Julia
The air at the northern border doesn't smell like freedom anymore. It smells like iron, wet earth, and the cold, antiseptic scent of oncoming winter.
I stand on the ritual Dais of Surrender, my feet numb against the frost-rimed stone. Behind me, the Great North Woods-my home, my cage-stretch out in a sea of jagged pines.
In front of me lies the Maw: the black, jagged mouth of the mountain pass that leads to Noctaryn, the kingdom of the vampires.
"Eyes forward, Julia," my father's voice rasps.
Alpha Rykor doesn't look at me.
He haven't looked at me since the moment the peace treaty was signed in the blood of our fallen warriors. To him, I am no longer a daughter; I am a currency.
I am the "Rare Lunar Healer" being traded to ensure the survival of a pack that never truly saw me as a person.
I keep my back straight, my chin tilted high enough to ache. My silver-streaked dark hair whipped around my face in the pre-dawn wind.
I refuse to tremble. If I am to be a war tribute, I will be a silent one. I will not give him the satisfaction of my fear.
"The King's envoy is late," Rykor mutters, his hand twitching near the hilt of his ceremonial blade.
He is anxious to be rid of me. The border war has left him weak, and a weak Alpha is a dead one. Selling me is his only way to retain his grip on the Moonfall pack.
"Maybe they realized a broken pack has nothing worth taking," I say, my voice steady despite the dry scratch in my throat.
He finally turns, his amber eyes flashing with a brief, feral heat.
"You have a gift, Julia. One the vampires covet. You will serve the King, and in return, our borders remain closed to his legions. Do not fail us with your pride."
"You didn't sell me for the pack, Father," I reply, meeting his gaze with a coldness that mirrors the frost at our feet. "You sold me for your chair. For your title."
…
The sound of hoofbeats-heavy, rhythmic, and terrifyingly synchronized-cuts through the fog.
From the shadows of the mountain pass, a contingent of riders emerges.
They aren't on horses; they ride massive, shadow-fleshed beasts with eyes like dying embers.
The soldiers wear armor of obsidian, so polished it reflects the gray morning light like a dark mirror.
In the center of the formation, a carriage of black iron and velvet rolls forward.
My heart hammers against my ribs-a frantic bird in a bone cage-but I keep my expression a mask of defiant numbness.
The carriage stops ten yards from the dais. A tall, pale man with a scar running through his eyebrow steps out.
General Cassian Wells. He doesn't look like a monster; he looks like a statue brought to life, cold and efficient.
"Alpha Rykor," Cassian says, his voice a low, melodic vibration that makes the hair on my arms stand up. "We are here for the tribute."
Rykor steps forward, his voice booming with a false bravado. "The Moonfall pack honors the treaty. Here is the healer, Julia Moonfall. As promised."
Cassian's eyes find me. He doesn't sneer. He doesn't leer. He looks at me like a master jeweler inspecting a diamond-calculating its value, looking for flaws.
"She is... smaller than the reports suggested," Cassian remarks.
"Her power isn't in her size," Rykor snaps.
I feel the heat of my gift beneath my skin, the faint glow that usually warms my palms when I heal the wounded.
Right now, it feels like a curse. I am being traded for my blood, for the very thing that makes me who I am.
…
"Move, Julia," Rykor commands.
I take a step. Then another. The space between the wolf territories and the vampire lands feels like a physical barrier, a line drawn in the dirt that, once crossed, can never be uncrossed.
...
I walk past my father. I don't look back. I memorize the scent of the pines and the sound of the wind, tucking them away in a corner of my mind where I hope they won't rot.
I reach the carriage. Cassian holds out a hand, not to help me up, but to guide me toward the dark interior.
"Where is the King?" Rykor calls out, his voice tinged with a slight tremor.
"The treaty stated the Sovereign would oversee the transfer."
Cassian looks back at my father, a thin, dangerous smile touching his lips. "His Majesty has many concerns, Alpha. He does not often travel to the mud of the borders for a single wolf."
I feel a strange spark of anger at that. To be sold is one thing; to be deemed unworthy of the buyer's presence is another.
"Wait," Cassian says, touching a finger to a small, dark stone set into his gauntlet. He tilts his head as if listening to a frequency I can't hear.
His expression shifts from cool indifference to sharp alertness.
The air around us suddenly changes.
The temperature drops five degrees in a heartbeat. The shadow-beasts whinny, their embers-eyes widening.
"Change of plans," Cassian murmurs, his gaze shifting back toward the mountain pass. "It seems the tribute has caught someone's attention after all."
The soldiers of Noctaryn suddenly drop to one knee, their armor clattering against the stone in a deafening, unified salute.
"His Majesty will inspect the tribute personally," Cassian announces, his voice dropping an octave. "He is only an hour away."
I look toward the black peaks, the dread in my stomach turning into something sharper, something more electrical. I have one hour of relative freedom left.
One hour before I meet the man who bought my life.