Page 1

PROLOGUE

AGE NINE

Billy was sad. The teacher should’ve known just by looking at him. The way his head was bent, eyes focused on his hands. How he kept sniffling as he tried to keep the tears at bay. I’d learned to match the way people looked with their feelings. Because if I saw it before I felt it, I could sometimes make my shields stronger. But others, I wasn’t fast enough.

Like now.

I’d been listening to Ms. Meyer talk about molecules, watching her draw them in a rainbow of colors on the whiteboard, and I hadn’t seen it in time. Billy’s sadness reached out with icy claws that tried to shred my chest. His hurt wanted to make a home in me, like I’d called to it in some way.

But my mom always said I couldn’t let it in. That if I took on the world’s pain, it would drown me. So, instead, I hid that I could feel it all.

We hid a lot, Mom and me. Like what our real names were and who we were running from. Like the fact that I was half wolf and half caster. But most of all, that I couldn’t just take on the world’s feelings. I could heal them. Only if I wasn’t careful, that healing might make it so I never woke up again.

“Sarah,” Ms. Meyer began, pulling me out of my thoughts—thoughts that weren’t on her lessons at all. “Can you tell me what part of the atom electrons circle?”

I clenched my hands, my fingernails digging into my palms. The pain helped sometimes. If I could give myself that, it would distract me from the hurt hitting my shields.

But Billy was so sad. I didn’t know why. I never got the why . I just knew the emotion. Sometimes, I could even name it before the person experiencing it did.

My head started to pound, like it always did when there was too much.

“Sarah?” Ms. Meyer asked, crossing to my desk. “Do you have a headache?”

My mom told her I got them, just like she told every teacher I’d ever had. If it got to be too much, I was supposed to ask to go to the nurse. But I’d already missed half a day this week. I didn’t want to miss another.

I took a deep breath and focused on my heartbeat the way Mom had taught me. “My Little Wren, listen to the song inside you. As long as you hear your voice, you’ll always be able to come back to yourself.”

I heard the bah-bump, bah-bump, bah-bump of my heart. I listened to the song that was mine alone. And then the headache and pain in my chest began to ease.

Slowly, I opened my eyes. “The electrons circle the nuclei.”

Ms. Meyer’s lips twitched. “Sometimes, I need to close my eyes to think of the answer, too.”

“Weirdo,” Tara muttered from behind me and to the right.

My shields were already up, so I couldn’t feel her anger and hate. I was used to that coming from her. Knew that I needed to guard and block because ugly feelings lived in her—not just toward others but for herself.

“Tara,” Ms. Meyer warned. “We don’t name-call in this class.”

Tara just let out a huff of air in response.

“All right. Now, who can tell me—?” A knock cut off Ms. Meyer’s words. “Come in.”

The door opened tentatively, and Ms. Alder, the school receptionist, stood in the entryway. Her face was pale, and her eyes were wide. The image said fear, even with my shields up. She swallowed, her throat struggling with the action. “We need Sarah in the office.” Her gaze darted to me and then quickly away again.

Sarah. That was me.

I had to remind myself of the name I was supposed to answer to. It changed so often—every time my mom decided we’d been someplace too long. It was hard to keep up with.

Ms. Meyer nodded, a hint of worry passing over her expression. “Of course. Go on.”

Tara made a snickering sound behind me, but I ignored it. All I could think about was the look on Ms. Alder’s face. Fear. Shock. Those weren’t good emotions. They were the kind that clawed and sliced when I let them in.

I did what I always did. I searched for the reason. I was always trying to find the source. Because if I found that, maybe I could fix the feelings in another way—some way that wouldn’t end with me never waking up.

My worn sneakers squeaked against the linoleum as I wove through the desks to get to Ms. Alder. The moment I reached her, she put a hand on my shoulder.

Comfort.

That was what she was trying to give to me. That knowledge only made me more nervous, my stomach doing dips and whirls. I swallowed, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth.

I glanced up at her as she guided me down the hall. “What’s wrong? ”

It took everything inside me to ask the question. Because I knew the answer could be bad. Had someone figured out one of my secrets? My supernatural side?

Mom had worked with me not only on my shields but also on how to hide my scent. The one that told other supes I was a hybrid. Because if they knew that, there was a chance they could tell my father.

The person we were running from.

Ms. Alder’s jaw clenched so hard it looked like it might pop right out of the socket. “There are some people here who need to talk to you.”

My stomach sank. I pictured humans in lab coats ready to drag me away. To experiment on me because I was different.

But as we rounded the corner, I saw something else. There were two police officers dressed in their typical blue uniforms, guns on their belts. And a woman in a suit who didn’t quite fit right, her frizzy hair pulled back into a bun.

My stomach twisted again, my mind trying to put the pieces together. But before I could, that woman was striding forward. She had a gentle smile on her lips. “Hi, Sarah.”

I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t.

The woman’s smile wavered a bit. “Why don’t we sit down?”

Ms. Alder’s hand left my shoulder, replaced by the woman’s as she guided me toward a bench outside the school office. The one you sat on when you were in trouble and waiting to see the principal. I’d never sat on it before.

As I lowered myself to the seat, the cold from the metal seeped through my jeans. I didn’t look at the woman or the police officers speaking in hushed tones. I stared straight ahead, focused on the second graders’ art projects lining the walls above the blue lockers. They were self-portraits. All different shapes and shades.

I tried to examine each and every one, to see the feelings in them. To understand them.

“Sarah,” the woman cut into my thoughts. “I’m Maggie. ”

It was rare that adults gave me their first names. The use of hers now made me wary and on edge.

“I work with the police when children are involved in a case.”

My gaze snapped to her, but still, no words came.

“I’m so sorry, Sarah, but your mom passed away this morning. She’s with the angels.”

A buzzing sound lit in my ears. It intensified with each second that passed, making my whole body vibrate with it. “No.”

The word wasn’t a whisper, but it wasn’t a shout either. It was a demand. An order for this woman to tell me she was lying.

“I’m so sorry, Sarah.”

I hated her saying the words over again. I hated her sorries . And I despised her use of a name that wasn’t even mine.

“We were able to locate your father. We know you haven’t seen him for some time, but he wants to be here for you now.”

My spine snapped straight. Fear, thick and black, spread through me as I heard the soles of someone’s dress shoes clicking on the linoleum.

No. No. No.

I barely remembered my father. Quick snapshots. I mostly remembered my mother’s screams—the ones she let loose as he hit her.

But Mom showed me his photo once a month. That, along with pictures of his closest enforcers. All the people I needed to know so I could run if I saw them.

Only now, there was no option to run.

The man stepped into the artificial glow of one of the overhead lights. His sad look was just as fake as the light above him. I knew it just by looking, but I could feel it, too—the sliminess pushing against my shields.

Some part of me knew that if I let my protections down around this man, he would end me.

His dark, almost-black hair gleamed under the false light. It was perfectly arranged, just like the suit he wore. Too perfect. His dark eyes cut to me. “Fleur.”

My stomach cramped. I hadn’t heard that name in years. There were times I longed for it, craved to simply be myself again. But hearing it now? It didn’t fit. Not anymore.

The man took a step closer. “Don’t worry, Little Flower. I’ve got you now. And I’m going to take you home where you belong.”

Icy dread coursed through me as my wolf pushed to the surface. She wanted to be free, to run fast and far from Bastian Boudreaux, my so-called father.

I should’ve listened to her.