Page 2

The timing can't be coincidence. A rare invocation of the Mating Lottery, mysterious attacks... something is wrong in Silvercreek. Something big enough to make them desperate enough to summon even me back.

My hands shake as I begin closing up shop early, mind racing through options. I could run—but where? Pack law is clear about the consequences of refusing a formal summons. I'd be marked as a rogue, hunted by every pack in North America. Everything I've built here would be destroyed.

I'm still weighing impossible choices when the bell above my door chimes one final time.

I don't need to turn around to know what I'll find.

The energy in my small shop has shifted dramatically—the air suddenly thick with power, dominance, and the faint wild scent that clings to all shifters.

My magic rises instinctively in response, setting the dried herbs swaying in a nonexistent breeze.

"Already closing up for the day?" The voice is familiar, though deeper than I remember. "That's convenient."

I take a steadying breath before turning to face my visitors.

Four wolves fill my doorway, their presence overwhelming in the small space.

Fuck—they even brought an Elder, Dynastes, who stands at the front, his once-dark hair now streaked with Elder's silver. The years have added gravitas to his bearing, but his eyes are still kind beneath their determination. Beside him lingers the hulking, blonde form of Thomas Ennes, Nic’s best friend besides my brother. He’s likely now the Alpha’s right hand.

Damn it all. I can’t escape them. They’d be on me in a heartbeat.

The other two are younger, faces I don't know. Their stances scream "enforcer," and their expressions hold the barely concealed disdain I remember all too well. One of them wrinkles his nose at the herb-laden air.

"Dynastes, Thomas." I keep my voice steady, professional. "I wasn't expecting a pack delegation today.”

"Luna." Dynastes’ voice is gentle but firm. "You received the summons?"

I gesture with the crumpled paper. "This unprecedented interruption of my life?

Yes, I received it. Though I'm surprised, the mighty Silvercreek Pack bothered with paper at all. Sending four wolves to collect me seems more your style. You could have come without warning. What could I have done to stop you?”

The younger enforcers bristle at my tone, but Dynastes holds up a hand to calm them. "The Lottery isn't unprecedented. It's tradition."

"A tradition no one has used in half a century," I counter.

"Why now? And why include me? I'm not even—" I catch myself before saying not even pack . The words still hurt too much. “I have my own life here. And you can’t seriously believe anyone, least of all the Alpha, would appreciate my involvement in this mess.”

"The Council's decisions aren't for us to question," the taller enforcer says, taking a step forward. "Every pack member in the age range must participate. You never joined another pack—legally, that means you’re still ours. You'll come with us now."

My magic flares at the implied threat, rattling the jars on their shelves. One of the young wolves growls in response, but Dynastes silences him with a look.

"Touch me without permission, and you'll learn exactly what a witch can do to a wolf," I say softly, letting my power color my voice.

The enforcer steps back, uncertainty flickering across his face. “We know you have no shift. You can’t win this.”

Thomas speaks for the first time, his familiar voice still catching me off guard, even though I never forgot it.

How could I forget how it sounded when he laughed at me, along with everyone else, jeering and mocking?

The mind never lets go of the sound of cruelty.

I hear it in my nightmares every night. "Luna, be rational.

No one wants this to become... difficult. "

I almost laugh. My entire life has been difficult for the pack. My birth had been difficult, my magic had been difficult, my very existence had been difficult. And now they have the audacity to demand my return?

"I have responsibilities here," I say, gesturing to my shop. "Clients who depend on me. A business to run, rent to pay. I can't just abandon everything because the pack suddenly decided to revive some archaic tradition."

"Arrangements will be made," Dynastes assures me. "The pack will compensate for any losses in your absence. We’ll make sure your life doesn’t suffer for your responsibilities back in Silvercreek. But you need to come with us now, and we’re not afraid to make you.”

"The pack needs you," Thomas adds—forceful, but not unkind.

The pack never needed me before, I think bitterly. You were all more than happy to let me leave, desperate and friendless and hurt.

But I know resistance is futile. Running from a pack summons means becoming a true outcast, hunted and alone. They’ll find me and drag me back and never let me go again. I've built too much here to risk losing it all.

I square my shoulders, channeling every ounce of confidence I've gained in the past five years. "I need thirty minutes to properly close up shop and pack a bag."

The younger wolves start to protest, but Thomas nods. "Thirty minutes. We'll wait outside."

As they file out, my hands shake as I rush through my closing routine.

I seal jars of fresh tinctures, cover drying herbs, and write detailed instructions for my assistant about pending orders.

Every movement feels heavy with finality, though I tell myself this is temporary.

Just a few days to humor some pack tradition, then I can return to my real life.

I try to behave as if this is any other day. I try to hold myself together.

My fingers brush the small leather pouch of protective herbs I keep under the counter—my mother's last gift. I slip it into my pocket, along with the crumpled summons.

In the back, lugging a small suitcase onto the stairs up to my tiny apartment, I pack quickly—clothes, toiletries, my mother's grimoire, and my own notebook of recipes and spells. My magic hums beneath my skin, restless and anticipatory. It’s behaving as if it knows something I don’t.

The drive to Silvercreek will take hours. Hours to prepare myself to face Nic again, to walk back into the world that rejected me. Hours to figure out why my magic is thrumming with anticipation instead of fear.

But I refuse to dull myself again, I think, even now. I refuse to stifle myself until I’m almost nothing at all. It almost killed me last time—I won’t do it again.

Fine, I think, following the wolves to their waiting SUV. You want me back? You're going to get all of me—spite, magic, and all.

The shop door locks behind me with a final, decisive click.