Prologue
The horrible sensation dredges up an old memory I had long forgotten. I was only a child, maybe eight years old at the time. I had woken up in the middle of the night, unable to move a muscle or make a noise. Silent tears soaked my cheeks as I hoped and wished my dad would come and find me and make the awful feeling of being locked in my mind go away.
The next morning, when I had reawoken, this time to the sun shining through the gaps in my jungle-themed curtains, it felt like nothing more than a bad dream. The nightmare had faded into the recesses of my mind, and this was the first time I’d thought of that night since.
This feels almost the same but different. It’s worse somehow that I can open my eyes and look around the room, but my muscles are frozen in place.
In my periphery, the flames are spreading along the carpet, licking at the hem of the curtains, hundreds of fiery tongues eating through the fabric rapidly. Too rapidly. My eyes close instinctively, the thick, relentless smoke making them red-raw.
If I’m lucky, the smoke will kill me before the fire does. Bile rises up my oesophagus at the thought of being awake when the flames engulf me. I’ve never considered myself to be particularly morbid, rarely dwelling on how I might eventually die. In contrast, I currently find myself evaluating and ranking what kind of death would be preferable over another. In the face of being burned alive, I can confirm that I would take most of the alternatives right about now.
Except maybe a death involving a deadly spider—I really hate spiders.
With nothing to do but lie here and wait for it all to be over, my overactive brain won’t switch off. I find myself praying the authorities discover my body before he does. Nobody should have to find their loved one’s charred remains in the bed they shared together.
Part of me regrets that we argued earlier, and he’s pissed off with me, but that’s why I’m alone while he’s out running off his bad temper. I've also never been so grateful for his short fuse because, although it won’t be fun to die here by myself, it would be a hundred times worse to watch him suffer by my side. He’ll be furious with me for dying before him, but I’m grateful he’ll have a long life ahead of him.
When I reopen my eyes, the curtains are fully ablaze. The bedroom window makes a loud cracking noise, shattering from the intense heat. I try to take deep breaths, inhaling as much of the smoke as I can, willing it to end my life before the fire does. My chest rattles when I cough, and my eyes burn and water furiously.
Closing my eyes once more, I decide it’s probably best to keep them that way. All I can do is wait and see what takes me first—the smoke or the flames.
Part I
One
March 2022 - Present Day
Phoenix Campbell
The tension is so palpable it’s like a living, breathing beast sucking the air out of the room. I’m pretty sure outer space would be a less hostile environment. My older brother, Jasper, grips my knee to still my incessant leg bouncing.
God forbid the son of an Alpha show any sign of weakness.
The six of us have been sitting around this large oak table in some tiny village in Yorkshire for over seven hours. My mum, and also my Alpha, Juliette Campbell, sits poised without a hair out of place. Her honey-blonde locks are long but tied back into a ponytail today, making her face look more severe than usual.
“I’m sure you can appreciate that given the scandalyourdaughter caused during our last attempt at this, we need some assurances that there is a sufficient deterrent in place to prevent history from repeating itself,” my mum says to the other Alphaacross from her. Her voice is firm and doesn’t waver despite this being the fifth time she’s said precisely this in so many words.
Alpha Kelly is opposite her—in every sense of the word. His hair is almost as fiery red as his daughter Niamh’s, except for the smattering of grey starting to appear near his temples.
Where my mum has been educated within an inch of her life and holds three degrees plus a PhD, Alpha Kelly probably never finished high school and has made his living as a roofer. His face is weathered, but the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth show a man who has laughed and smiled for most of his life.
“As I’ve already said, I understand your concern. But surely you can appreciate I’m never gonna sign somethin' leavin' us solelyresponsible should anythin'prevent this weddin’ goin' ahead. I’ve agreed to keep Connor confined to his room until the weddin’ takes place, and I think that’s more than reasonable.” Alpha Kelly sounds exasperated, his Northern Irish accent getting stronger as he grows increasingly frustrated.
Heat crawls up my neck and along my cheeks with embarrassment. The implication that the only way Connor will go through with marrying me is if he’s kept prisoner until the big day is humiliating. When I glance up from the scuff mark I’ve been staring at on the table, I almost flinch at the expression on Connor’s face.
His piercing green eyes, once filled with affection for me, are absent of anything but venom. Where his hair used to be shaggy and unruly, he has it trimmed short now, only a bit of length on top. It makes him look older, emphasising his sharp features. I hate the physical reminder that an entire year has passed since I last laid eyes on him.
His intense gaze used to set me on fire from the inside out, but now it makes my heart feel like it’s pumping ice through my veins. I’ve never feared Connor, but today, I fear what he could say or do out of retribution. I’m not even worried about the harmit could causemebut the irreparable harm it could causeus.Connor doesn’t forgive others easily but is even less inclined to forgive himself.
I suppose I should be grateful; this time last year, his twin sister Niamh was sitting across from me. Day to his night. Where Niamh is sunshine personified, Connor is a storm. I have nothing against Niamh; she’s beautiful with her fiery red hair, freckled nose and dimpled cheeks, but I’ve only ever been interested in the boy she shares those green eyes with. After twelve months of absolutely no communication, I’d sooner be on the receiving end of his withering glare and snarky remarks than return to the radio silence.
Today marks the second attempt at forming a peace agreement between our two packs. Back in 1972, a series of arson attacks led to the deaths of every single wolf shifter in the Yorkshire Dales pack. It’s one of the worst tragedies in our recent history. My great-grandfather, who was Alpha at the time, accused the then Alpha of the Peak District pack of being behind the attacks, and they, in turn, accused us. With zero evidence, let alone forensic evidence, both packs came to the logical conclusion to begin a war with one another.
A year ago, my mum and Alpha Kelly sat down to hash out a peace agreement to put an end to the turf war. The main component was I married Alpha Kelly’s daughter, Niamh, and for us to build a pack together in Yorkshire. A day or two before the wedding was due to take place, much to my relief, Niamh ran off and married her childhood best friend, Will Locke.
The next twelve months saw an increase in trespassing and violence between the two packs, so that brings us to today, peace agreement 2.0.
Sighing deeply, I psyche myself up for what I’m about to propose. Both Alpha’s heads snap towards me at the sound ofmy interruption. The impulse to bear my neck is strong, but I clench my teeth until the need fades to the back of my mind.
