I Breathed Silver So She Could Live

I labored in the lethal silver mines for three years, letting the toxic dust rot my lungs just to afford medicine for my sister, Snow.

But on the seventh day after her death, our biological parents—Alpha Silas and Luna Elara—finally showed up.

They hadn’t come to mourn. They came to claim her cold corpse, intending to marry it off to a powerful Alpha in place of Vanya, the fake daughter they favored.

To protect Vanya’s status and hide Snow’s ancient White Wolf bloodline, they had suppressed Snow’s shifting, allowed Vanya to whip her with silver, and ultimately poisoned her.

When I refused to hand over her cheap pine coffin, they ordered their warriors to force my face into the mud.

"Burn her."

Silas threw a torch onto Snow’s pyre, desperate to destroy the evidence of her silver-scarred flesh and the fatal Wolfsbane in her veins.

As the flames licked my sister’s burial shift, my chest spasmed, coughing up the dark blood of my own impending death.

I couldn’t fathom how parents could be so monstrous to their own flesh and blood, sacrificing their true daughter just to maintain a political lie.

But they didn’t know I had already sent a blood-stained letter to the Lycan Tribunal.

Just as the fire caught, the Chief Arbiter stepped out of the shadows, and I knew I would live just long enough to watch their empire burn.

Chapter 1

Lyra POV

A ceaseless, weeping rain washed over the crumbling ramparts of the estate. It was the seventh day since my sister died.

A heavy, black-lacquered carriage drew to a halt in the mire beyond the iron gates. The horses—great black beasts—blew steam from their nostrils, the vapor turning to ghost-white plumes in the sodden air. Torches sputtered in the grasp of the outriders, casting long, distorted shadows that danced upon the wet earth like specters.

The carriage door creaked open. Alpha Silas and Luna Elara emerged.

Silas’s polished boot trod through a puddle, splashing a fan of gray mud across my shins. He did not so much as glance down at the refuse by his feet.

Luna Elara, cinched into a severe Victorian corset beneath a coat of heavy velvet, held a black silk umbrella aloft. Her face was a mask of disdain as her gaze swept over the churned ground. Alpha Silas stood a pace behind her, a tall, rigid figure, his eyes as empty and cold as the winter sky.

They were my sister’s biological parents. They had not come to mourn. They had come to claim her corpse.

"Where is she?" Alpha Silas’s voice was pitched low, yet it carried the immense, crushing weight of his station.

The cellar’s coarse flagstones bit into my kneecaps. A dull ache crawled up the stiff sinews of my legs, but I lacked the strength to shift from the degrading posture. Beside me rested a coffin of cheap, unvarnished pine. I had spent the morning scratching the sigil of the Moon Goddess into its lid with a rusted knife.

"She is at rest," I said, my voice a thin tremor—a product of the chill and the sickness curdling in my veins.

"Bring her out," Luna Elara snapped, collapsing her umbrella as she descended the stone steps. "Vanya is inconsolable. She refuses her union with Alpha Jaxon. Snow will take her place. It is her duty."

My gaze fell to the closed lid of the coffin. A dry, bitter sound—something that might have been a laugh—escaped my throat.

A replacement for a mating contract. The thought was a shard of ice in my gut; they meant to offer a powerful Alpha a bride of cold, inanimate flesh.

"Your summons comes too late," I said, lifting my head to meet their imperious stares. "There is no pulse left for an Alpha to claim, no breath to be sworn in oath."

Silas advanced. The scent of his rising fury—a metallic, storm-laden odor—rolled off him. "Guard your tongue, Rogue."