The vineyard was a graveyard by dusk. Rows of twisted vines sprawled down the hill like the bones of some giant, dead animal. Lyra's back screamed in protest as she straightened; her hands were numb, and her legs felt like they might give out at any second.
The grape baskets dug into her palms, stinging where the thorns had already torn through the skin. She did not even try to hide the wincing anymore. No one was out there to see her suffer, not that anyone would care if they were. She was not a person here; she was a pair of hands, prying fruit from the stem and emptying buckets into bins. The members in those outskirts hated her more because they were the ones who were affected more by the war.
That was just day one of Kade's punishment, and she already felt like she had aged ten years. The air there was thick with the smell of fermenting grapes, sweet and choking.
By the time she carried the last basket to the shed, the sun was nearly gone, and her shirt was wet through with sweat and juice and the vinegar tang of her own body. Her hands looked like she had murdered something small and weak, over and over. She wrapped her arms around herself as she headed toward the security post to check out before returning to the main estate. She had to check out before she could leave, or the guards would call it in, and then someone, maybe Maggie or Kade himself, would drag her back and make her work the night shift. She would rather chew glass than give them the pleasure.
She counted her steps to the security post. It was a small concrete block sunk into the ground like a bunker. There was a light on in the bunker window. She stood outside for a minute, trying to even out her breathing, but there was no hiding who she was. She shoved open the door with her shoulder.
At first, she thought she had walked into a fever dream.
The room was hot as a furnace, and the air was thick with sweat and the animal stink of sêx. The three guards were there, all of them, plus a handful of girls, some omegas, some not, a couple she did not even recognize. They were all knotted together in a pile of naked limbs and open mouths. On the battered old sofa, a blonde with her head thrown back was straddling one of the guards, her breasts bouncing up and down as she moved. Another girl was bent over the card table, hands gripping the edge while two men circled her, taking turns pinching and slapping until she squealed. There was a chorus of moans and shrieks and the wet movement of bodies hitting bodies.
No one stopped when she entered. The only change was that one of the guards, the big one with a scar across his face and a grin like a fresh wound, turned his head and saw her. She thought his name was Vaughn.
"Evening, little Thorne," he drawled. "Come to join the party?"
She froze. She could feel every pair of eyes on her, even the girls, who watched her with a kind of bored malice. One of the guards made a crude gesture with his tongue. Another laughed and muttered something about "fresh meat." Her face burned so hot, she thought she might combust.
Vaughn stood up, still half-hard, and wiped his hand on his thigh. He stalked over, looming above her. He smelled like liquor and cigarettes and the sour tang of dominance.
"Hey," he said, softer now, but no kinder. "You look beat. Want a drink?" He held out a bottle. There were lipstick stains on the rim. She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. "Suit yourself," he said, and tipped it back, never breaking eye contact.
Another guard leaned over from the table, grabbing a handful of the bent-over girl's hair, and hissed in Lyra's direction. "You know, they say traitors' blood is good luck," he said. "Maybe we should have her join in, see if it rubs off."
Someone else giggled. The girls on the sofa were staring at her, blank-faced, as if she were not real, like she was just another slab of meat waiting for the knife. Her legs were trembling now, but she willed them to hold. She stared at the floor. She felt like throwing up or screaming.
"You deaf, Lyra?" the scarred guard asked. "I said, you are welcome to join us. Hell, you can even pick who goes first."
His hand landed heavily on her shoulder, squeezing. She flinched, but she did not run. She knew better than to run. Running meant they chase.
"What is the matter?" he mocked. "Scared? That is not very Thorne of you. Thought your kind were brave."
More laughter echoed off the cinderblock walls. She kept her eyes down, burning holes into the stain on the floor, and she did not say a word.
"Hey." His grip tightened. She could feel the blood slowing in her arm. "Answer me when I talk to you."
"I need to check out," she said, her voice smaller than she wanted. "Then I have to get back to the house. Alpha Kade's orders."
He laughed. "Ooh, house arrest. Fancy." He leaned in close, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. "You ever get tired of being their little bitch? You know where to find us."
He released her and spun away, back into the mess of bodies. The girls tangled their hands in his hair, dragging him down into the chaos. No one looked at her again. She backed out, one step at a time and shut the door. For a second, the cold outside almost knocked her out. She stood on the steps, letting the silence settle over her skin.
She took the back path toward the pack, hugging herself tighter. The moon was only halfway full that night, casting a pale, silver light that barely cut through the trees. The forest loomed dark and silent around her, and the silence was broken by rustling leaves and the occasional howl of wolves.
Her mind ran wild ahead of her. She thought about the stories Maggie used to tell when she was very young and thought the world outside was safe. Stories about the rogue wolves driven mad by hunger, and the ghosts of lost pack members haunting the forest.
Her pace quickened, and she forced her mind to think about the Blood Moon Ceremony. She wondered if she would shift, and if she shifted, if she would find a mate. If she found a mate, would he accept or reject her? The latter seemed more likely.
She was almost making it to the path that led to the manor when she came face to face with a large wolf with burning crimson eyes. Not the amber of pack wolves, these were blood-red, feral, and hungry.
She froze as it bared its fangs at her, letting out a low, menacing growl.
As she took a trembling step backward and turned to flee in the opposite direction, two more sets of eyes appeared, one to each side. They emerged from the shadows, three massive wolves with matted fur and bared teeth, and they began to circle her. Then, she perceived their burnt smells. Rogues.
Her blood froze in her veins. She was going to die there, alone in the dark, torn apart by rogues. She started to back away slowly, but there was nowhere to run. They snarled, and saliva dripped from yellowed fangs as they closed in.
"Please," she whispered, though she knew it was useless. Rogues did not understand words anymore. They had lost their humanity to madness and bloodlust. Then, one of them let out a deep snarl and crouched low like it was about to leap.
But just as it lunged for her throat, a black blur crashed through the underbrush with such force that the ground shook. A massive black wolf charged from behind her, slamming into the rogue mid-air. The two collided with a thud that shook the ground. Fur, claws, and blood flew. The black wolf moved like death itself. The other rogues tried to fight, but the black wolf tore into them like they were nothing, ripping through flesh, slamming one into a tree hard enough to crack the trunk.
She scrambled backward, tripping over her own feet, and lunged for the nearest tree. She ducked behind the thick oak and pressed herself against it. Her body shook uncontrollably as she peeked around the edge, unable to look away from the carnage.
Blood dripped from the black wolf's muzzle as he stood over the lifeless bodies of the rogues. The forest fell silent except for his heavy breathing. Then, his form began to change. Bones cracked and shifted, fur receded into skin, and where the wolf stood, a man now rose. It was one of the triplets.
He stood naked in the moonlight, his muscled back to her. She could not tell which of the triplets it was at first because they shared almost the same height and the same broad shoulders. But as he turned slightly, the pale moonlight caught the long, jagged scar that ran from his right shoulder blade down to his left hip.
Alpha Knox.