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I stumbled to a stop, cursing under my breath.

I recognized the voice—Caleb Weaver, a wolf I’d gone to school with and one of Samson’s warriors.

I guess I wasn’t the only one trying to escape the party.

His comment struck a chord, but I refused to let the hurt show on my face as I smoothed my dress down over my more-than-generous curves.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

His smile was easygoing, like he hadn’t just caught me trying to slink away like a Sasquatch into the forest. “Wasn’t supposed to mean anything, Nayeli. Just wondering where you’re going and if you wanted some company.”

Uh, definitely not. But I didn’t say that to him so rudely. “No. I’m going home. I feel…uh…sick. Didn’t want to vomit at the party.”

“Oh,” His expression turned uncomfortable, just like everyone's did when they talked to me. “Well, if you stop feeling sick, some of us are going on a full moon run. Might hunt some rabbits or something. Just thought I’d extend the invite.”

I nodded too fast. He was probably only inviting me because it would be rude to leave the Alpha’s cousin out. “Wow, cool. But probably not. You know. Vomit, and all. Well…bye.”

I turned and practically sprinted for the trees, my face hot. Ugh, why was I like this? At least I was unlikely to be interrupted once I made it to my destination, and therefore, I could avoid any more social disasters.

It wasn’t a far hike, less than a mile. My parents’ property had bordered the Alphas' property for decades, and while I had inherited the land and house after their deaths, I still wasn’t brave enough to return to the place where we had all lived together.

I was twenty when they died, but I was an only child, and they were thrilled for me to still be living at home as I pursued my internship.

But while the house was still too painful for me to enter, there was another place on the property that I had made good use of. My safe place. The treehouse.

Dad and I had built it when I was twelve, right between two thick branches of a massive old oak that looked like they had grown for that exact purpose.

My father wasn’t a carpenter, but he’d overengineered the place so it would be safe for me, which meant it was much larger than a normal kid’s treehouse.

Where one plank was needed, he used two, just to be sure.

The roof had been rain-proofed, the floorboards sanded to avoid splinters, and he’d let me paint the inside whatever colors I wanted.

At twelve, I had been fully in my space phase, and the walls were painted in shades of purple, navy blue, and black, with twinkling white stars spread throughout.

Even now, as an adult, I have no urge to change it.

The obnoxious walls were a sweet memory and a precursor to how loud and unapologetic my fashion would become as an adult.

After my dad died, I couldn’t come here for a while, but it didn’t have the heartbreaking heaviness that the house did. Dad had built it for me, but after that, the treehouse became mine and mine alone.

Now, with a few upgrades for comfort, it became the place I came to practice my magic in private.

I’d been gathering spellbooks and the various items the beginners' books told me I needed—crystals, plants, incense, oils, and other witchy things. I’d successfully cast a few minor spells—small good luck charms and healing magic—but I’d been waiting for the full moon to try my first real spell.

When Kiera had told me that she’d scheduled Kit’s party for the full moon, I’d almost used the birthday as an excuse to chicken out and wait until next month, but after skipping out of the party early, there was no excuse.

I had the time, I had the moon, and I had the magic. But did I have the talent? It was time to find out.

I climbed the ladder up the side of the tree, pulling the string and ducking my head as the trap door opened. After getting myself inside, I brushed the cobwebs from my skirt, but didn’t bother shutting the trap door again. I’d be leaving in a few hours, anyway.

Waving a hand, I used my magic to light the candles that filled the space.

My shelves that used to hold childhood treasures were now lined with mismatched glass jars, feathers, rune stones, and books—so many books, half of them dog-eared.

I’d carried a soft plush rug and some pillows up to sit on months ago, and there was a short, squat table that had been here for years.

In the very center of the table, surrounded by symbols drawn with white chalk, was the spell I’d been preparing.

It was a magic amplifying spell to help me reach my full potential.

As an Omega, I should have gotten a power boost from my mate, but Scott had rejected me, making it impossible for me to access all of my magic capabilities.

Well, I was going to show him and everyone else that I didn’t need a mate for anything.

It had taken weeks, but I’d done it. Every item was laid out exactly as instructed—crushed star anise, moonstone, bloodroot, and a slip of paper etched with runes I’d copied from a spellbook so old that the dust from its pages had made me sneeze. In the center of it all was a dark red candle.

It wasn’t a dangerous spell. Not really. It was just something to enhance the magic that was already inside me. I didn’t want to stay stuck at the level of parlor tricks and candle lighting forever.

And okay, if I was being honest with myself, the idea of having real power was intoxicating.

It would make me more than just the geeky, oversharing, weird-dressing cousin of the Alpha.

It would make me someone to pay attention to in my own right, not just because of who I was related to…

or who I was supposed to be mated to, only to be rejected.

Scott’s stupid, handsome face floated in my memories, but I pushed it away. Scott Nevada was a mistake, and if I pulled this spell off, he’d spend the rest of his life regretting his decision to toss me aside. A powerful mate was everything that an Alpha wanted, but he’d had his chance.

Settling in front of the table, I crossed my legs, took a steadying breath, and struck a match. I couldn’t use my magic to light this candle; I needed to do it with intention.

“Let’s see what I’m made of,” I whispered, touching the match to the candle wick. “Sorry for using the treehouse as a witch's hut, Dad.”

The candlelight flickered, growing larger as it absorbed the beams of moonlight pouring in from the treehouse windows.

My magic shimmered beneath my skin in response, ready for whatever I asked of it.

A wind blew through the treehouse, coming from nowhere, and some dark thread within my magic resonated.

Huh. That was new. Must be part of the spell.

I murmured the incantation under my breath, raising my hands over the candle, palms toward the flame. At first, it was beautiful. The candle flames burned brighter, almost white-hot, as the charm began to lift into the air between my palms.

But then… something shifted. That dark thread wrapped around my spine like hundreds of tiny claws sinking in.

It was barely a blip in the overall feeling of the spell working, but it was totally different from anything I’d felt so far.

It had to just be an aspect of the spell, something that popped up with stronger magic, not the tiny spells I’d tried before this.

I pushed forward, continuing my chant, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling.

Bit by bit, I became more anchored in the spell, and I could feel the change inside of me, my magic burning brighter and brighter. But with each success, memories started to creep in, unwelcome and distracting.

They were harmless, at first. Bittersweet. My mother’s laugh, the way my dad used to scratch his head when he was thinking. My parents were never far from my mind, so that wasn’t much of a surprise.

The next face to drift across my consciousness, though, instantly made me angry. It was Scott, again, his mouth curved into that know-it-all smirk. Why him? Why now?

My concentration wavered, the image of Scott in my mind becoming clearer as the magic started to slip through my fingers. No! He wasn’t going to take this away from me!

But the harder I tried to push him away, the more his memory persisted.

The dark thread of magic pulsed, and I could feel everything starting to spiral out of control.

I was so sure that I’d gotten over Scott’s rejection and that I was coming into this spell with a clear mind, but he was ruining my chances without even knowing it.

I lowered my hands closer to the flame, unbothered as the heat became painful, and used all my mental strength to banish Scott from my mind and force the spell back under my control. It fought me, starting to spiral, the previously graceful candle flame flaring chaotically.

It was almost like I could feel him. Like I could sense him so close that it was interfering with my magic. But that was impossible…wasn’t it?

A pit formed in my stomach, and I opened my eyes, desperate to reassure myself that I was really alone.

The figure standing in the treehouse shocked me to such a degree that I gasped, and in that moment, I completely lost control of the spell.

It was, of course, Scott Nevada. The man who had once looked me in the face, scented me, knew what I was to him—and rejected me anyway. He was right there, in my secret place, the one piece of the world I was supposed to be able to escape pack politics and nonsense.

He looked…different, I realized, as the magic slipped away to swirl around the room.

Scott was always grinning, relaxed, and aloof.

Tonight, though, he looked wild, dark, and furious.

I moved to extinguish the candle to stop the spell, but the flame grew impossibly high.

Before I could do anything, the magic, still connected to the very core of me, coalesced into a single entity, sharp like a spear—

And hit Scott directly in the center of his chest.