Chapter Three

I believed him, but that wouldn't undo a marking once it was done. The bond would already be formed, my life already changed forever.

"There has to be another way," I whispered.

"If there is, I haven't found it," Ethan said. "But hey, maybe you'll meet someone you actually like. Someone who'll ask for your permission before marking you."

I snorted. "Yeah, because werewolf males are known for their respect for female autonomy."

"We're not all bad, you know." He ruffled my hair like he used to when we were kids. "Some of us are actually decent."

"You're the exception, not the rule," I said, ducking away from his hand.

He grinned. "Maybe. But there might be others like me out there. Keep an open mind, sis."

We walked back to the house together, and for the first time since learning about the hunting party, I felt a tiny flicker of hope. Not much, but enough to keep me from completely panicking. If Ethan believed things could change, maybe they could.

But I wasn't going to count on some enlightened male to save me. If I wanted control over my own life, I'd have to take it for myself.

After showering and changing, I spent the rest of the morning researching in my room. I pulled out every book on werewolf tradition I could find in our family library, searching for loopholes, exceptions, anything that might give me a way out if things went south at the hunting party.

Most of what I found was discouraging. The traditions around marking and mating were clear and had barely changed in centuries. A male's right to mark his chosen female was sacred. A female's rejection of the mark was considered an insult to the male's honor, justifying whatever means he used to "claim what was rightfully his."

I slammed the oldest book shut in disgust, raising a cloud of dust that made me sneeze. This was getting me nowhere.

A soft knock on my door interrupted my frustrated thoughts. "Come in," I called, expecting Mom or Ethan.

Instead, my younger sister Mia poked her head in, her blonde curls bouncing as she bounded into my room and flopped onto my bed.

"Whatcha doing?" she asked, picking up one of the books and wrinkling her nose at the title: "Werewolf Mating Rituals and Traditions."

"Research," I said, taking the book from her hands and setting it aside. At fourteen, Mia was still blissfully unaware of the full implications of the hunting party. She knew it existed, of course, but Mom and Dad had sheltered her from the darker aspects.

"For the hunting party?" she asked, her blue eyes—just like Mom's—wide with curiosity. "Is it true you might get a mate? Like, a boyfriend but forever?"

I sighed. "Something like that."

"That sounds so romantic!" she sighed dreamily. "Like in those books you let me borrow, where the girl meets a mysterious, handsome stranger who sweeps her off her feet."

I bit back the urge to tell her the truth—that it was less "swept off your feet" and more "dragged by your hair." She'd learn soon enough.

"It's not exactly like those books, Mia," I said carefully. "In real life, relationships are more complicated."

She sat up, cross-legged on my bed. "Are you excited? To maybe meet your mate?"

I hesitated, not wanting to shatter her innocence but also not wanting to lie. "I'm... nervous," I said finally. "Finding a mate is a big deal. It changes your whole life."

"But you'll still visit us, right?" Her voice suddenly small. "Even if you have to go live with your mate's pack?"

My heart clenched. I hadn't even thought about how this would affect Mia. We were close despite our age difference, and the idea of leaving her behind hurt more than I wanted to admit.

"Of course I will," I promised, moving to sit beside her on the bed. "Nothing could keep me away from my favorite sister."

"I'm your only sister," she giggled, leaning against my shoulder.

"All the more reason to stay close," I said, wrapping an arm around her. "Besides, who knows if I'll even find a mate at this hunting party? Maybe no one will want me."

She looked at me like I'd grown a second head. "Are you kidding? You're the prettiest, smartest, strongest girl I know. Every boy is going to want you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I said dryly, "but I'm not exactly most males' idea of an ideal mate. I'm too stubborn, too independent."

"Good," Mia declared. "You should only be with someone who likes you exactly how you are."

Out of the mouths of babes. If only the rest of werewolf society shared my sister's enlightened view.

"When's my hunting party going to be?" she asked suddenly. "When I turn eighteen like you?"

The innocent question hit me like a punch to the gut. The thought of sweet, trusting Mia being hunted through the woods, possibly forced into a mating she didn't want—I couldn't bear it.

"That's still a long way off," I said, forcing a smile. "And who knows? Maybe things will be different by then."

"Because of Ethan?"

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "I heard him talking to Dad. He said when he's Alpha, girls won't have to go to hunting parties anymore if they don't want to. Dad got really mad."

I stared at her, surprised that Ethan had already started challenging Dad on this. Maybe there was more hope for change than I thought.

"Ethan's a good brother," I said. "He wants what's best for all of us."

"So do you," Mia said, hopping off the bed. "That's why you'll be a great Luna someday."

Luna—the female mate of an Alpha, second in command of the pack. It was the highest position a female werewolf could achieve, and even then, her power came solely from her mate.

"I don't think I'm cut out to be anyone's Luna," I said with a laugh.

Mia gave me a knowing look that seemed too mature for her fourteen years. "You never know. Maybe you'll meet an Alpha who's different. Someone who sees how special you are."

With that, she skipped out of my room, leaving me alone with my thoughts and a pile of dusty books that offered no solutions.

I flopped back on my bed, staring once again at my childhood stars on the ceiling. Mia's words echoed in my mind: 'Maybe you'll meet an Alpha who's different.'

I'd heard stories of progressive Alphas in far-off packs who were changing the old ways, treating females as equals rather than possessions. But they were just that—stories, rumors, whispers of change that never seemed to reach our corner of the werewolf world.

No, I couldn't count on meeting some enlightened male to save me from our barbaric traditions. If I wanted freedom, I'd have to fight for it myself.

As I drifted off into an uneasy nap, one thought crystallized in my mind: I would go to this hunting party, but I wouldn't be anyone's prey. And if any male tried to mark me against my will, he'd learn exactly why the females of the Blackwood Pack were known for their ferocity.

Let them try to hunt me. I'd be ready.