Susan Summers’ POV: My hand was buried in the freezing snow, a metallic taste of blood lingering in my mouth. Outside, the tribe celebrated the annual Moon Festival, but here I was, shackled by silver chains, waiting for the verdict on my fate. The full moon loomed over the Grayclaw Tribe’s totem pole, its cold glow slicing through my shattered spine like sharp arrows of light. “Confess!” My grandfather’s wolf claws shattered the altar beneath the totem, pieces of stone flying into my eye. “Swear on the blood moon that you pushed Cynthia down the stairs!” With great effort, I lifted my head, blood smearing my right eye and leaving only a blurry glimpse of the world. My father, Frank Lincoln, held a bone whip, its silver-studded nails gleaming ominously under the moonlight. It was the symbol of the Grayclaw Tribe’s firstborn. His fangs bared, his paws still stained with remnants of my fur. “Last chance,” my father growled, his voice low and menacing like a wolf’s howl. It was the oppressive power an Alpha holds over an Omega. “Admit you killed your unborn brother, and I will remove the chains.” Pain shot through my ankle like fire. The silver shackles devoured my ability to heal, and the skin around the wound was blackening with dark, infected blood. The agony cleared my mind for a moment, and I was taken back to the night before, to the full moon. I had been performing my duties as a servant, cleaning a room, when I accidentally saw my stepmother, Cynthia Mullen, applying something from a small bottle to her skin. The bottle released a powerful scent—pheromones I, as a werewolf, instantly recognized. It was the scent only wolves produce when they are pregnant. Why would Cynthia use this on herself? I didn’t dare ask. As an Omega, I had learned in the Grayclaw Tribe to keep my head down and focus on my tasks—survival meant staying unnoticed. I saw Cynthia glance at me, then hurriedly rush to the door. Moments later, she fell down the stairs, and somehow, I found myself here, bound to this cursed pillar, covered in strange runes. “Why did you push your mother down the stairs?” My grandfather’s voice seethed with fury. “We raised you, and yet—this worthless Omega—you would do this to us?” The surrounding wolves howled in anger. I struggled against the crushing pressure of the blood-scented air and managed to speak, “I didn’t! She jumped on her own! I found out her secret!” “Liar!” My grandfather’s sharp teeth were almost touching my open wound. His wolf fang necklace scraped against my collarbone. “You’re just like your Rogue mother—disgusting.” He mentioned my birth mother with utter disdain. A Rogue had once entered the Grayclaw Tribe, and after giving birth to me, she died. She had tainted Frank, the Alpha’s bloodline, by bearing an Omega, and my grandfather had never forgiven her. “This Omega not only harmed her own mother, who would’ve been Luna of the tribe, but she also killed the tribe’s future Alpha—my grandson! “She’s a traitor! She betrayed the tribe! She betrayed the family!” Grandfather pointed at me, shouting to the wolves surrounding us, “According to the laws of our kind, after the whipping, I give you permission to kill her with your bites and feast on her flesh!” The wolves howled in excitement and slowly closed in on me, their eyes gleaming with hunger, as they plotted where to start—where the flesh would be the most tender. Suddenly, snow began to fall more heavily, the icy crystals catching the moonlight like thousands of silver needles. I bit my lip, tasting my own blood—I couldn’t let myself cry. A werewolf’s tears would only spread the silver poison faster. But fear gripped me as I yearned for my mother. I never imagined that the terror of being torn apart by wolves would numb the pain of silver burning through my flesh. “Frank … ” Cynthia’s faint voice called out from the stone house, thick with a sugary sweetness. “Don’t be too hard on Susan. She’s just a pup; of course, she doesn’t understand. After all, she’s your blood … ” My father’s pupils dilated into vertical slits. I knew how much he hated hearing anyone mention that my blood came from him. The bone whip, studded with silver nails, cut through the air, and I heard the sickening snap of my left shoulder breaking. Dizzy, I thought I heard a voice deep within my soul calling out to me. “Susan, bite off the tattoo on your hand!” something called out. “You’re useless! You don’t even have the wolf spirit!” my grandfather spat, his saliva mixing with the snowflakes that hit my face. “You’re not even worthy of being a sentinel. Do you think you can be Grayclaw’s bloodline?” The pain of the bone whip tearing through my flesh was relentless, and the wolves around me eagerly waited for their feast. “Susan! Bite the tattoo on your hand! It’s the only way to save you! Do it now!” The voice echoed in my mind, urgent and desperate. I didn’t understand why biting my hand would save me, but in the brief moment before the whip fell again, I bit down on the tattoo that had always marked me. The force of it tore off a chunk of skin. That action drained the last of my strength. As my vision blurred and my consciousness faded, I saw eight beams of silver light explode from the southeastern sky. It was as though something had answered. My heart jolted with a powerful tremor, and the seal within me cracked open. A warm force surged through my veins, blooming like fiery flowers, sweeping away the silver poison that had been eating away at me.