Chapter Two

The Alpha Descends

And the sky split open.

That was the only way Lunar could describe it. The moonlit night, so calm and orderly just moments before, ripped apart along a seam of blazing gold light. The barrier that had protected the coven's city for a thousand years—a barrier the priests claimed was woven by the Moon God himself—shattered like glass, sending shards of silver light raining down on the plaza.

The crowd screamed. The priestesses stumbled back, their chanting dying in their throats.

And in the middle of the chaos, on the altar, in front of Lunar, a man appeared.

He was enormous. That was Lunar's first coherent thought. Tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair that fell in messy waves to his jaw and eyes that burned like liquid gold in the night. He was dressed all in black, and there was something about him—something wild and dangerous and barely contained—that made every instinct in her body scream: predator.

He was also bleeding. There was a gash on his forearm and another across his ribs, and his breathing was harsh, like he'd run a very long way very fast.

But none of that mattered. Because when his eyes found her—bound, kneeling, silver light pouring out of her chest like blood—the expression that crossed his face was something Lunar couldn't name. It was rage and relief and desperate, hungry hope, all tangled together.

"The Lunar Witch," he said, his voice rough and low, like rocks grinding together. "You're—you're dying."

"Working on it," Lunar managed weakly. "Who the hell are you?"

He didn't answer. He crossed the altar in two strides, dropped to his knees in front of her, and grabbed the chains binding her wrists.

"Isolde!" a priestess shrieked. "He's the Alpha! The Alpha of the Moonhowl Pack!"

Lunar's mind went blank. The Alpha. The leader of the wolf packs—the strongest, most feared creature in the entire supernatural world. What in the name of the moon was the Alpha of the Moonhowl Pack doing at her sacrifice?

"Get away from her!" Isolde's voice had lost all its warmth; it was sharp as a blade now. "Kaelen Thorne, you are committing blasphemy! You are breaking the sacred covenant! You will bring the moon's wrath down on both our peoples!"

The Alpha—Kaelen Thorne—didn't even look at her. He was staring at the chains, his golden eyes burning with such intensity that Lunar half-expected them to melt the metal on their own.

"Who put these on her?" he asked. His voice was quiet, almost gentle, which somehow made it a thousand times more terrifying than if he'd shouted.

"The sacred chains of the sacrifice," Isolde spat. "Forged by the Moon God himself. They cannot be broken by any mortal hand—"

Kaelen's hand closed around the chains.

There was a moment of terrible silence.

Then, with a sound like a thunderclap, the chains shattered into a thousand glittering pieces.

Lunar stared. The priestesses stared. The crowd stared. Even the moon, hanging low and hungry overhead, seemed to pause.

"Forged by the Moon God himself," Kaelen repeated flatly, brushing silver dust off his hands. "Apparently your god has a quality control problem."

Isolde's face went white. Then red. "You—you cannot—"

"I can," Kaelen said, and there was something almost bored in his voice now. He looked down at Lunar, still kneeling on the altar, still shaking, still half-empty of the power that had been draining out of her. His expression softened, just slightly.

"Can you stand?" he asked.

Lunar blinked at him. Her brain was still trying to catch up with what had just happened. A thousand years. A thousand years of Lunar Witches being chained to this altar and dying on schedule, and this man had just broken the chains with his bare hands like they were made of paper.

"I—" She swallowed. "I think so?"

She tried to stand. Her legs gave out immediately. Kaelen caught her before she hit the ground, one arm around her waist, pulling her against his chest with an ease that made her breath catch.

She was pressed against him. He was warm—feverishly warm, like he'd been sitting too close to a fire—and he smelled like pine and smoke and something wild she couldn't name. His heartbeat was thundering in his chest, fast and fierce, and she could feel it through his shirt.

"The moon," she whispered, half-delirious. "The moon is still—I can still feel it pulling—"

"I know." His voice was low in her ear, rough and urgent. "I can feel it too."

She pulled back just enough to stare at him. "What do you mean, you can feel it—"

"No time." He was already moving, pulling her toward the edge of the altar. "They'll be swarming us in seconds. Hold on to me."

"Hold on to you—"

He picked her up. One arm under her knees, one arm around her back, and suddenly she was cradled against his chest like she weighed nothing at all, her silver hair spilling over his arm, her bare feet dangling in the air.

"Isolde!" the priestess shrieked again. "The Alpha is taking the sacrifice! He's—"

"Kaelen Thorne!" Isolde's voice rose to a pitch that cracked. "If you take that girl, I will bring the full might of the coven down on you! I will—I will—"

Kaelen turned his head. He looked at Isolde, and his golden eyes were cold now, utterly without mercy.

"The coven," he said softly, "has been feeding its witches to the dark for a thousand years. And you call it holy."

Isolde's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

Kaelen smiled, and there was nothing friendly in it. "I'm taking her. If you want her back, you'll have to go through me—and every wolf in the Moonhowl Territory."