The wind howled through the trees like a tormented beast, sharp with the scent of blood and the sweet sting of pine sap. It clawed at my exposed skin, a constant, biting reminder of the vulnerability I couldn't afford to acknowledge, not even for a heartbeat. The forest floor was a chaotic blur beneath my worn boots, dirt and dead leaves scattering in my desperate sprint through the moonless night. My pack thundered behind me, each ragged breath a testament to their exhaustion, their fear mirroring my own.
They were mine. My rogues. My broken, battered family forged in the fires of shared pain and defiance. And I would burn the world to ash, tear down every kingdom before I let anyone, *anything*, take them from me. My name is Lily, and I am, for lack of a better term, a rogue collector. I take in the lost, the unwanted, and those deemed too damaged or complicated by the rigid pack structures. I am a rogue myself, cast out for choosing freedom over the suffocating control of an abusive Alpha. My rogues are the same: wolves who fled packs where Alphas turned blind eyes to cruelty or those wrongly accused and unjustly exiled. In the wolf world, rogues are the bottom feeders, the troublemakers, the rule-breakers who refuse to submit. But I knew better. Most rogues just couldn't stomach another day of abuse, another night of neglect. Alpha men, swollen with self-importance, believed they could control us with force, physically breaking us until we bent to their will. Not me, though. Never again would I let a man lay a hand on me; never again would I obey a command that went against my soul.
"Keep moving!" I shouted over my shoulder, a strained whip cracking through the frigid air. The words were laced with desperation, a plea disguised as a command, a fragile shield against the terror nipping at my heels.
Branches snapped like brittle bones under our pounding feet, the heavy thud of paws and boots a ragged, uneven heartbeat in the chaotic symphony of our flight. Behind us, shadows moved with deadly purpose—a rival pack, faster and better armed, driving us towards the border we were never meant to cross. The scent of their bloodlust was thick in the air, a metallic tang that made my stomach churn and my wolf snarl in protest.
Cash Sinclair's border. King of the Blackstone wolves. A man whose reputation for power and ruthlessness stretched longer than the winding rivers of Montana. Whispers of his brutality were carried on the wind, chilling tales of Alphas who dared to challenge him and vanished without a trace, leaving only silence in their wake.
I never planned to set foot on his land. Never wanted to owe another Alpha anything again. The memory of my old pack, of the Alpha who betrayed me, was a festering wound I refused to let heal, a constant reminder of the weakness I could never afford to show. But I would bleed dry and shatter into a million pieces before I let my pack be slaughtered tonight.
A growl ripped from my throat as I shifted mid-stride, my bones snapping and reforming into something faster, deadlier. White-hot pain lanced through my muscles as my wolf form took over—not sleek and polished like the pampered wolves from royal packs, but wild and raw, built from years of brutal survival, not coddled bloodlines. My fur, dark as the midnight sky, bristled against the biting cold. My green eyes caught the moonlight like twin emerald fires, reflecting the desperate determination that burned within me.
*Run. Protect. Survive.* The words pounded through my veins, a primal mantra that drowned out the fear threatening to consume me, a promise etched onto my soul.
We hit the river, the boundary line, just as the first hunter caught up. He lunged, a flash of steel catching the moonlight, aiming for the throat of a younger wolf limping at the back of our pack. A boy, barely sixteen, with eyes still flickered with a heartbreaking innocence.
Cold and pure rage exploded in my chest, a tidal wave of protective fury. I pivoted mid-leap, slamming into him with the force of a battering ram, sending him sprawling into the icy current. The shock of the frigid water stole his breath, giving us the precious seconds we desperately needed.
My rogues. My responsibility. My family.
We crossed the river. And just like that—the air shifted. The magic in the ground hummed like a warning, ancient and heavy. The King's magic. It felt like a physical weight pressing down on me, a suffocating presence that stole the air from my lungs, prickling my skin with an unsettling awareness.
My wolf snarled low in my chest as we stumbled onto foreign territory. I didn't care. I'd face whatever waited on this side. We were free, at least for now.
I shifted back as we staggered into a small clearing naked, bloodied, breathing hard, steam curling off our skin in the frigid air. My body ached with every heartbeat, every old scar pulled tight across my muscles, each one a painful reminder of battles fought and losses endured. I wiped blood from my mouth with the back of my hand, tasting the metallic tang of it, the bitter taste of survival.
My pack kids were barely old enough to shift, outcasts scarred by the world gathered around me. Their eyes were wide and trusting, searching my face for reassurance. They were waiting for orders. They were waiting for me. I was their anchor, their shield against the storm, the only thing between them and oblivion.
I squared my shoulders, forcing myself to stand tall despite the bone-deep weariness. I would not fail them. "We make camp here," I said hoarsely, my voice raw from shouting and fear. "Rest. Heal. Tomorrow, we move deeper."
A rustle of leaves, too deliberate, too close. Every instinct I possessed screamed danger, a primal warning that sent a jolt of adrenaline through my veins. Too late.
A wall of muscle and heat slammed into the clearing, the air around him vibrating with sheer authority. The ground seemed to tremble beneath his feet, and the ancient trees bowed in silent deference.
Cash Sinclair. The Alpha King.
I didn't need anyone to tell me. I knew. The second I saw him, I knew. Six foot five of lethal strength, dark hair wild from the wind, blue eyes so sharp they looked like they could cut glass and steal your soul. His muscles were thick beneath intricate tattoos that curled down his arms, and his beard framed a jaw that looked carved by some ancient, vengeful god. And the power rolling off him, thick, brutal, magnetic. It slammed into my wolf and left her staggering, a force of nature, untamed and unforgiving.
My heart skidded painfully against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the sudden silence. My wolf whimpered a low, guttural sound of submission and… something else, something terrifyingly unfamiliar.
*Mate.*
No. Not possible. Not for me. Not for the girl who had vowed no man would ever claim her again. The idea was a betrayal, a violation of the hard-won independence I had fought so desperately to maintain, a cruel joke played by the fates.
Cash stalked closer, his scent pine, leather, smoke, and something primal and untamed, something that spoke to the deepest, most instinctual part of my being wrapping around me like invisible chains. It was intoxicating, a dangerous lure that threatened to unravel my carefully constructed defenses to expose the fragile heart I kept hidden beneath layers of steel.
I lifted my chin, naked and unafraid, refusing to cower before his overwhelming presence. His eyes dropped for a breathless second, dragging over my bare curves, the scars mapping my body like a survivor's testament, and something dark and hungry flared in his expression, a flicker of possessiveness that sent a shiver down my spine, a primal need that mirrored my own.
He wanted. And he hated that he wanted.
Good. I could work with hate. It was safer than anything else, a familiar battlefield where I knew the rules.
"Rogues," he said, his voice low, gravelly, and colder than the river we had crossed. His gaze locked on mine, pinning me in place like a butterfly on a board. He didn't look at the others, didn't acknowledge their existence. Just me. It was as if we were the only two people in the world, locked in a silent battle of wills, two predators circling each other in the darkness. "You've trespassed," he said, every syllable heavy with threat, a promise of pain and retribution.
I bared my teeth in something that wasn't quite a smile, a defiant snarl that dared him to make good on his threat. "Good thing your decree protects rogues in need," I said sweetly, even as my muscles tensed to spring, fight, and run if necessary. "Or you'd have to explain to your precious council why you slaughtered children tonight."
A muscle ticked in his jaw, the only visible sign of the fury churning beneath his carefully controlled exterior. He hated that I was right, and God helped me; I loved that he hated it. It was a small victory, a fleeting moment of triumph in the face of overwhelming odds, but in this moment, it was enough.
He exhaled slowly, the motion pulling tight across his broad chest, the air around him crackling with barely contained power. Those blue eyes raked over me again, this time slower and darker, like he was memorizing the way I stood defiant before him, cataloging every scar, every curve, every hint of vulnerability.
"You're mine," he said under his breath, the words a low growl that resonated deep within my bones. Not a claim. Not a victory. A curse. The words were a brand, searing into my soul, a mark I knew I would carry for the rest of my days.
I bristled, every instinct screaming in protest. "I belong to no one." The words were a lash across the space between us, a declaration of independence that I prayed he would believe, a desperate attempt to rewrite the destiny that seemed to be unfolding before my very eyes.
His lip curled in something like a smile, a dangerous, wicked thing that promised pain and pleasure in equal measure. "We'll see," he said, his voice a silken threat that sent a shiver down my spine.
The heat between us coiled tighter, electric, unbearable, a tangible force threatening to ignite the air around us. My wolf growled low in my chest, a primal urge to surrender, to submit, to claim what was hers. She wanted to close the distance, bury herself in his intoxicating scent, and claim and be bound together for eternity.
No. I shoved her back, my fists clenching at my sides, digging into my palms until they bled. I would not be conquered. Not by a man, not by fate, not by the mate bond twisting like fire in my blood, threatening to consume me whole.
Behind Cash, more warriors appeared, dozens emerging from the shadows to surround my ragtag pack. Their eyes were hard, their expressions unforgiving, their presence a silent warning of the power he wielded. But Cash lifted a hand, stopping them without a word, his authority absolute and unquestioned. His eyes never left me, his gaze a burning brand seared through my skin and into my soul.
"You and your wolves will come with us," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument.
It wasn't a request. It wasn't a choice. It was an order delivered with the weight of his crown, the force of his will, and the undeniable power of the Alpha King.
My pack needed safety, food, and time to heal. I had no other options, no other cards to play.
I had no other options. But I swore to myself, standing naked and defiant under the blood-red moon, that no matter what waited beyond those trees, Cash Sinclair would never own me. Not even if the gods themselves demanded it. The King might have claimed my pack, but he would never claim my soul.