Chapter1

I'm Ellara, the lowest-ranking Omega in the Greystone Pack.

Today, the entire pack is waiting to watch me get kicked out.

My Alpha, Kael—he drank my blood three years ago to survive. Now he sits on the high platform, ready to let me fend for myself.

When Cyrus reads my name, Kael's eyes sweep over me like I'm a stone.

I know that from this moment on, I should hate him.

…

The Boulder Square was bone-cold. Wind scraped across the rock face, carrying the distinctive scent of wolf packs.

Everyone stood according to rank—Gammas at the front, Betas in the middle, us Omegas huddled at the back like a pile of trash ready to be swept away at any moment.

"This year's allocation list." The officiant, Cyrus, didn't even look up. "In accordance with the Council of Elders' resolution, the following members have failed to meet contribution standards and will be allocated to border outposts after this moonset."

Every year had a day like this. When resources ran short, the pack would "allocate"—such a nice word. Really it just meant throwing useless people out to die beyond pack territory.

"Ellara."

My name dropped into the silence.

Then the snickering erupted. I didn't need to look to know who it was. Those Gammas had resented me for a long time. A low-ranking Omega who dared touch herbs? Who dared treat injured warriors? I was uppity. I'd crossed the line. I deserved this. In the Greystone Pack, Omegas weren't supposed to know these things. Omegas should quietly do their work, quietly wait for pairing, quietly accept allocation.

I lifted my head, looking toward the platform.

Kael sat right in the center. Our pack's Alpha, our leader.

Also the man who three years ago lay covered in blood in my grass hut.

I'd spent three days and three nights, used every herb I could find, finally slitting my wrist to mix my blood into the medicine and feed it to him. That's how I'd saved his life.

Now his eyes were open. Those silver-grey pupils swept across the list in Cyrus's hands without even pausing.

He didn't even glance in my direction.

As if my name was no different from an ant crawling on the ground.

Three years ago, he'd been the same way.

That night he was covered in blood, silver poison seeping inward from the wound in his shoulder blade.

I recognized that wound—a poisoned silver arrowhead from a rival pack.

He lay in a pile of fallen leaves, gasping for breath, each one flecked with blood foam. I dragged him into the abandoned hut, plastered the wound with herbs, but he kept burning with fever, his skin frighteningly hot.

When the moon reached its zenith, I knew there was only one option left.

I slit my palm open, let blood drip into a stone bowl. Mixed it with crushed moonshade root.

An ancient formula my mother had secretly taught me before she died. She said it could save a wolf's life, but using it came with a price.

I lifted his head, pressed the bowl's rim against his lips.

"Drink this." I actually coaxed him in a low voice then, like an idiot. "Drink it and you'll live."

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. My blood mixed with herbs flowed into his body.

Three days and three nights. I watched over him, changed his dressings, gave him water, wiped away the cold sweat.

At dawn on the fourth day, he opened his eyes.

Those silver-grey eyes looked at me, filled with nothing but unfamiliarity and wariness.

"An Omega," his voice was terribly hoarse, "shouldn't be here."

Then he pushed away my hand trying to support him, stood up by himself, and staggered out of the hut.

Never looked back.

Not once.

Later I saw him a few times from afar in the pack.

He'd recovered, once again the high and mighty Alpha.

When people occasionally mentioned "that Omega who knows herbs," he only turned his face away coldly, as if he'd never heard my name.

My blood was in his body. I'd given him half my life.

He forgot.

Or he remembered, but felt a low-ranking Omega's sacrifice wasn't worth a second glance.

I saved him.

This thought jerked through me like a hook.

Three years. I'd never mentioned it.

A low-ranking Omega saved the Alpha? Who'd believe that?

But I'd waited.

Stupidly waited for him to remember someday, waited for him to at least glance at me once, say "I remember."

Now my wait was over.

He looked at me like I was dust.

I felt those stares—pitying, mocking, curious.

People were whispering, surely saying "See? That's what happens when you don't know your place."

I didn't matter.

My exile didn't matter.

The wind picked up. My clenched hands were trembling, but I wouldn't let myself look away.

I stared at him, at this man who'd drunk my blood yet now regarded me like dust.

If he would look at me once.

Just once.

Prove he still remembered that dark forest, that hut, that an Omega had slit her palm open for him.

But he didn't.

Cyrus rolled up the scroll. "The above members will proceed to the Judgment Stone immediately after the ceremony ends."

The formation loosened slightly. People spoke in low voices.

Someone deliberately raised their voice: "Some Omegas just don't recognize their place. Learning herbs, thinking they can climb up? "

Laughter.

Three years.

I'd kept that secret for three years.

Thought someday he'd acknowledge it.

Thought saving his life, even if it couldn't earn respect, could at least earn a bit of fairness.

I was wrong.

The scar on my palm burned like it was on fire. It had once poured out warm blood, flowed past his lips, pulled his soul back from the brink of death.

Now it only reminded me how stupid I'd been.

Something inside me sank down, deep, deep down into a darkness I never wanted to dredge up again.

That pitiful hope born from saving his life finally died.

Completely dead.

A guard stopped in front of me. Cyrus lifted his chin toward the Judgment Stone.

"Let's go, Ellara."

I started walking, never looking at the platform again.