Chapter 1

Chapter 1 CALLIE The hallway was cold that morning, I stood by the tall window, my arms wrapped around myself, in a bit to minimize the cold, watching frost creep along the glass in thin white lines, a clear sign of winter approaching. Behind me, the pack house was already waking up for the day as I could hear the footsteps in the corridors, and the sounds of the doors opening and closing, signifying people passing through and, someone laughing somewhere far off like the world was a normal, easy place to be in and they had no worries at all, which made me envious and wished I was in their shoes right now. After all, since I started living here....no restrained here, behind my will, It never felt that way to me. Not since the day I became Luna. I closed my eyes and my mind pulled me back, to the day it all changed, becoming one of the longest nightmare that I was never able to wake up from. Back to my wedding day. I remembered the dress most of all because of how heavy it felt, how it didn't feel like mine even though I was the one wearing it. My mother had cried while she laced up the back, not tears of joy, but the kind that come from watching your daughter get handed over like a peace offering to pacify a pack of aggrevied hungry blood killing machines. That's what I was. A peace offering. My pack needed the bond with Lucas's pack, they needed the alliance that came from it, they needed the protection that came with tying our bloodlines together. And I was the one who had to pay for it with my whole life. I remembered walking down the aisle and feeling every eye on me, not with warmth, but with suspicion and hatred, itching to rip my throat into pieces where I stood. Because just months before, Lucas's younger sister Zara had been found dead near the training grounds, and somehow, my name was the one tied to her murder, because I was the last person to ever meet her, and my prints were on her body and my prints were on the murder weapon as well. I never touched her. I barely knew her. But a death was a death and because of lack of sufficient evidence to label me completely as her murderer, I was forced to be the one who answered for the crime, who took the blame, who lived with the guilt of killing the most beloved omega princess of her soon to be mate. I remembered Lucas standing at the altar that day, his jaw tight, his eyes somewhere past my shoulder, never on my face. Even as he said the words that bound us, he wasn't looking at me. He was looking through me, like I was already a ghost he had to live with. I opened my eyes and the memory faded, but the ache of it stayed, the same way it always did. I looked down the hallway toward the east wing, where the healer's room was, where my daughter was. Mia had been sick again. She was always sick, always small for her age, always cold no matter how many blankets I piled on her in an attempt to give her heating. My son Lake was stronger than Mia, although not too healthy, but compared to Mia, he was basically a healthy child, he was also loud, full of the kind of energy that made the guards laugh when he ran past them. But Mia was quiet, and fragile, and shivering even in summer. I used to think it was just her nature, someone soft and meek, who preferred indoors. But the healer told me something different two days ago, something that had been sitting like a stone in my chest ever since. She told me Mia needed her father's touch, not affection, the way humans meant it through touch, bit something deeper, a kind of genetic reprint in the werewolf bloodline. An Alpha's touch carried warmth in it, a kind of strength that could pass from a father to his pup and settle into their bones, help them grow, help them heal. Lake had gotten enough of it by accident, being underfoot, being carried once or twice when he was small. But Mia had almost none. Lucas never picked her up. Lucas never held her close enough for that warmth to reach her and give her what she needed to grow properly. I found him in his study that afternoon, hunched over papers, not even looking up when I walked in. But he knew I was there, by the subtle wrinkle of his nose as my scent filled his nose. "Lucas," I said, and my voice came out smaller than I wanted it to, almost pleading as I forced myself to keep speaking, knowing Mia needed me to carry out this request. "I need five minutes of your time." "I'm busy, Callie." He didn't look up. His pen kept moving. "It's about Mia." At that, his hand paused, just for a second, then kept writing. At least he was not that indifferent to ignore the pups that we shared, even if he resented them and I for taking him away from the love of his life. "She's fine. She's always fine. She's just delicate." He muttered, more to himself than an answer to me. "She's not fine." I stepped closer to his desk, my hands pressed flat against the wood so he'd have to look up eventually because I was not going to allow myself to be ignored, not today. "The healer says she needs you. Not medicine. Not herbs. You. Your touch. Five minutes, Lucas, that's all I'm asking." He finally lifted his eyes to mine, and for one breath I thought I saw something soften in them, like pain or grief of his fated mate pleading for him. Then it was gone, replaced by that tired, distant look he always wore around me, one that was genuine which hurt a lot more than I expected. "I have border reports to go through. The northern patrol found tracks that shouldn't be there." "Five minutes," I said again, quieter this time, because I didn't want to sound like I was begging, even though I was. "She's your daughter." Something in the way I said it must have reached him, because he sighed, long and heavy, like I was asking him to carry a mountain instead of a small sick child. But he set his pen down and agreed to what I asked. "Fine," he said. "Five minutes."