LYRA
The vineyard is a graveyard by dusk. Rows of twisted vines sprawl down the hill like the bones of some giant, dead animal. My back screams in protest as I straighten; my hands are numb, and my legs feel like they might give out any second.
The grape baskets dig into my palms, stinging where the thorns have already torn through the skin. I don't even try to hide the winces anymore. No one is out here to see me suffer, not that anyone would care if they were. I am not a person here; I am a pair of hands, prying fruit from the stem and emptying buckets into bins. The members in these outskirts hate me more because they were the ones who were affected more by the war.
This is just day one of Kade's punishment, and I already feel like I've aged ten years. The air here is thick with the smell of fermenting grapes, sweet and choking.
By the time I carry the last basket to the shed, the sun is nearly gone, and my shirt is wet through with sweat and juice and the vinegar tang of my own body. My hands look like I murdered something small and weak, over and over. I wrap my arms around myself as I head toward the security post to check out before returning to the main estate. I have to check out before I can leave, or the guards will call it in, and then someone, maybe Maggie or Kade himself, will drag me back and make me work the night shift. I would rather chew glass than give them the pleasure.
I count my steps to the security post. It's a small concrete block sunk into the ground like a bunker. There is a light on in the bunker window. The glass is fogged and greasy with fingerprints. I stand outside for a minute, trying to even out my breathing, but there is no hiding who I am. I shove open the door with my shoulder.
At first, I think I've walked into a fever dream.
The room is hot as a furnace, and the air is thick with sweat and the animal stink of sêx. The three guards are there, all of them, plus a handful of girls, some omegas, some not, a couple I don't even recognize. They are all knotted together in a pile of naked limbs and open mouths. On the battered old sofa, a blonde with her head thrown back is straddling one of the guards, her breasts smeared with something dark and sticky. Another girl is bent over the card table, hands gripping the edge while two men circle her, taking turns pinching and slapping until she squeals. There is a chorus of moans and shrieks and the wet movement of bodies hitting furniture.
No one stops when I enter. The only change is that one of the guards, the big one with a scar across his face and a grin like a fresh wound, turns his head and sees me. I think his name is Vaughn.
"Evening, little Thorne," he drawls. "Come to join the party?"
I freeze. I can feel every pair of eyes on me, even the girls, who watch me with a kind of bored malice. One of the guards makes a crude gesture with his tongue. Another laughs and mutters something about "fresh meat." My face burns so hot, I think I might combust.
Vaughn stands up, still half-hard, and wipes his hand on his thigh. He stalks over, looming above me. He smells like liquor and cigarettes and the sour tang of dominance.
"Hey," he says, softer now, but no kinder. "You look beat. Want a drink?" He holds out a bottle. There are lipstick stains on the rim. I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak. "Suit yourself," he says, and tips it back, never breaking eye contact.
Another guard leans over from the table, grabbing a handful of the bent-over girl's hair, and hisses in my direction. "You know, they say traitor's blood is good luck," he says. "Maybe we should have her join in, see if it rubs off."
Someone else giggles. The girls on the sofa are staring at me, blank-faced, as if I am not real, like I'm just another slab of meat waiting for the knife. My legs are trembling now, but I will them to hold. I stare at the floor, watching a slow trickle of spilled vodka snake between my shoes. I want to vomit. Or scream. Or break something, just to hear it shatter.
"You deaf, Lyra?" the scarred guard asks. "I said, you're welcome to join us. Hell, you can even pick who goes first."
His hand lands heavy on my shoulder, squeezing. I flinch, but I don't run. I know better than to run. Running means they chase.
"What's the matter?" he mocks. "Scared? That's not very Thorne of you. Thought your kind were brave."
More laughter echoes off the cinderblock walls. I keep my eyes down, burning holes into the stain on the floor, and I don't say a word.
"Hey." His grip tightens. I can feel the blood slowing in my arm. "Answer me when I talk to you."
"I need to check out," I say, my voice smaller than I want. "Then I have to get back to the house. Alpha Kade's orders."
He laughs. "Ooh, house arrest. Fancy." He leans in close, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. "You ever get tired of being their little bitch? You know where to find us."
He releases me and spins away, back into the mess of bodies. The girls tangle their hands in his hair, dragging him down into the chaos. No one looks at me again. I back out, one step at a time. The door swings shut with a soft, wet slap. For a second, the cold outside almost knocks me out. I stand on the steps, letting the silence settle over my skin.
I take the back path toward the pack, hugging myself tighter. The moon is only halfway full tonight, casting a pale, silver light that barely cuts through the trees. The forest stretches wide around me, and the silence is broken by rustling leaves and the occasional howl of wolves.
My mind runs wild ahead of me. I think about the stories Maggie used to tell when I 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.
My pace quickens, and I force my mind to think about the Blood Moon Ceremony. I wonder if I will shift, and if I shift, if I will find a mate. If I find a mate, will he accept or reject me? The latter seems more likely.
I'm almost making it to the path that leads to the manor when I come face to face with a large wolf with burning crimson eyes. Not the amber of pack wolves, these are blood-red, feral, and hungry.
I freeze as it bares its fangs at me, letting out a low, menacing growl.
As I take a trembling step backward and turn to flee in the opposite direction, two more sets of eyes appear, one to each side. They emerge from the shadows, three massive wolves with matted fur and bared teeth, and they begin to circle me. Then, I perceive their burnt smells. Rogues.
My blood freezes in my veins. I'm going to die here, alone in the dark, torn apart by rogues. I start to back away slowly, but there's nowhere to run. They snarl, and saliva drips from yellowed fangs as they close in.
"Please," I whisper, though I know it's useless. Rogues don't understand words anymore. They have lost their humanity to madness and bloodlust. Then, one of them lets out a deep snarl and crouches low like it's about to leap.
But just as it lunges for my throat, a black blur crashes through the underbrush with such force that the ground shakes. A massive black wolf charges from behind me, slamming into the rogue mid-air. The two collide with a thud that shakes the ground. Fur, claws, and blood fly. The black wolf moves like death itself. The other rogues try to fight, but the black wolf tears into them like they are nothing, ripping through flesh, slamming one into a tree hard enough to crack the trunk.
I scramble backward, tripping over my own feet, and lunge for the nearest tree. I duck behind the thick oak, my hands clawing at the rough bark as I press myself against it. My body shakes uncontrollably as I peek around the edge, unable to look away from the carnage.
Blood drips from the black wolf's muzzle as he stands over the lifeless bodies of the rogues. The forest falls silent except for his heavy breathing. Then, his form begins to change. Bones crack and shift, fur recedes into skin, and where the wolf stood, a man now rises. It's one of the triplets.
He stands naked in the moonlight, his muscled back to me. I can't tell which of the triplets it is at first because they share almost the same height and the same broad shoulders. But as he turns slightly, the pale moonlight catches the long, jagged scar that runs from his right shoulder blade down to his left hip.
Alpha Knox.