push past him yet. I take a deep breath.

Then, I push the chamber doors open.

The chamber is mostly intact. One chandelier’s on the floor, but the long table is still there, untouched like it’s sacred. No one sits. Not even him.

My father stands at the head, of course. Unbothered. Unburned. Always the last one standing. Like the attack didn’t even graze him. Like the rest of us are just collateral damage, he’s already filed away.

There are vampires in the room.

Three of them. Sharp suits. Sharper smiles. Unarmed, which means they’re more dangerous than anyone here.

Ezra leans against the wall, one eye swollen shut. Jules has stitches running down her face, her hands shaking. Marcus’s daughter looks like someone dragged her through hell and forgot to bring her back.

None of them speak.

I don’t ask where Mom is.

I already know.

Father waits until the door closes. “Thank you for coming,” Father says, like we had a choice.

His voice echoes. Everyone’s watching him. No one speaks.

“The pack is broken. The vampires have made an offer.” He’s calm. Too calm. “They will halt their advance. No more blood. No more deaths. No more territory claimed. In exchange, they request one of ours.”

A chill runs down my spine. I glance at the vampires. One of them winks at me.

I glance at Marcus. “A hostage,” I say.

His jaw tightens. “They’re calling it a diplomatic gesture,” Marcus mutters.

“Same difference.”

Father nods. “Someone will go with them. Live among them. And stay with them. As proof of our cooperation.”

The smoke hasn’t cleared, and already my father’s looking for someone to sacrifice.

No one speaks.

Until Ezra steps forward. “I’ll go.”

Of course he will. Hero complex and a death wish.

My father’s favorite.

“No,” Father says without hesitation. “You’re in no condition.”

“I can still stand—”

“And that’s not enough.”

Dorian clears his throat. “Then I’ll do it.”

“No.”

The word lands heavy. His gaze isn’t on Dorian.

It’s on me.

My skin prickles as I go still.

“No,” I say, already knowing where this is headed.

“You’re uninjured,” he says. His voice is calm. “You’re capable.”

“I’m human.”

“Yes.”

One word. Heavy.

Like a verdict.

The only thing still standing after the attack is my father’s pride. That, and his need to prove I don’t belong here.

I laugh, but it’s dry and bitter. “So I’m disposable. Is that it?”

“You’re... acceptable,” he says. “They will accept you.”

“Because I’m weak. Because I’m not a threat.”

“You’ll be seen as less of a threat than them,” he says. “They’re more likely to accept you.”

There it is. The truth dressed in strategy.

I look around the room. No one meets my eyes. Not even Ezra. Not even Jules. They all look away like they agree with him. Like they’ve always agreed.

I shift my eyes back to my father. “I’m also more likely to die if someone breathes on me too hard.”

My father looks at me like I’m a math problem he solved years ago. “You’re strong in other ways.”

That’s new.

I step closer. “Why not Jules?” I ask. “Or Marcus’s girl?”

“They’re wolves.”

“And I’m not.”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.

“You’ve been waiting for an excuse to get rid of me,” I say. I can’t believe I’m saying this in front of everybody. “And now you have it.”

“Blake—” Ezra starts.

“No.” I hold up a hand. “Don’t you dare pity me now.”

Father’s eyes are steel. “This is your chance to do something real. For the pack.”

There it is.

The guilt. The pitch.

Mom’s body isn’t even cold, and already my name is on the chopping block.

“You mean because Mom died and I didn’t?” I say. He resents me because I made it through without fangs or claws.

His jaw ticks. Barely.

The room freezes.

His mouth twitches. Not guilt. Not pain. Just restraint. “This is what’s best for the pack, Blake.”

“You think I’m nothing,” I say. “Just a human mistake in your perfect bloodline.”

“I think you’re the only one who can do this without it costing us more lives.”

He says it like it’s a compliment.

Like I should be grateful to be useful.

“Don’t do this,” Dorian says quietly. “We’ll find another way.”

“There is no other way.”

I want to scream. But I don’t scream. I never do.

I slice instead.

“Well, congratulations. You finally found a problem I can be the answer to.”

The vampires are still smiling. One of them tilts his head, blue eyes gleaming like he’s already imagining the taste of me.

I want to punch something. Break something. Shake my father until something falls out—grief, rage, anything human.

But there’s nothing.

Only calculation.

Only silence.

“You think this will save the pack?” I ask. “You think they’ll stop with me?”

“It’s a start.”

“And if I die?”

He takes a deep breath. “Blake.”

He says my name as if I were a child throwing tantrums, not validating at all that I’m negotiating my life.

Ezra shifts. “Dad—”

“No.” Father’s voice is iron now. “This is decided.”

His face doesn’t change.

But for the first time, I see it.

Almost like... relief.

Maybe he knew the moment the attack started exactly who he’d give up if needed.

I look at the vampires. Two of them still smile at me. All teeth. But the one with blue eyes doesn’t.

He’s broad-shouldered, lean, but muscular. He towers—not just in height but in presence—making the other two vampires on either side of him seem like shadows of what a vampire should be.

His blue gaze just studies me—head slightly tilted, expression unreadable. Like he’s not evaluating a threat or savoring a meal. Like he’s dissecting a puzzle he doesn’t quite like the shape of.

And I hate it.

I hate that my stomach twists under his stare. He’s not smiling.

And I don’t know what that means.

My eyes look into Father’s eyes, the same hazel color as mine. “I’m not a gift,” I say, willing my chin to stop trembling.

“No,” Father agrees. “You’re a solution.”

The silence after that is loud.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nod once. I can’t speak anymore.

His face doesn’t change as he says, “You leave at dawn.”