Maureen Laurent Ice water slapped my face. "Wake up!" The scream came with the next bucket. I lurched upright on the freezing stone floor, chains clinking, scrambling into line before the whip could find my back again. Twenty shivering girls pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the dark. The stench of fear and sweat coated the air. I wasn't born for this. Once, I had silk sheets and a father who called me "little star." Once, I had a mother's hand on my cheek and a fiancé who swore he'd die for me. Now I had welts that never healed and a collar burned into my throat that said PROPERTY OF THE NORTHERN DOMINION. The overseer-a scarred wolf with a missing ear-strode down the row. His gaze snagged on the blind girl two bodies to my left. She was pale as bone, no more than nineteen, trembling so hard her chains rattled. "You-what are you doing?" "I-I dropped my bread, sir... I'm sorry, I'm hungry-" "Hungry?" He laughed, low and ugly. "You'll learn hunger here." He spat in her face. The glob slid down her cheek while guards chuckled. I wanted to look away. I didn't. You learn fast: look weak and they make it worse. "Line up for prayer," the overseer barked. "And say it like you mean it, or I'll make sure you regret it." We dropped to our knees in unison, foreheads pressed to the wet stone. The words were carved into every slave's tongue the first night. "Oh hail Alpha Devil Vuk, firstborn of Lucifer and Selene, flame-crowned king of the North. May your enemies bleed. May your seed be endless. May your wrath be eternal. We are nothing. You are all." My lips moved, but no sound came. I couldn't breathe the words anymore. Not when every syllable tasted like damnation. A boot kicked my ribs. "Louder, fresh meat." I choked the prayer out with the rest, voice raw, tasting iron and shame. The heavy iron doors at the end of the hall groaned open. Silence fell so fast it hurt. "Move." Guards herded us like cattle, bare feet slapping wet stone. Cold air became steam as we were shoved into the bathing chamber. Copper tubs. Boiling water. Bristled brushes that scraped skin from bone. They stripped the last of our dignity with the dirt. I kept my eyes down, scrubbing blood and filth from the welts across my back. The transparent gray silk they threw at us afterward clung to every curve, hiding nothing. We looked like offerings. The blind girl slipped. Her pale body hit the tiles hard, chains clattering. A guard laughed and kicked her ribs. She whimpered, trying to crawl away. Something in me moved before thought. I caught her arm, hauled her up. Her fingers clutched mine, bony and freezing. She lifted her milky eyes to my face-and froze. Her lips parted. A voice came out that didn't sound nineteen. Didn't sound human. "You carry the moon in your womb... and the flame will devour it. He will break you on the night of the blood moon... and you will crown him with the ashes of heaven." The words slammed into me like fists. I dropped her arm and stumbled back, heart exploding against my ribs. She blinked, confused, then giggled-high, broken, wrong. "S-sorry. I say stupid things sometimes. Don't listen to me, I'm cracked in the head." She tapped her temple and smiled like a child. I couldn't answer. My tongue was ash. They marched us out. Down torch-lit corridors that stank of fear, into the auction hall. Red velvet. Gold cages. Rich wolves in masks lounging on chaise lounges, drinks in hand, eyes hungry. We were lined up on the block like meat. One by one, girls were dragged forward, inspected, sold. Coins clinked. Laughter echoed. I remembered the overseer's whisper in the dark last night: "If no one buys you tonight, witch... we slaughter you at dawn." My turn came too fast. Rough hands shoved me center stage. The auctioneer yanked my head back by the hair, forced my mouth open for the crowd. "How clean is she?" a masked voice drawled from the shadows. The auctioneer grinned, teeth yellow. "Virgin. Untouched. Fresh from the southern packs. Still smells like innocence-if you beat it out of her fast enough." A ripple of dark laughter. I squeezed my eyes shut. Please, Moon Goddess. Anyone. Anything. Just don't let me die here. "Mmm. Ten million." The hall went still. A different voice this time-low, amused, laced with something ancient and hungry. The chain around my throat snapped loose. Air rushed into my lungs so fast I swayed. Sold. The buyer stepped out of the shadows. Tall. Cloaked in black. Silver rings on every finger. A smile sharp enough to cut souls. He walked straight to me, unbuttoned his long coat, and draped it over my shivering shoulders. The fabric swallowed me whole, warm from his body, smelling of pine and embers. His hand brushed my cheek-almost gentle. Then he turned to the crowd, voice ringing with cruel delight. "This one will make perfect sense for the Hunt." The hall roared with approval. My stomach dropped. The Hunt. Three nights from now, under the full moon, the Alpha Devil and his court will release new slaves into the frozen forest. And hunted them for sport. Some were caught and collared. Some were never seen again. The man leaned in, lips grazing my ear. "This is going to be interesting," he whispered. "I paid ten million for the pleasure of chasing you myself." He pulled back, golden eyes flashing just for a second-too bright, too predatory-then turned and strode away. I stood frozen in his coat, heart hammering, legs trembling. Because those eyes... I knew those eyes. And the man who owned them hadn't even bid yet.

Vuk Kael Lasković I was watching three omegas on my bed when the scent hit me. For three hundred and fifty years, nothing has made my pulse quicken. I have taken every body offered, broken every soul that begged, and still woke up cold. Tonight was supposed to be the same mindless ritual. Then it punched through the walls like divine violence. Lunar blood. Pure. Untouched. Mine. The crystal glass slipped from my fingers and shattered. Wine bled across the marble like fresh slaughter. Every wolf in the room froze. The omegas stopped mid-movement, eyes wide with animal fear. I stood slowly. Fangs punched through my gums. Lunar blood. Virgin. Mine. The omega closest to me-some pretty redhead-reached for my thigh. I pushed her away without looking. She fell to the floor with a cry. I didn't care. My wolf was screaming so loud the shadows bled across the ceiling like living things. I snatched a black robe and walked out, shirtless, barefoot, veins glowing faint gold beneath the skin. The scent was everywhere and nowhere. It curled through the hallways like smoke, taunted me, then vanished the second I turned a corner. I followed it like a mad dog, tearing through corridors, leaving gouges in the marble. A maid rounded the corner carrying fresh linens. She took one look at me-eyes glowing, fangs visible-and dropped everything. "Where is she?" I demanded, voice echoing. She choked, eyes wide, legs shaking. I released her. She ran. Still no scent. I punched the wall. Marble cracked. Eryx-my beta-came running. "Alpha-" "The Hunt begins in an hour," I said, voice low. "The new stock is ready. The council is waiting." The Hunt. Normally I lived for it: naked prey released into the snow, arrows whistling, screams echoing for miles. Tonight the thought made bile rise in my throat. But the scent was gone, and I needed to move before I tore my own fortress apart. We walked to the arena in silence. The high seats were already filled-old wolves in silver masks, sipping wine. Torches hissed. The air stank of fear and blood. Below, the cages opened with a screech of rusted iron. Twenty naked bodies spilled out onto the white snow. They ran blind, screaming, leaving bloody footprints. I raised the crossbow. Bolt after bolt. Bodies dropped. Blood steamed in the cold, painting the snow crimson. Still nothing calmed the beast. Then the scent hit me again. Stronger. She was here. My head snapped toward the private cages on the far side of the arena. A masked lord in silver stood there, coat open, laughing with his pack of sycophants. Expensive cologne rolled off him in waves. And draped over his arm, trembling in nothing but chains and his too-big coat... Her. Silver-veined skin. White-gold hair spilling from the hood. Eyes wide with terror and something worse-recognition. She was tiny against him, drowning in his coat, collar around her throat like she was already broken. The masked bastard leaned down and whispered something in her ear. She flinched, tried to pull away. He dared touch what was mine. I dropped the crossbow. It clattered to the stone. The entire arena went silent. Even the dying stopped screaming. I stepped off the platform. Snow crunched beneath my bare feet as I walked straight across the killing field-past the corpses, past the blood. Every single wolf in the stands dropped to their knees. Heads bowed. Throats bared. The masked lord's smirk faltered. I stopped one foot away. Her scent flooded me-moonlight and terror-and my vision tunneled until only she existed. I looked at the hand he still had on her arm. Then I looked at him. "Take your hand off my mate," I said, voice soft as a lover's, sharp as a blade. "Or I'll wear it as a necklace."

Maureen Laurent I used to think love was gentle. My mother warned me a hundred times. "Silas Vane is a wolf with ambition in his teeth, Maureen. He will smile while he eats your heart." I laughed. Fought her. Screamed that she didn't understand love, that she was cruel for trying to tear me from the only boy who ever made me feel safe. The last time we argued, she was eight months heavy with my little brother, hand pressed to her belly, tears in her eyes. "One day," she whispered, "you will remember this moment and hate yourself for not listening." I stormed out. Three weeks later she was dead. Silas's hands around my throat. His mother's cold laugh. Celeste's golden hair tangled in his fist while they planned to sell my family's land the same night they sold my corpse. I never got to tell her she was right. I never got to say sorry. Now I'm curled on a velvet chaise in a stranger's mansion, wearing nothing but a man's coat and a collar that burns every time I breathe too deep. And all I can hear is her voice: You should have listened, little star. Lord Cassian snaps his fingers at the maids. "Clean her. Feed her. Dress her in something pretty." The maids bow so low their foreheads touch the marble. I want to scream. I want to claw his eyes out. But my body is shaking too hard, and the collar is laced with wolfsbane; every time I try to summon my wolf, agony shoots down my spine. Two women drag me through perfumed corridors into a bathing chamber of black marble and gold veins. They strip the coat away. Cold air hits every bruise, every lash mark. Hot water pours over me. Rough sponges scrub until I bleed again. They don't speak. They don't have to. Their eyes say it all: another toy, another year, another corpse for the snow. They towel me dry, oil my skin until it gleams, then dress me in a slip of white silk that ends mid-thigh and clings to every curve. No shoes. Just the collar and a thin silver chain clipped to it like a leash. When they're finished, I look like a sacrifice. I feel like one. Lord Cassian is waiting in the doorway, mask gone now. He's handsome in the way a blade is handsome-sharp, cold, eager to cut. His eyes rake over me and he licks his lips. "Perfect," he murmurs. "The Hunt begins at moonrise tomorrow. Until then, you're mine to play with." He steps closer, fingers brushing the crescent scar at my throat-the one my mother kissed every night and told me never to let anyone see. "Such pretty marks," he whispers. "I wonder how many more I'll leave before Vuk tears you apart." My stomach drops. He bought me because of it. I try to step back, but the chain jerks me forward. He leans in, breath hot against my ear. "When I catch you-and I will catch you-I'm going to hand you over gift-wrapped. He'll never forget who broke you first." I turn my face away. The slap that follows splits my lip. Blood fills my mouth. He laughs, delighted. "Save that fire. You'll need it." He turns to leave, tossing over his shoulder, "Lock her in the red room. No food. No water. Let her hunger make her sweet." The maids drag me away. The red room: crimson walls, crimson sheets, chains bolted to the headboard and floor. They lock the chain to a ring in the ceiling so I have to stand, arms stretched high, toes barely touching the ground. The door slams. Silence. I hang from the ceiling by the silver chain. Every breath tugs the collar tighter against my throat. Hours pass. Or minutes. Time is slippery when you're waiting to be hunted. My legs give out. The chain holds me up. My shoulders burn. My head lolls forward. Eventually exhaustion wins. I fall into sleep the way you fall into a grave. And the nightmares come: my father's throat torn open, my mother curled around her swollen belly, Silas laughing, the crowd screaming "Witch!" I jerk awake with a scream that rips my throat. Tears pour down my face, hot and useless. My body shakes so hard the chain rattles overhead. I hate myself. I hate that I'm still alive while they're dead. I hate that I ever loved him. The door opens. "It's time." Two guards unclip the chain. My arms drop like dead things. They drag me down crimson corridors, past mirrors that show a girl I don't recognize: hollow cheeks, silver eyes too big, collar like a brand of shame. Lord Cassian waits in the entrance hall, dressed in black hunting leathers. He grins when he sees me limp and shaking. "On your knees." I don't move fast enough. His hand cracks across my face, then he grabs my arm and yanks me upright. "That's for later. I like my prey marked." He clips a longer leash to my collar and yanks me outside into the freezing night. A sleek black carriage waits, pulled by six white wolves the size of horses. He shoves me inside, climbs in after, and we ride through snow and moonlight until the fortress rises ahead of us like a mountain carved from obsidian and nightmares. The Northern Dominion. The Alpha Devil's house. The second the gates open, something inside me fractures. His scent slams into me-wildfire, midnight snow, raw power. It floods my lungs, sinks into my blood, pools hot and shameful between my thighs. My wolf-drugged silent for weeks-stirs with a violent jerk that makes me gasp. Cassian notices. His grip tightens on the leash. "Behave," he hisses. "Or I'll make you regret it right here." The carriage stops. Guards drag me out into a massive open arena ringed with torches and high seats full of masked nobles. Below, the snow is already stained red. Bodies lie scattered like broken dolls. The Hunt has already started. Cassian parades me along the front row like a prize, letting lords and ladies touch my hair, my arms, my face. Some pinch. Some laugh. I bite my tongue until it bleeds to keep from screaming. Then the air changes. The temperature drops so fast my breath clouds. Every torch flares higher. A ripple of fear runs through the entire arena. Masked nobles drop their eyes. Guards fall to one knee. Heavy footsteps. I don't want to look. I have to look. He steps into the torchlight. Seven feet of pure power. Black robe hanging open, chest scarred and glowing faintly. Golden eyes burning like fallen stars. Fangs visible even from here. Vuk Kael Lasković. The Alpha Devil. He raises a crossbow and fires, once, twice, three times. Bodies drop silently in the snow. Then he stops. His head turns slowly. Our eyes lock. The world falls away. My wolf surges forward so hard I stumble, leash jerking taut in Cassian's hand. Electricity explodes under my skin-every nerve ending screaming one word. Mate. Mate. MATE. I can't breathe. I can't think. I'm drowning in wildfire and moonlight and the sudden, violent certainty that I was born to burn in this male's arms. Cassian snarls, yanking me closer. "What the fuck are you-" Vuk moves. One moment he's thirty feet away. The next he's right in front of us, snow swirling around his boots like he summoned the storm himself. He doesn't look at Cassian. He looks only at me. Golden eyes flare brighter. "Take your hand off my mate." A pause. "Or I'll wear it as a fucking necklace." Cassian's grip falters. Before anyone can blink, Vuk's hand shoots out, closes around the leash, and rips it from Cassian's fingers like it's tissue paper. The collar snaps open and falls to the snow. Then I'm in his arms. One iron arm under my knees, the other crushing me to his chest. His skin is burning hot against my frozen body. His scent floods me until I'm dizzy, drunk, aching. I should fight. I should scream. Instead my hands fist in his open robe and I bury my face against his throat, breathing him in like air after drowning. The bond snaps tight between us-violent, irreversible, alive. He growls, low and wrecked, lips brushing my ear. "Mine." And for the first time since they killed my family, I'm not afraid. I'm home.