Chapter 1: The Exile

Calla, do you deny it?

As cold and piercing as a blade against my throat, the words echoed through the quiet hall. I was standing in the middle of the great room with my people—wolves I had trusted, fought with, and bled for. Nevertheless, they gave me a disdainful look.

My Alpha and mate, Raiden, was sitting on the high seat, staring at me with his dark eyes. I had loved him, but he was more than that. He served as both my judge and my executioner.

I raised my chin. "I deny everything." Despite my heart hammering against my ribs, I spoke with strength and steadiness. "I didn't turn on this pack."

The daughter of the Beta, Lysandra, came forward with a smug smile on her lips. "Lies," she spit out. "Calla, we got you. Leaving the area covertly. Getting together with the outlaws

The crowd echoed with murmurs.

I balled my fists up. "I was doing as Raiden had instructed. To monitor rogue activity at the borders, he dispatched me.

Raiden's eyes flickered, but his face remained unchanged. Uncertainty? No. It was too short.

Lysandra laughed. "A convenient justification." She looked at the warriors positioned against the walls of stone. "Explain what you observed to them."

Three wolves moved forward, one after the other. The first person to speak was Garrett, a warrior I had trained with. We observed Calla conversing with a renegade man. He wasn't battling her. She was muttering something.

My throat rumbled with a growl. "I was questioning him."

Jonah, the other warrior, shook his head. "It didn't appear to be a questioning."

Marcus, the last, moved forward, avoiding my gaze. "She handed him something."

The crowd was filled with a roar of rage.

My fingernails sank into my hands. A piece of fabric—a scent marker to follow him later! What would make me turn on my pack? Desperate for Raiden to see the truth, I turned and looked for his eyes. "You are familiar with me. You are aware that I would never—

"Enough." His voice pierced the cacophony like a blade despite its quietness. There was silence in the room.

With his elbows resting on his knees, Raiden leaned forward. "Do you have evidence?"

Evidence. I felt my stomach tighten. I had killed the rogue before he could warn his pack, and he was dead. I had nothing but my word as proof. My word had no meaning here.

My silence was sufficient.

Raiden's jaw tensed as he released his breath. "Therefore, there is no justification for postponing judgment."

I exhaled the breath. It was this. This was the moment I had prayed would never come, the moment I had feared.

"Calla Everhart," he said in a cold voice. This deprives you of your rank. Your exile from the Silver Moon Pack is complete.

The world swayed.

Banished.

No. No, no, no.

As my connection to the pack broke, a searing pain blossomed in my chest, a physical tearing. The loss was intolerable, and my inner wolf howled. Gasping for breath, I stumbled back.

I stutteringly said, "You can't do this." "Please, Raiden—"

His eyes were unyielding. "Grab her."

Two fighters came forward and took hold of my arms. I flailed, anger consuming my suffering. "You're doing something wrong!" I let out a scream. "They wanted precisely this—"

My head snapped sideways as a hard slap hit my face.

Lysandra's lips curled in satisfaction as she stood there. "Goodbye, traitor."

The fighters pulled me to the doors. My vision became hazy. I struggled, twisting and kicking, but they were too powerful. My family, my people, looked on in silence. I had no voice. Nobody stood up for me.

Aside from one.

A voice called out, "Raiden." Firm but soft.

The pack healer, Elias, came forward. Quiet defiance blazed in his silver eyes. "Are you certain?" he enquired.

Raiden curled his fingers on his chair's armrest.

"She is at fault," Lysandra yelled.

Elias glanced at Raiden and then back at me. "What if she isn't?"

Raiden paused. My heart was racing.

Then he got up. "She made her decision."

His last note of determination defeated any lingering hope from me.

The doors were thrown open, and icy winds howled around me. The combatants pushed me into darkness.

My skin was cold. My feet landed on the floor as they propelled me forward, beyond the gates and walls of the house I'd known my entire life. The instant my foot crossed the line—Raiden breaking our mate bond—agony tore through me.

I fell to my knees, gasping, tears blazing in my eyes.

The gates slammed behind me.

I was alone. Exiled.

And I could never forgive them.

I took a ragged breath, my body trembling from the broken bond. The pain of rejection and exile stung me deeper than any blade could, and my inner wolf let out a whimper. The air was cold, cold, and merciless, like the pack that had deserted me.

I pushed myself to stand.

I wouldn't shatter.

Not in this place. Not right now.

There was a howl in the distance. Guttural, low, and incorrect. My back tensed.

Rogues.

With my heart racing, I turned. The land extended into the rogue territories, a wasteland of lawless, violent exiles who thrived on violence beyond the pack's boundary.

I was one of them now.

After the first howl came a second, closer one; the wind carried the smell of old blood and unwashed bodies. They had caught my scent.

I started running.

The woods were virgin, blacker than I remembered. I gasped in shallow breaths, my muscles screaming at each step. I knew what became of lone wolves out here. They did not live.

A growl ripped at the stillness.

I hardly had a chance to spin around when a huge rogue attacked me, his yellow teeth snapping inches from my neck. I spun around in time, his claws tearing down my arm, cutting through the skin.

I gritted back a scream and rolled, but before I could stand up, another pair of eyes glowed in the trees. Then another. And another.

I was surrounded.

A dozen of the rogues stepped out from the darkness, and their skeletal frames stretched taut with hunger, their faces snarled into ferocious grins.

"Ahh, ah," one of them said, advancing. He was the tallest of the group, his face gashed by scars that made grooves deeper. "What do we have here?"

A rogue with a silver streak in his hair sniffed and grinned. "She's new. She smells like a pack wolf." His grin widened. "Or at least… did."

The leader tilted his head. "Exiled, then?" His gaze turned serious. "You're fair game, then."

I bared my teeth. "Come on closer and see how wrong you are."

The pack laughed.

The silver-haired bandit considered, "She's got the fight." "Shame. Out here, the pretty ones don't live very long.

The pack leader approached closer to me. Guys, what do you guys think? Do we keep her?

The night rang out with a symphony of growls and starving laughter.

My chest constricted in fear, but I pushed it back. I had been a trainer of warriors since birth. I had once been Luna. I was not going to die as an ineffectual victim.

I curled my fingers, feeling the slow trickle of blood from my wound. I was weakened by the ejection, but my wolf side wanted to fight.

I required a strategy. Quick.

As he reached for me, the leader's grin widened—

Then, a fresh aroma filled the air.

Dominant, deadly, and dark.

The outlaws stopped.

The leader's body tensed, and his smirk disappeared. "No," he muttered.

Through the night came a growl that was deeper than anything I had ever heard. I felt the earth beneath me quiver.

Then he moved forward out of the darkness.

A tall figure with a dark-wrapped form and sharp silver eyes that pierced the night like twin daggers. He moved with the stealthy strength of a predator, taking deliberate, controlled steps.

Something ancient crackled in the air around him. Risky.

The outlaws retreated. Even the boss.

I made myself take a breath. "Who the hell are you?"

The man remained silent. His lips curled into a slow, razor-sharp smile.

Then he spoke, his voice as deadly as a blade and as smooth as silk.

"Little wolf, welcome to the Rogue Lands."