DEREK
I was twelve the first time I thought I might die.
The rogues had come out of nowhere—snarling, vicious, too fast to outrun. I didn’t know then that most of them were older wolves who’d lost their pack bonds. All I knew was that I couldn’t shift, and that my cousins had dared me into the woods alone, knowing it would take me longer to get back than them.
I remember the cold bite of teeth, the sting of claws slicing their way into my scalp, the taste of blood in my mouth as I hit the ground.
And then I remember her.
Cassandra.
She wasn’t much older than me—fourteen, maybe fifteen—but after she’d saved me, when I was bleeding and terrified, after I’d vowed that my father would help her pack and that I’d always protect her, somehow, she got me up.
Got me moving. Helped me hobble
