The Alpha Who Saw My Scars

"Where is that useless girl?" Torin's voice cracks through the house like a whip. I do not need to ask who he means. I am the only girl left in this house, and I am the only one who cleans it. I drop my rag into the bucket of grey water and wipe my cracked hands on my apron. I have been scrubbing since before the sun came up. My knees ache. My stomach aches more. I have not eaten since the day before yesterday, my punishment for spilling water on the kitchen floor. I walk into the hall with my head down. Eyes on the floor. Mouth shut. Do not give him a reason. That rule has kept me alive for sixteen years. Torin stands at the hall mirror, fixing his jacket. He is lean and sharp, with eyes that never rest on anything for long. When he sees me, his lip curls. "You look like a rat. Fix your hair before he gets here." "Who is coming?" The words slip out before I can stop them. His hand cracks across my cheek. I do not cry out. Crying only makes it last longer. "You do not ask questions," he says. "Alpha Silas of Obsidian Crest is coming to sign a trade deal. He runs the biggest pack in this region. If you embarrass me today, you will regret it for a month." I nod and press my palm to my burning face. Around my neck, the collar shifts against my skin. It is dull grey metal, heavy and cold, and it hums all day long. They locked it on me the week after our parents died. I was six. I am twenty-two now. The collar does one job. It keeps my wolf silent. I cannot shift. I cannot heal fast like everyone else in this house. Some days I wonder if she is still in there, or if she gave up on me a long time ago. "Go finish the office," Torin snaps. "Make it perfect." The office is already perfect. I cleaned it yesterday, and the day before that. I wipe a desk with no dust on it anyway, because wiping gives my hands a job while my mind spins. I have heard Alpha Silas's name before. The pack members whisper it when they think I cannot hear. They say he built the largest pack in the region from almost nothing. They say he has never lost a fight. They say he has not smiled in years. I do not know which parts are true. I only know that Torin has been sweating over this visit for two weeks, and Torin never sweats over anything he cannot cheat. Outside, an engine rumbles up the drive. My whole body goes still. I should leave the office. I know I should. But Beta Garrick is already hurrying down the hall, and Torin is hissing at him to open the door and smile. If I step out now, I will walk straight into all of them. So I do what I always do. I slide into the corner behind the bookshelf and try to become part of the furniture. The front door opens. Boots cross the wooden floor, slow and heavy, like the man wearing them has never once needed to hurry. "Alpha Silas." Torin's voice goes high and smooth. It is his money voice. "Welcome to Ashwood." "Show me your office," a deep voice says. "I do not like talking business in hallways." Even through the wall, that voice makes my skin prickle. It is low and calm, and somehow it fills the whole house. The office door swings open. Torin walks in first, talking too fast about trade routes and eastern hills. Then the other man steps inside, and the room gets smaller. He is a full head taller than my brother, with wide shoulders, short black hair, and a jaw that looks cut from stone. His eyes are grey, pale as winter sky. They sweep across the room once, slowly, the way I read Torin's moods before I walk into a room. Then they stop on the bookshelf. On me. The bucket handle rattles against the floor. I did not know my hand was shaking. "Just the maid," Torin says quickly. "Out, girl." "Stay." Silas does not raise his voice. He does not need to. He crosses the room in four steps and stops in front of me, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to see his face. Heat rolls off him like a stove in winter. I cannot scent him, not with the collar on, but I can feel him, all of him, pressing on the air around me. His eyes drop to my cheek. To the red mark my brother left there. Something dark moves behind his eyes and is gone. "What is your name?" No one has asked me that in sixteen years. Servants do not get names. My mouth goes dry. "Rhea," I whisper. Then, because I have been trained, I add, "I am sorry, Alpha. I did not mean to be in your way." "You are not in my way." His gaze slides down to my throat. "Why are you wearing a suppressant collar made for dangerous wolves?" "A precaution," Torin says. His hand clamps my shoulder and drags me back a step. "She has a history. Some trouble when she was young. It is family business." Silas does not look at him. He is still looking at me. His nostrils flare, as if he is catching something faint under the soap and dust that cling to my clothes. His fingers curl once at his side, like he is stopping himself from reaching for me. My heart is pounding. I know he can hear it. He can probably hear everything. "What kind of trouble?" he asks, soft and dangerous. "Ancient history." Torin laughs, but it comes out thin. "Girl, get out. Now." I run. I do not remember the hallway. I only remember my legs shaking and the cold stone wall against my back when I finally stop. Through the thin door, his voice follows me. It is quiet, meant only for wolf ears, but I hear every word. "We are not finished." My hand flies to my throat. For sixteen years, the collar has been cold. Right now, it is burning against my skin like it knows something I do not.