After her fated mate rejects her and her pack erases every trace of her existence, a werewolf is left with nothing but the memory of their betrayal. She returns determined to make those who cast her out answer for what they did.
He'd called me Rennie since I was six. Month four, I found the boathouse on the north edge of the territory. One room, a wood stove, a window that looks at nothing but water. I swept it out, dragged a mattress in, stole a kettle from a pantry, nobody even for atries.
Let's see how long it takes them to notice. Spoiler, I lived there eight months. Eight months. Nobody knocked on my bedroom door in the main house.
Nobody wondered why my closet emptied one hanger at a time. The night I broke was the night of the alliance dinner. I put on the green dress. I sat down at the table. My father raised his glass and said,
To my children, Asher, Declan, Colton. And then he named three. Asher, Declan, Colton. The fourth chair was occupied. The fourth child was holding a fork.
I got up, walked out, and threw up in a hedge in a $2,000 dress. That was the night I went down to the archive. Every wolf in a founding pack has a registry file. Births, rankings, betrothements, the whole obscene ledger.
Mine was in the third cabinet, thin as a napkin. I opened it under a dying bump at 2 a.m. Last entry, my father's handwriting. Dated my 17th today.
Rejected by Drexen Air. No further action. That was it. I sat on the archive floor holding eight words and understood, finally, completely, that I was a line
So I took the file, walked out with it, and no one stopped me. Because no one saw me.