ISLA'S POV
The cold wakes me up.
I'm used to it by now—the drafty Omega quarters, the thin blanket that's more holes than fabric, the way frost creeps across the single window even though it's only October. But today, the cold feels different. It feels like freedom.
I slide out of bed before the sun rises and drop to my knees. My fingers find the loose floorboard in the corner, the one I discovered when I was ten and needed somewhere to hide the bread I'd stolen from the kitchen. Back then, I was just trying not to starve. Now, I'm trying to escape.
I pull out the envelope.
Three hundred and forty-seven dollars. Every penny I've saved from working at the pack diner, from doing extra chores, from selling the few things I own that anyone wanted to buy. I count it twice, even though I know exactly how much is there. I've counted it every morning for the past six months.
It's enough for a bus ticket. Enough to get me far away from Silvermoon Pack. Far away from *them*.
Three more days.
Seventy-two hours until I turn eighteen. Seventy-two hours until I'm legally free to leave the pack without permission. Seventy-two hours until I never have to see any of them again.
I shove the envelope back under the floorboard and stand up. My legs ache—they always do lately. Probably from scrubbing floors until midnight. Or maybe from the "accidental" kick I got from one of the pack warriors yesterday when I served him lunch too slowly.
The bruise on my ribs throbs as I pull on my work dress. It's ugly and gray and two sizes too big, but it's what Omega wolves wear. We're supposed to be invisible. Forgettable.
I've been invisible for eighteen years. Three more days won't kill me.
I braid my hair—dirty blonde, nothing special—and head downstairs. The pack house is already buzzing with activity even though it's barely six a.m. Pink and white decorations cover every surface. Roses everywhere. A huge banner that says "Congratulations Rowan & Celeste."
My stomach twists.
Today's the engagement party. The future Alpha and the perfect princess, making their relationship official. Everyone's excited. Everyone thinks it's so romantic.
I grab a mop and bucket from the supply closet. The marble floors need to be perfect for tonight's party. Everything needs to be perfect for Celeste.
"There you are."
I freeze. That voice makes my skin crawl.
Luna Victoria stands at the top of the stairs, looking down at me like I'm something nasty stuck to her shoe. She's beautiful—everyone says so. Perfect hair, perfect skin, perfect everything. She's been the pack's Luna for twenty years, and everyone loves her.
Everyone except me.
"The ballroom floors better shine," she says. Her voice is cold. It's always cold when she talks to me. "And after that, you'll help in the kitchen. Chef needs someone to peel potatoes."
"Yes, Luna Victoria," I say quietly.
She starts to turn away, then stops. "Oh, and Isla? Try to stay out of sight during the party. We don't want you... upsetting anyone."
Translation: Don't remind everyone that Alpha Marcus has a bastard daughter.
"Yes, Luna Victoria," I repeat.
She walks away, her heels clicking on the marble. I wait until she's gone before I let myself breathe.
Three more days. I can survive three more days.
I'm scrubbing the ballroom floor two hours later when Celeste appears. My half-sister. Same father, different mothers. Though no one's supposed to know that. Officially, I'm just some orphan the pack took in out of "kindness."
Celeste is everything I'm not. Gorgeous. Confident. Loved. Her blonde hair—actually blonde, not dirty like mine—falls in perfect waves down her back. She's wearing a designer dress even though it's not even noon yet. She always looks like she's ready for a photoshoot.
"Isla," she says sweetly. Too sweetly. "How's the floor coming?"
"Fine," I mutter, keeping my eyes down.
"Good. Tonight needs to be perfect. It's not every day a girl gets engaged to the future Alpha." She sighs dramatically. "Rowan's so amazing, isn't he? Strong, handsome, powerful. Every girl in the pack wants him."
I grit my teeth and scrub harder.
"But he chose me," Celeste continues. She's standing too close now. I can smell her expensive perfume. "He's always chosen me. Since we were kids, remember?"
I remember. I remember Rowan Blackwater and his friends throwing rocks at me when I was eight. I remember him laughing when I fell and scraped my knees bloody. I remember him looking right through me every single day like I didn't exist.
Yeah. I remember.
"I'm happy for you," I lie.
Celeste laughs. "No, you're not. But that's okay. You'll be gone soon anyway, right? I heard you talking to Mira about leaving after your birthday."
My blood runs cold. How does she know that?
"Don't worry," Celeste says, examining her perfect nails. "I won't tell anyone. Why would I? I want you gone as much as you want to leave." She leans down close to my ear. "You don't belong here, Isla. You never did. And deep down, even Father knows it."
She walks away, laughing softly.
I squeeze the mop handle so hard my knuckles turn white. Three more days. Just three more days, and I'll never have to see her again. Never have to hear her voice or smell her perfume or feel this small.
The rest of the day passes in a blur. I peel potatoes until my fingers bleed. I set up chairs in the ballroom. I fold napkins into fancy shapes I had to learn from YouTube. I do everything I'm told, invisible and silent, counting down the hours.
By the time the sun sets, the pack house looks like a fairy tale. Everything's perfect for Celeste and Rowan's big night.
I'm in the kitchen grabbing more champagne glasses when I feel it.
A sharp, stabbing pain in my chest. Like someone's driven a knife between my ribs.
I gasp and drop the tray. Glass shatters everywhere.
"Isla!" Chef Marcus yells. "What the hell—"
But I can't hear him. The pain is spreading, burning through my whole body. My skin feels too tight. My bones feel like they're breaking and reforming.
No.
No, no, no.
This can't be happening. Not now. Not yet.
My wolf. She's waking up.
And she's waking up *tonight*.
The room spins. I stumble backward, knocking into a shelf. More dishes crash to the floor.
"Get her out of here!" someone shouts.
But I'm already running. Out of the kitchen. Through the hallways. My vision blurs. The pain gets worse with every step.
I burst through the back door into the gardens. The full moon hangs huge and bright in the sky.
That's when I smell it.
Pine trees. Wood smoke. Something wild and dangerous and *mine*.
My head snaps up. Across the garden, through the crowd of fancy party guests, golden eyes meet mine.
Rowan Blackwater stares at me like he's seeing a ghost.
And I feel it. The pull. The *bond*.
No. Please, no.
My wolf howls inside my chest, desperate and hungry.
*MATE*, she screams. *MATE. MATE. MATE.*
Rowan's eyes go wide with shock. He takes a step toward me.
And standing right next to him, holding his hand, is Celeste.
My sister. His fiancée.
The wolf inside me doesn't care. She wants him. She wants him so badly it hurts worse than anything I've ever felt.
But I care.
I care that he made my life hell. I care thathe's engaged to my sister. I care that accepting this bond would trap me in Silvermoon Pack forever.
So I do the only thing I can do.
I run.