My fingers trembled as they closed around the packhouse's back door handle, my heart hammering against my ribs with such force I was certain it could be heard from inside. The familiar weight of the building loomed above me, but everything felt different now—tainted by what I'd witnessed in the clearing, by Caspian's touch, by the impossible healing that defied every law I knew.
Two hours. Ryker and Sloane wouldn't return for at least two hours. I'd overheard him telling Dex they were heading to the northern territory to investigate rogue activity. The irony wasn't lost on me—he was hunting the very creatures that had nearly killed me while I bled alone in the dirt.
The door opened silently under my touch. I slipped inside, my bare feet soundless against the polished hardwood floors. The packhouse felt like a mausoleum, all shadows and echoes of a life I'd thought I understood. Moonlight filtered through tall windows, casting everything in silver—the same silver that should have killed me tonight.
I moved through corridors I'd walked for seven years, past family portraits that included my face, my smile, my naive hope captured in expensive frames. But now I was a ghost haunting my own life, searching for answers to questions I'd never thought to ask.
Ryker's bedroom door stood ajar.
I shouldn't look. I knew I shouldn't, but my feet carried me forward anyway, drawn by some masochistic need to confirm what my heart already knew. The door swung open at my touch, revealing a scene that drove the last nail into the coffin of my delusions.
Sloane's clothes were scattered across the floor—a red silk dress I'd complimented her on just last week, lace underwear that probably cost more than most pack members made in a month. Her perfume hung thick in the air, that cloying rose scent that had always made my nose itch. But it was the jewelry on the nightstand that made my stomach drop.
A diamond tennis bracelet. The one Ryker had given me for my last birthday, claiming it was a family heirloom. Apparently, it was an heirloom that changed hands more frequently than I'd realized.
The bed sheets were rumpled, still holding the impression of two bodies. This wasn't some momentary lapse in judgment, some heat-of-the-moment betrayal. This was deliberate. Calculated. This had been going on for months, maybe longer, right under my nose while I planned our binding ceremony and dreamed of our future.
My chest felt hollow, scraped clean of everything I'd believed about love, about loyalty, about the man I'd given seven years of my life to. But beneath the pain, something harder was crystallizing—a cold, sharp determination that cut through the heartbreak like a blade.
I forced myself to turn away from the bedroom, from the evidence of my shattered illusions. I had more important things to focus on now. Like the blood contract I'd discovered last week while cleaning the war room.
The war room's entrance was hidden behind a bookshelf in Ryker's study, accessible only to those who knew the secret mechanism. I'd stumbled upon it by accident while dusting, my fingers catching on a loose book spine that triggered the hidden door. At the time, I'd been too shocked to do more than glance inside before Ryker's voice in the hallway sent me scrambling to close it again.
But tonight, I had time. Tonight, I had questions that demanded answers.
The bookshelf swung open with practiced ease, revealing a narrow staircase that descended into darkness. I'd brought a small flashlight from the kitchen, its weak beam barely penetrating the shadows as I made my way down stone steps worn smooth by generations of feet.
The underground chamber was larger than I'd expected, its walls lined with filing cabinets and strongboxes that spoke of secrets spanning decades. The air smelled of old paper and something else—something metallic that made my newly awakened wolf stir uneasily.
The safe I needed was built into the far wall, its digital lock glowing red in the darkness. I knew the code, of course. Ryker's birthday—a date I'd celebrated faithfully for seven years, baking him cakes he barely acknowledged, planning parties he attended out of obligation.
The lock disengaged with a soft beep, and the heavy door swung open to reveal stacks of documents, each more intriguing than the last. Pack treaties dating back centuries. Financial records that would probably interest the IRS. And there, in a leather portfolio that looked far older than anything else in the safe, the blood contract that had haunted my dreams for a week.
My full name was written across the cover in elegant script: Maren Thorne Mills. But I'd never signed this document. I'd never even seen it before that day I'd accidentally discovered this room. Yet there it was, bearing my name in what looked suspiciously like actual blood—dark red ink that seemed to shimmer in my flashlight's beam.
I opened the portfolio with hands that shook despite my efforts to remain calm. The first page was written in the same archaic language I'd glimpsed before, but this time I forced myself to read it slowly, to puzzle out the meaning behind the formal phrases and legal terminology.
What I found made my blood turn to ice.
"...hereby bind the bloodline of Thorne to serve as vessel and anchor..."
"...upon reaching maturity, the bearer of Thorne blood shall be delivered to fulfill the ancient compact..."
"...payment for protection rendered, debt to be collected in full..."
The words blurred together as their meaning sank in. This wasn't just a contract. This was a bill of sale. And somehow, impossibly, I was the merchandise.
I flipped to the second page, desperate for more information, for some explanation that would make this nightmare make sense. But as my eyes scanned the dense text, a sound from upstairs froze my blood.
Footsteps.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps moving through the packhouse with purpose. But these weren't Ryker's steps—I knew the sound of his gait as well as my own heartbeat. These belonged to someone else. Someone who shouldn't be here.
Dex.
Ryker's Beta was supposed to be with him in the northern territory. They'd left together, I'd seen them go. So why was he here? Why had he come back?
I held my breath, pressing myself against the cold stone wall as the footsteps moved closer. The blood contract crackled as I hastily folded it and shoved it inside my shirt, the ancient parchment scratchy against my skin. I needed to get out of here, needed to find somewhere safe to finish reading, to understand what this document meant for my future.
The footsteps stopped.
Right above the hidden entrance.
I could hear Dex's breathing now, could smell his distinctive scent—pine and leather and the faint musk that marked him as Beta. He was standing directly over the concealed staircase, and every instinct I possessed screamed that he knew exactly where I was.
Seconds stretched into eternity. My lungs burned as I fought the urge to breathe, my heart hammering so loudly I was certain he could hear it through the stone ceiling. Maybe he would move on. Maybe he was just passing through, checking the house before rejoining Ryker.
Then his voice drifted down through the hidden door, low and certain and absolutely terrifying.
"I know you're in there, Maren."
A pause that felt like a lifetime.
"I can smell your blood."
Another pause, and when he spoke again, his tone held something that might have been regret.
"But I'm not here to stop you."
