Page 1

Chapter 1

Another two daysand he would've been over the border to neutral territory where the terrible reach of the Xyletian Empire held no sway. He would've been safe there. There were people waiting for him, survivors of the Ekdol invasion, elders and advisors who would know what to do in the chaos that had overtaken his country and the entire world.

His parents were dead.

There was no way Lars could've avoided witnessing the horrifying spectacle of their execution. It had been casted onto every viewscreen in the realm by the Empire; forced to their knees before being ripped to shreds by the fangs of rabid wolf shifters. The Emperor of Xyletia, their enemy and executioner, hadn't even been there to look them in the eye. An ignoble death for a king and queen.

And now the bodies of Lars's two best guards lay lifeless, their fur matted with blood. He peered out through a gap in the tarp covering the back of the truck where he was hidden, his heart pounding as the Xyletian soldiers prowled around the vehicle, shifted into their wolf forms, noses scanning over the crimson-spattered soil. He knew it would only be a matter of time before they detected him. If he ran, they'd probably kill him immediately.

What could he do? His people needed him. He couldn’t die yet, not here. Not before he could get revenge for his shattered nation.

One by one, the soldiers returned to their human forms, their dark shaggy fur morphing to become the infamous ink blue uniform of the Xyletian military. Gold collars hung around their necks bearing the vicious wolf skull emblem of the Feral Fangs, Xyletia's most feared and elite unit.

His mind raced, looking for a way out, a pathway to salvation. He felt the cold breath of death on his neck. He'd be knocking on that door momentarily if he didn't dosomething.

Human or wolf, a warrior's lethality was equal. As a wolf they had the natural tools of the animal: a host of enhanced senses, rapid healing and powerful steel-crushing jaws filled with razor-sharp fangs. As a human they could operate vehicles, firearms, and all the other instruments of civilization.

He was not a warrior.

If he’d been born an Alpha, he would've received combat training from the nation's greatest masters. Born a Beta, he would've studied with the best scholars, philosophers and politicians to join the ranks of the Ekdolian intellect. But Lars was born an Omega—a male Omega, the very rarest of the hierarchy of three. And so he'd been kept a secret.

Only the most trusted members of the inner court knew of his existence, which would be publicly announced when an appropriate mate had been found. Being born a male Omega meant that he was the royal family's greatest asset and an incredibly rare commodity. Male Omegas could bear children, and when paired with an exceptional Alpha, were known to produce offspring of great strength, talent and prowess. Alphas would burn cities to the ground if it meant a chance to claim an Omega prince.

The Hall of Heroes, before it was reduced to a pile of smoldering ashes, had enshrined the towering visages of Ekdol's most legendary figures. Lars knew all of their names. As a child, he'd spent hours there, playing at their feet. He knew that a great number of them were born to Omega fathers. His parents and the court of Ekdol had raised him to know only one future: mate with an honorable Alpha and bear a child who would eventually join the company of that hallowed space.

But Ekdol was in flames. His family was dead. And now he was facing what could very well be his last few moments on this earth.

"Search the truck," one of the soldiers said. "Use caution. They were guarding something."

They tore through the cabin, ripping it apart.

Lars heard everything being pulled out and tossed onto the ground. The tarp went next, revealing him sitting huddled in the corner, glaring defiantly back at them. They took him by his arms and threw him onto the ground, knocking the breath from his lungs. His cheek scraped against the gravel and was coated in wetness—blood, he realized, but not his own. The broken, shredded bodies of his former guards lay just a few feet away.

Coughing, he rose to his knees. Two of the soldiers produced rifles and aimed them at his head. "Just kill him already," one of them said.

They encircled him, their golden collars glimmering in the moonlight.

Would they know? Could they smell the Omega scent that lingered on every inch of his skin, so strong to the nose of a hungry Alpha? He'd always applied the salves and drank the bitter tonics the healers had prescribed, meant to mask his natural scent markers, but the last time he'd done so had been days ago.

Thank the heavens he wasn't in heat, or else his fate would be worse than death.

Lars could practically feel their breaths drawing in his scent, every lungful threatening to give him away. An icy sweat prickled his skin.

Hands clawed at the ragged tatters he’d donned in an attempt to disguise his identity. He instinctively clutched the opalescent stone pendant that hung around his neck, cut in the shape of three interconnected rings twisting inwards on themselves. It was a symbol of Ekdolian royalty, passed through every clan to take the throne, and the last vestige of that former life.

He was flung to the ground, his shirt torn. His chest dashed against the stone, cutting the soft flesh. Lars wasn’t used to pain. He’d lived a life always protected from physical harm, never allowed to do much of anything. He gritted his teeth, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. He squeezed the pendant, calling on all the strength it represented as the soldiers encircled him, their faces twisted with bloodlust.

Was this it? Was this how his life would end?

One of the soldiers pushed the sole of his boot down on the back of Lars's neck, grinding his cheek into the dirt. Past the men, the golden rays of the setting sun shimmered through gnarled branches of the ancient olive trees that lined the road.

To shift would mean being discovered. No amount of scent-masking tonic would be able to conceal him in his wolf form.

Through vision tinted with his sweat and blood, Lars saw the familiar silhouette of an Ekdolian finch alight on an olive branch. For a moment, everything that was happening to him seemed to fade into the background, and he thought of the days he'd spent bird-watching from the grand terrace. He'd no longer be able to count the birds with his mother, pointing out the particularly beautiful ones. She'd taught him all their names, identifying those that could only be found in the forests surrounding the royal residence. She kept an aviary filled with many rare species, but Lars felt that none of them could ever compare to those familiar creatures that felt like home.

The aviary had burned in the invasion.

He'd never see the beautiful birds of his country again.