“This scentless refuse is no mate of mine.”
Fenrir’s voice cut through the torchlit clearing like a blade of ice. The Frostfang Alpha stood on the raised stone platform, silver-white hair stirring in the cold wind, golden eyes flat with contempt. Behind him the entire wolf tribe watched, hungry for blood and spectacle.
“Dump her in the Ash Vale. Let the blight finish what nature botched.”
Two guards seized Birdie’s arms and dragged her forward. The rough rope around her wrists had already rubbed skin raw. Her thin shift hung off one shoulder, torn during the earlier struggle. Dirt and old bruises marked every inch of the small, underfed body the tribe had called defective for years.
She dug her bare heels into the frozen ground and fought.
“Let go of me!”
The left guard snarled and yanked harder. Birdie twisted, slammed her head backward, and felt cartilage crunch. The guard howled, blood pouring from his nose. The second guard backhanded her so hard white stars exploded across her vision. She hit the dirt on her hands and knees, copper flooding her mouth.
Laughter rippled through the crowd.
Fenrir didn’t even look at her. “Worthless. No scent. No strength. No heat. I should have rejected the bond the day it appeared.”
Birdie spat a mouthful of blood onto the frost and lifted her head. One eye was already swelling shut, but the other burned with pure, vicious defiance.
“You think throwing me away makes you strong?” Her voice came out hoarse, cracked, and loud enough to carry. “You’re just scared I’ll survive you.”
Silence slammed down for half a heartbeat.
Then the nearest wolves snarled. Someone threw a rotten fruit. It splattered against her cheek. Another voice shouted, “Feed her to the blight!” A third screamed, “Scentless trash!”
The guards hauled her up again. Birdie thrashed like a wildcat. She sank her teeth into the nearest forearm until she tasted blood. A fist crashed into her stomach. Air left her lungs in a wet rush. Another blow smashed across her temple. The world tilted.
They dragged her anyway.
Past the longhouses. Past the females who once pretended to be her friends and now looked away. Past the young warriors who had laughed when Fenrir first announced she would never be marked. The path climbed toward the black ridge that overlooked the forbidden valley. Torches bobbed around her like angry stars. The night wind tasted of ash and something rotten.
At the edge of the cliff the lead guard forced her to her knees. Far below, the Ash Vale waited—black, mist-choked, dead. Even the moonlight seemed afraid to touch it.
Fenrir finally stepped close. He crouched, gripped her jaw with one cold hand, and forced her bruised face up.
“You were a mistake,” he said, soft enough that only she could hear. “I correct my mistakes.”
Birdie smiled through bloody teeth. “Then you’d better pray I die quickly, Alpha. Because if I live, I’m going to become everything you were too much of a coward to handle.”
His eyes flashed. For a moment she thought he might kill her himself.
Instead he stood and jerked his chin. “Throw her.”
The guards ripped the rope from her wrists, seized her by the arms and legs, and swung once, twice…
Birdie locked eyes with Fenrir the entire time.
“I’ll survive you,” she promised.
They hurled her over the edge.
The world became wind and freefall and sharp rock. Her body slammed into a slope of loose scree, tumbled, bounced, tore. Pain lit up every nerve. She hit a ledge, rolled, dropped again. Something in her ankle gave with a wet pop. Her shoulder screamed. The thin shift shredded further. Black mist rushed up to meet her.
She landed hard on packed ash and broken stone at the bottom.
For several seconds she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Blood dripped warm down her forehead and into her eye. Every inhale tasted like grave dirt and poison. Somewhere high above, the Frostfang wolves howled in celebration. The sound faded as they walked away and left her for dead.
Birdie forced her fingers to twitch. Then her arms. She shoved herself onto one elbow and retched. Spit and blood darkened the ash beneath her.
Get up.
The thought felt strange. Heavier than it should have. Like it came from somewhere deeper than this broken body.
She staggered to her feet. Her left ankle immediately buckled. She bit back a scream and hopped sideways until her shoulder found a half-buried boulder. The mist curled around her calves like cold fingers. In the distance something large moved. Bones—animal and otherwise—littered the ground in pale scatterings.
A low, vibrating growl rolled through the valley.
Birdie froze.
Two glowing eyes opened in the darkness twenty paces away. Pale green. Hungry. Far too high off the ground to belong to anything friendly. The eyes narrowed. Another growl, closer. Heavy paws crushed ash and bone as the creature stalked into the weak moonlight.
It was massive. Gaunt. All exposed ribs and patchy fur and exposed teeth longer than her fingers. An ash-wolf, corrupted and starving, saliva dripping in thick ropes from its jaws. Those glowing eyes locked onto the warm, bleeding meat that had just fallen into its territory.
Birdie’s heart slammed against her cracked ribs.
The beast charged.