"Run, Iris. Don't look back."
Marcus grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward. The heat from the flames behind them scorched the back of her neck. Iris stumbled over something soft and warm. She didn't want to know what it was.
"Marcus, wait—"
"Don't stop!" His voice cracked. He was only seventeen, same as her. They'd grown up together, learned to shift together, hunted in these woods a thousand times. Now those same woods were their only chance at survival.
Another scream cut through the night. Iris recognized the voice. Mrs. Petrov from the bakery. The woman who always snuck her extra cinnamon rolls on Sunday mornings. The screaming stopped abruptly.
Iris's lungs burned. Smoke filled the air, carrying the stench of burning wood and something worse. Something she refused to name. Her bare feet slapped against the forest floor. Somewhere behind them, her childhood home was being destroyed. Everyone she loved was dying.
"Through here." Marcus pulled her toward a gap between two massive oaks. "If we can reach the river—"
The arrow hit him in the back.
He went down hard, taking Iris with him. They crashed into the undergrowth, and for a moment, all she could hear was her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. Then Marcus made a sound. A horrible, wet gurgle that sent ice through her veins.
"No, no, no." Iris rolled him over. The arrow had gone straight through. She could see the tip protruding from his chest, dark with blood. "Marcus, hold on. I'll get help. I'll—"
"Go." Blood bubbled at his lips. His eyes, usually so bright with mischief, were already starting to glaze. "Iris, please. Go."
"I won't leave you." Tears streamed down her face. She pressed her hands against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but there was too much. It soaked through her fingers, hot and sticky.
"You have to." His hand found hers, weak and trembling. "Tell my mom... tell her I wasn't scared."
But he was scared. She could smell it on him. She could feel it in the way his hand shook in hers.
"Marcus—"
His eyes went empty. The light just... left. One moment he was there, and the next he wasn't. Just a body. Just meat and bone where her best friend used to be.
A howl echoed through the trees. Close. Too close.
Iris looked up and saw them. Three wolves emerging from the smoke, their coats marked with the silver crescent of the Silverpine Pack. The allied pack. The pack her father had trusted. The pack they'd called friends.
They weren't friends now.
One of them shifted, bones cracking and reforming until a man stood in the wolf's place. Iris recognized him. Derek Winters. He'd eaten at their table. Her father had called him brother.
"Found another one," Derek called over his shoulder. He smiled at Iris, and there was nothing human in it. "Alpha said no survivors."
Iris's wolf surged up inside her, desperate and furious. The shift started without her permission. Bones began to crack, fur rippling beneath her skin. But pain exploded through her side where she'd been slashed earlier. The shift stuttered, left her caught between forms. Half-human, half-wolf, and useless as either.
Derek laughed. "Pathetic."
He raised his hand. Moonlight glinted off the blade.
Iris ran.
She didn't think. Didn't plan. Just turned and bolted into the darkness with everything she had left. Behind her, she heard them give chase. Paws thundering against earth. Snarls and snapping teeth.
Her mother's voice echoed in her head. Words spoken just an hour ago, when the attack first started. When her mother had shoved her toward the back door with blood streaming down her face.
"Find the Supreme Alpha. North. Go north and find him. He'll help you."
Iris didn't even know if the Supreme Alpha was real. He was a legend. A story told to young wolves to make them behave. But her mother had believed. In those final moments, with their world burning around them, her mother had believed.
So Iris ran north.
She ran until her legs gave out. Until the sounds of pursuit faded. She ran through streams to hide her scent and over rocky ground that tore open her feet. She ran until she couldn't remember why she was running, only that she had to keep moving.
When she finally collapsed, the sun was rising. It was beautiful. She'd always loved sunrise. Marcus used to tease her about it. Said she was the only wolf he knew who'd rather watch the sun come up than hunt under the moon.
Marcus was dead.
Her pack was dead.
Iris curled into a ball and shook. Not from cold, though she was freezing. Not from pain, though her body was one massive ache. She shook because she was alive and they weren't. Because she'd left them. Because she'd run.
A bird sang somewhere above her. Normal. Cheerful. Like the world hadn't just ended.
Iris forced herself to move. To breathe. To stand.
The forest here was different. Older. The trees grew so thick that barely any light reached the ground. The air felt heavy, charged with something she couldn't name. Power, maybe. Or warning.
She took one step forward. Then another. Her legs trembled but held.
A massive oak stood ahead, its trunk wider than three men standing shoulder to shoulder. Someone had carved marks into the bark. Deep, deliberate slashes that formed a symbol. A warning.
She'd crossed into someone's territory.
Iris swayed. She should turn back. Should find another way. But there was no other way. Behind her lay only death.
She took another step. Then another. Her vision swam. The world tilted sideways.
The ground rushed up to meet her.
She barely felt the impact. Just lay there, cheek pressed against cool earth, watching ants march past her nose. They were carrying a leaf piece. Working together. Living their tiny lives like nothing had changed.
She envied them.
A shadow fell over her.
Iris tried to lift her head. Failed. Managed to roll her eyes upward instead.
A man stood above her. No, not a man. Too big. Too still. The morning light was behind him, turning him into a silhouette. All she could see were broad shoulders and eyes that gleamed amber in the shadows.
Alpha. Every instinct in her screamed it. This was an Alpha. A real one. Not like her father, who'd been kind and gentle. This one felt like standing at the edge of a cliff. Like knowing one wrong move meant falling.
His voice was deep.
"You crossed my land, little wolf. And trespassers die."