BOUND TO THE ALPHA WHO BROKE ME

One: The Night I Died I had been hidden for twenty years. Tonight, that ended. My thumbnail was bleeding. I hadn't noticed I was chewing it until the metal taste hit my tongue. "Stop that," Wren said in my head. Her voice was dry and warm, like a fire I could lean on. "You've been at it since sunrise." Easy for you, I thought back. They won't stare at you. "No. I'll be the one staring back." A laugh jumped out of me, shaky and small. I gripped the pendant at my throat. Father had never let me take it off. Not to bathe. Not to sleep. He never said why. The door creaked. In the mirror, Nessa slipped in, eyebrows already raised. "You look like you're walking to your funeral." "It feels like it." "You haven't eaten since yesterday. Yes, I noticed." She yanked my laces so hard I squeaked. "Relax, my lady. It's a ceremony, not a war." "Everyone will look at me." "Good. You're worth looking at." She grabbed my trembling hands and pressed them flat between hers. "And if anyone is rude, I'll bite them." "You're not a wolf, Nessa." "I'm a very committed human." She had been climbing through my window since we were six, pockets full of stolen honey cakes. On my worst days, she never asked what was wrong. She just sat down beside me and started eating. In the carriage, I did the breathing Father taught me. In for four. Hold. Out for four. "You're doing the breathing thing," Nessa said. "I'm not." "Sera." "...Fine. I am." Then the horses screamed. The carriage slammed sideways. Hooves pounded, then stopped. The silence was worse than the noise. I pushed my face to the glass. Our guards lay across the road with arrows in their chests. Old Tam, who taught me to hold a sword, was staring at the sky. Rolo, who slipped me sweets when I was small, had his hand still reaching for his blade. "Nessa..." "Out. Now." We tumbled outside. A guard's horse was rearing, wild-eyed, the reins dragging. I grabbed them. Nessa hauled herself up behind me and locked her arms around my waist. I kicked hard. The hall was so close I could see the torches. I heard the arrow before I felt what it did. Nessa jerked against my back. Her arms went loose. I hit the ground before the horse stopped. Gravel ripped my knees. I caught her face in both hands. "Nessa. Look at me." Blood ran from the corner of her mouth. Her fingers found my wrist and clung. "Go," she whispered. "I'm not leaving you." "Liar." A wet cough. A tiny, stubborn smile. "You can't even... lie... to a cake." Her hand slid off my wrist. I pressed down around the arrow in her shoulder, again and again, like the blood would listen if I pushed hard enough. It kept coming. Then it slowed. Then it stopped, and that was worse. The wind moved her hair. I kept tucking it back behind her ear. She'd hate it messy. I untied the green ribbon from her braid and closed it in my fist. My throat burned. No sound came out. Get up, something in me begged. Please, get up. Wren said nothing. She didn't have to. I felt her pressing against my ribs, holding on to me the way I couldn't hold on to Nessa. I made myself stand. Bodies lay in the courtyard. I stopped counting at ten. Inside, steel screamed against steel. Father stood in the doorway, soaked red, holding the line alone. Alive. My knees nearly gave out. "Sera." His voice was low, steady, the one he used when a horse was about to bolt. "Find your mother." "Nessa is..." "I know." His jaw shook once. Then it stopped. "Go." I ran. Mother lay beside the dais. Her eyes were open. Her cheek was still warm under my palm, as if she'd only just stepped away. Next to her hand, drawn in her own blood, was one word. Live. Not my name. Not help. An order, from a woman who never gave one twice. "Mama." It came out tiny. "Please. I can't do this without you." Boots scraped behind me. I turned too late. Cold went through my side, then fire. I looked down and saw pale blue steel where my stomach should be. A hand yanked my head back. A hooded man stared down at me, calm, like this was just work. "That's her," he said. "Let the fire finish it." He pulled the blade free. I dropped beside Mother, my blood running into hers. A torch spun through the air and hit the drapes. Flames leapt up the cloth like they'd been waiting all night. Smoke poured over the ceiling. "Sera!" Father's voice, far off. Three men held him back. He was still fighting them, boots skidding, hand stretched out toward me. I tried to crawl to him. My body wouldn't listen. My heartbeat stumbled. Once. Twice. Then it stopped. I felt it stop. It was such a small thing, a door closing softly in a house that had always been noisy. The roar of the fire faded. Even Father's screaming went thin, like it came from underwater. So this is what dying is. I wasn't afraid. That was the strangest part. Then hands hooked under my arms and dragged me across the stone. Heat licked my face. A man's voice snapped near my ear. "Orders were to bring her back breathing." "She's finished," said another. "Leave her." "Then I'm carrying a corpse. Nobody will mind." Cool night air hit me. I was being lifted, held against a chest that smelled of smoke and iron. Then the man went stiff. "...Her heart," he said, very quietly. "It's beating." "That's impossible. I watched her die." "I know." I knew it too. I had died. I had felt it. So why was my pulse hammering against a stranger's arm? Why did the pendant at my throat burn hot enough to light the smoke gold? And why, in the dark where Wren used to be, did something else slowly open its eyes?