Prologue

I heaved a deep sigh, smoothing the fabric of my last sweater before tucking it into the suitcase. My bedroom—once a sanctuary—now felt like a hollow shell. Today wasn't just a goodbye to a room; it was a goodbye to the last place that still smelled like her.

I drifted toward the mirror. The girl staring back looked like a ghost. My face was a pale moon framed by a tangled curtain of white-blonde hair that fell, limp and lifeless, to my waist. At sixteen, I was a slip of a thing—all sharp elbows and hollows, lacking the powerful, athletic curves that usually defined the girls in our pack. I was the product of a year spent under a duvet, hiding from the sun and drowning in memories of my mother. My only friends were the shadows, and my only reputation at school was that of a favorite target.

Mom had been gone exactly a year. A "sudden departure," the pack called it. She had kissed us goodbye for a morning gym session and simply vanished. They found her car and a note at the cliffs—a jagged, wind-swept drop into the grey Atlantic. The note was full of "sorrows" and "forgiveness," but the sea had kept her body, leaving me with a hunger for closure that never felt full.

I loved my Dad, but I watched him change. I watched him sink into the bottom of a bottle until Julianne pulled him out. Now, he was ready to move on. He was ready to live in a house that didn't have "dead woman’s energy," as Julianne so delicately put it.

"Are you ready, pet?"

Dad was standing in the doorway. He leaned down, his warmth momentarily cutting through my chill as he wiped a stray tear from my cheek. "Come on. Julianne and Louisa are waiting. You’ll love the new place, Libby. I promise."

I nodded, though my throat felt like it was full of glass. As we drove away, I saw the "SOLD" sign staked into the front lawn like a grave marker. A developer was going to tear it down—turn my childhood memories into a trendy bistro. I looked away, staring at the blurred skyline of Great Lake City. As a member of the Eclipse Pack, I was supposed to feel powerful. We controlled the city’s food and trade; we were the muscle and the providers. Only the Midnight Sun pack, with their banks and high-rise glass towers, sat higher than us. But as we drove, I didn’t feel like a powerful predator. I felt like a rogue.

My mind drifted to the stories of the Great War of ’72—the blood, the silver chains of the Wolfsbane Correctional Centre, and the laws that kept us "civilized." Dad had met Julianne at a pack meeting while he was at his lowest. She was a family friend, a "safe" choice. But as I watched the skyscrapers give way to the manicured hedges of the suburbs, a bitter thought crossed my mind: Julianne wasn't my father’s Fated Mate. She was just a replacement.

The car slowed as we entered a quiet cul-de-sac on the edge of the Great Forest. The houses here were pristine—white paint, red doors, and lawns so green they looked fake. It was the kind of place where nothing bad was supposed to happen. Dad pulled into a tidy driveway. Before the engine had even died, the front door swung open. Julianne stood there, her long red hair glowing in the afternoon sun. She looked vibrant and healthy—the polar opposite of the mother I remembered. Behind her, leaning against the doorframe, was Louisa.

Louisa was my age, but that was where the similarities ended. She was a quintessential Eclipse wolf—tall, toned, and radiating a casual, athletic beauty. Her brown hair fell like a chocolate waterfall, and her sapphire eyes narrowed as they landed on me. At school, Louisa didn't throw the punches, but she was always there to watch the show, a faint, mocking smirk on her face while her friends tore me down.

Julianne hurried toward the car, her face breaking into a wide, practiced smile. "Welcome to your new home, Libby!"

She extended a perfectly manicured hand. I took it, her skin warm and "human" feeling, but my eyes drifted past her to Louisa. My new stepsister didn't say a word. She just smirked, a silent predator welcoming a stray into her den.