Warning: this is a why-choose romance. She doesn't pick one brother. Keep reading, or don't — but you've been told. Ninety people watched my fiancé stand up at my betrothal feast and give my mother's ring to my stepsister. I didn't cry. I walked out into the storm instead — and the river took the bridge out from under me. Two men pulled me out of the Dunmore that night. Twins. The Harrow heirs, Alphas of the pack across the river, the one that owns my pack's debts and most of its pride. Identical faces. Opposite men. One talks like a treaty. One looks at me like weather. And both of them went still on that riverbank, at the same second, over a wolfless girl with no voice in her head and a laugh she uses instead of screaming. "He had his chance," Cassian said, and took my left hand. Rhys took the right. He doesn't waste words. He didn't then either. "Ours starts now." Here's the part nobody in the valley will say out loud: I'm not wolfless. There's a white wolf behind the quiet in my head, sealed there since I was seven, and her howl can snap an Alpha's command like wet thread. Someone sealed her to hide me. Someone else has been hunting her for nineteen years.