Prologue
TWO MONTHS AGO
Nothing ever changes in a small town. Or in a werewolf pack.
It’s the first thing you learn when you’re born into a life like mine—the comfort in cookie-cutter suburban houses packed with predators. The repetition. The tradition. And if it’s not clear the first time, it’ll eventually sink its claws in, over time.
There’s no escaping it, after all.
Just like there’s no escaping the disappointed look my father gives me nightly at this point in my life.
We are safe as long as we are strong.
Which only makes it glaringly obvious what a burden I am. Being what I am.
Or, should I say, what I amnot.
“I don’t know why it’s so tough for you,” Dad repeats, hands shredding his hair from his skull in frustration. “We came here so you’d feel less pressure. Are you sure there was nothing? Were you trying hard enough?”
Nothing. I’ve gotten used to it.
I shake my head and adjust my weight from foot to foot like it makes me stand taller. “Sorry, Dad.”
His words tell me not to be sorry, but his demeanor speaks a different story. “It will happen. You’ll shift when it’s the right time.”
I’m sure he doesn’t believe that anymore. Not really. I am the one wolf in Ironwood who hasn’t changed into her wolf form, and I’m the one who absolutely needs to.
I bite down on another apology.
Does he think I don’t want to shift?
It’s not the same for me as it is for everyone else. And the borders of the town, the flowers lining our front walk, are a reminder that we came here for a fresh start and more space.
Suburbia will help me shift, so says the alpha—my dad—and James Thornton is never wrong.
Our entire pack lives in the gated community we built from the ground up, surrounded by high fences and with plenty of open plots to shift in safety.
“You’re a teenager.” Dad paces the length of the fireplace, the gentle flames comforting instead of warming. “Sometimes the change doesn’t happen until after puberty. It’s rare but it does happen. Even to an alpha’s daughter.”
“What if it never happens?” My fingers clench the water glass hard enough to shatter it.
Instead of cleaning up glass shards, I set it on the side table, the greasy fingerprints at stark odds to the neatness of the rug. Even the lines of the couch follow the strict guidelines set out by the pack alpha.
There isn’t a thing out of place from the fringe to the furnishings. Only me.
“What if I never shift, Dad?” I ask again.
“You will.” It’s the only thing he insists on tonight.
His muscles tense into rigid notes, dark hair mussed from his agitated fingers.
“You’ve been under a lot of pressure recently.”
“Because I don’t belong.” He must see it. Right? “Because I’m out of place.”
“We all feel that way from time to time.”
Goosebumps race over my skin, a product of nerves. “You’re not listening to me.”