From Elara's POV
My hand stops on the handle of the back door.
Once more, there is a low, pained growl that sounds almost like a threat concealed within a whimper. It comes from the alley where Mom used to store the extra flower pots and trash cans.
I ought to return inside. Secure the door. Give someone a call.
Who would I call, though? Who just ruined me in front of two hundred people, Marcus? Victoria, who grinned as she stole my fiancé? Who congratulated them, Richard?
I have no one.
I recall Mom's fever dreams before she passed away, and the locket burns hotter against my skin. Her eyes were scared and wild as she grasped my hand. "The wolves will remember you," she had muttered. "They are called by our blood. They will come when you are in danger and have nowhere else to go. Don't be scared.
She seemed delirious to me. I'm not so sure now.
I force the door open.
With the exception of a dim streetlight half a block away, the alley is completely dark. Everything is covered in white as the snow falls quickly and thickly. I don't see anything at first. Just dumpsters, shadows, and—
There.
Something in the snow. Too large to be a dog. Much too large.
I gasp for air.
It's a wolf. A huge black wolf with fur that appears to consume light. Even from this vantage point, I can see the dark stains on the white snow surrounding him as he lies on his side.
Blood. A lot of blood.
Three arrows protrude from his body: one in his side, one in his back leg, and one in his shoulder. With metal tips that shine even in the dark, they are the kind used by hunters.
The wolf opens its eyes. They are made of silver. Silver, like coins, moonlight, or something not quite natural, rather than gray or blue.
They fix their gaze on mine.
I ought to run. Every instinct tells me to flee.
Rather, I approach.
"Easy," I mumble, just like I used to say to the stray cats Mom used to feed behind the store. "I'm not going to hurt you."
The wolf makes a feeble attempt to growl. His silver eyes stay fixed on my face. Something intelligent, desperate, and far too human can be seen in that gaze.
Beside him, I kneel in the snow. My dress is already completely soaked, frozen, and ruined. What's a bit more harm?
"Someone shot you," I murmur as I study the arrows. They are deeply buried. He might bleed out if I take them out. He will still die if I leave them in. "This is going to hurt."
The wolf lets out a sound that suggests he's in agreement.
I seize the first shaft of an arrow. The cold and residual shock from the party are making my hands tremble. "On three. "One... two."
On two, I pull it out.
The entire body of the wolf jerks. He doesn't bite me, but his jaws snap shut just inches from my arm. Hot, dark blood rises from the wound.
I rip a piece from my already ruined dress and apply it to the bleeding. The silver eyes of the wolf observe me. They contain both pain and something else. Perhaps a surprise. or uncertainty.
"Two more," I say to him. "Stay with me."
I draw the second arrow. The wolf whimpers in this one, which is deeper and has a terrible sound that hurts my chest. More strips of fabric. increased strain. My hands are now covered in sticky, dark blood.
When I pull the third arrow, which is in his back leg, an odd thing occurs.
I've worn Mom's silver locket every day since she passed away, and all of a sudden it burns so hot I gasp. The clasp shatters. The locket opens, cutting my palm with its jagged edge.
Bright red blood rises to the surface of my pale skin.
A single drop falls.
It strikes the wolf's wound exactly where I just extracted the arrow.
Light bursts into the world.
The spot where my blood touched him erupts in silver fire. It burns without heat as it spreads over his fur and penetrates his skin. The wolf's body stiffens. It feels like something is being carved into my skin from the inside out, and my own chest is on fire.
My mind is filled with words—ancient, old, and in a language I don't understand. Without permission, my mouth moves:
"Blood to blood, heart to heart, soul to soul, never to part."
The brilliance of the silver fire increases. The wolf's silver eyes are staring into mine, and all I can see is light. Something clicks into place inside my chest, like a chain clicking shut or a door locking.
After that, the light dims.
The wolf has vanished.
Where the wolf was, a man lies in the snow.
My heart tries to punch through my ribs as I scramble backward, slipping on ice.
He is not clothed. totally nude. Strong and tall, with muscles that resemble stone carvings. Black hair cascades across his face, and he has pale skin. Three closing wounds indicate where the arrows were, but they are no longer there.
The ground beneath him is covered in frost, which transforms the bloody snow into shimmering ice.
He doesn't move.
"Oh god," I murmur. "Oh god, oh god, what did I do?"
Then he opens his eyes.
Eyes of silver. The wolf had the same silver eyes.
In one fluid, unbelievably quick motion, he sits up. The temperature drops so quickly that I can see my breath misting in the air as those eyes focus on me.
"What did you just do to me?" he asks in a deep, rough voice like thunder roaring across mountains.
I part my lips. Nothing emerges.
I follow his gaze as he looks down at his chest. He has a mark burned into his skin directly over his heart, a complex pattern of thorny vines and frost patterns that glows faintly in silver.
It burns in my chest.
I glance down. Where I made bandages, my dress is ripped, and my skin is visible through the opening.
The identical mark. The same mark, shining over my heart.
"No," the man murmurs, his expression shifting from bewildered to appalled. "No, this isn't feasible. You're a human. This ought not to—"
I see frost literally forming on his fingers as he reaches for me.
I take the only sensible action.
I yell.
Somewhere nearby, footsteps pound. Shouts are heard. The man's expression changes from one of horror to one of deadly focus as his head snaps toward the sound.
"Hunters," he growls. "They followed me."
"Hunters?" I ask foolishly.
"Get down!"
Just as something whistles through the air where my head was, he tackles me into the snow. Chips fly as a bullet strikes the brick wall behind us.
Five armed men rushed into the alley. Large guns. I've only seen them in action films.
"There!" exclaims one. "The Alpha!"
I am pushed behind by the nude man, the wolf, or whatever he is. His entire body is tense, prepared for combat. From his feet, more frost creeps across the ground in branching patterns.
"Stay behind me," he commands.
"Who are you?" My voice trembles as I demand.
He looks back at me, his silver eyes practically glowing in the low light.
"Ronan Blackmoor," he declares. "Alpha of the Northern Pack."
The most dangerous thing I've ever seen is when he smiles.
As the hunters lift their weapons, he continues, "And you, little flower, just bound yourself to me for life."
The initial shot goes off.
The world goes crazy.