Page 2 of Traitor Wolf (Bonded by Fate Duet #1)

My fingers touched his toes. I touched him!

I scrambled to right myself and smooth my clothes.

Keeping my head lowered, I held my hands out, palms up, as protocol demanded.

I didn’t dare speak until spoken to. I barely breathed.

I had broken enough rules tonight. Touching a highborn without permission was a full twelve marks. I was dead if he reported me.

Public execution.

Dreg rats, as the Elite called us, were known to carry the pox, the plague, and the wet lung, and there was a reason we were not to touch the highborn.

My hands begin to shake with nerves. The thought of the cold, dark confinement of the mines would be a welcome relief compared to the public execution I was about to endure.

I risked a quick glance at the man and frowned.

He looked so young, early twenties. His hair was golden and slicked back across his head, and he wore a tight, tailored black suit to match his nice shoes.

His nose tilted slightly upward like most of the Elite class, and his skin was like a porcelain doll’s—he’d never worked out in the sun a day in his life.

He was so clean, not a scrap of dirt between his fingernails.

He fixed me with an inquisitive gaze, and for some reason, I couldn’t look away.

Twelve marks for me, and hanging by the rope come morning.

I noticed small black veins growing up the sides of his neck and wondered if it was his magic. Was he powering up to kill me? He eyed my bag and then the trash can behind me.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, his tone smooth and compassionate.

I’d met plenty of highborn before. They all spoke to my people with venom and hatred. He seemed different, and because he asked me a question, I was allowed to speak.

“I’m always hungry, sir,” I answered honestly.

“Please don’t report me. I fell. I didn’t mean to touch you.

I would never . I got the pox when I was five, and I have the marks to prove it.

I’m immune.” I pulled the sleeve of my shirt up to show the cluster of scars around my arm.

Once you got the pox, you were immune. Surely he would see I wasn’t infected.

If I had the wet lung or the plague, I’d be bedridden. I was healthy.

“I’m not worried about the pox,” he chuckled, and I blinked to make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. The black, vein-like magic was growing up his neck, closer to his face.

I wasn’t exactly sure what was happening. Was he going to report me? He seemed like he wanted to have a conversation, and I’d do that if it kept me from my death. He stumbled a bit backward then and began to pant.

I rushed forward, though careful not to touch him. “Are you okay?”

Something felt wrong.

I’d originally thought he was drunk, but his speech was normal. Now I wondered if he was ill.

“As okay as a man can be when he meets his death.” His voice was weak and resigned.

My eyes bugged. Death?

“What? Should I get help?” I eyed the back door of the party. If I did call for help, it would out me for sure, but the black veins were now clouding into the young, handsome man’s eyes as they turned the color of ink.

He stumbled until his back hit the wall and then slid downward, creeping slowly towards the ground until he was slumped at an odd angle.

“Help!” I yelled into the alleyway as I kneeled before the man.

He reached out and grasped my hand firmly. “No,” he commanded, and I froze, kneeling before him.

He touched me. The Elite didn’t touch the Dreg rats. Ever .

“What can I do?” I knew there were healers with magic. Maybe one of them was at the party?

He wouldn’t stop staring into my eyes, and now that his were completely black, it was unnerving.

At this closeness, I was able to glance down at the open collar of his shirt, and a gasp ripped from my throat when I saw the House of Draven heir mark on his chest.

He was one of the seven Elite ruling families.

“Lord, I didn’t know. I?—”

He hovered his palm flat over my chest, high up where my throat met my collarbone, and I flinched.

The heirs of the seven houses, like all highborn, were magic users, but this one was powerful enough to kill me with one touch.

The heir held the most magic in the family, and the heir of the House of Draven was known for particularly powerful magic.

There would be no use in fighting. I would miss my mother, my little sisters, and my brothers.

I felt regret that not only would they have to go to bed hungry tonight, but they’d have to mourn my death come sunrise.

If I were going to die, I would be brave; my mother had taught me that.

“Do your worst,” I told him through gritted teeth.

He smiled then, a radiant, white-toothed smile that only the Elite had.

Then he brought his palm down hard onto my chest. Shocks flew into my body like a million volts of electricity, but instead of pain…

I felt… power . A scream ripped from my throat, and my body began to vibrate.

Instead of draining my lifeforce, I felt ignited with…

magic. Strength poured through my skin like I was being bathed in the light of the Creator himself.

My entire body shook as my heart raced, and the whole time he held my gaze, breathing magic over me.

Purple, blue, and orange swirls of light arced off my body until I thought I might explode with power.

Was this how they killed? They filled you with their magic until you exploded?

Then, just as quickly as he’d started it, he pulled away, and the sensation left me. I sat there trembling, unsure what the Hades had just happened and what to do. He didn’t kill me, but he did something —what was that?

Slowly, he leaned in close to my ear, bringing the scent of sage and cedarwood with him. “You have been initiated into the Arcane Trials. Magic for all. Equality,” he whispered, and tucked a white note into my hand, before gasping for air.

“What?” I shrieked.

His black eyes met my gaze. “Tell her I loved her more than anything and to name him after her father.” With those final words, he collapsed, tongue rolling out of his mouth as he breathed no more. Tell who what? I was so confused .

What… just happened? What did he just say? Initiated! The Arcane Trials?

This isn’t happening…

The Initiation didn’t work on the lowborn, the magicless—not that anyone would try it. He must have been mistaken… Maybe he was drunk, and now he was dead!

I rushed forward, pressing my fingers to his neck. There was no pulse. I’d unfortunately dealt a lot with the dead. People in the Dregs often got sick or injured. I knew a lifeless body when I saw one. It was one of my jobs.

I sat frozen in shock as I processed what he’d just said.

Once every five years, an Elite heir from one of the seven houses either competed themselves or invited another magic user into the Arcane Trials.

The winner would get a new form of magic to pass on to their entire blood lineage.

It was a huge deal, and they did NOT waste it on magicless lowborns like me.

The Elite used it as a control. They sold the invitations to the highest bidder or gave them away to their powerful family members with the hope of gaining new magic.

Magicless lowborns did not get invited. EVER.

The letter shook in my hand, and I peered down at the wax seal. When I did, something on my chest caught my eye. A small glowing line peeked out of the top of my shirt.

A gasp ripped from my throat.

With shaking hands, I unbuttoned the top two buttons of my torn blouse.

“Hades!” I wheezed, stumbling backwards and falling onto my butt.

There, right at the base of my collarbone, was a glowing, delicate silver triangle tattoo.

The mark of a magic user . All magic users had a symbol on their chest, each one unique.

The invitation to the trials was said to leave a mark from the sponsor.

Inside the symbol that currently branded me was the House of Draven crest. A raven wing sat inside the triangle, burning a deep blue color.

Under that was a wolf’s paw print, the symbol of the Arcane Trials, a series of tests so deadly that you bound yourself to a wolfkin beforehand in order to have better chances of surviving.

What in the magicless Hades was going on here! I couldn’t wear this mark… I didn’t have magic.

I stared at the dark night sky in complete and utter shock. The letter felt like it was burning a hole in my hand, and so I opened it. I was lucky enough to have attended Dregs-born school until I was twelve, and so I could read the letter easily .

To the Chosen,

You have been formally selected by your Sponsor to enter the Arcane Trials, an honor few will ever receive, where the worthy claim power and the unworthy are consumed.

This ancient rite stands as the most powerful test of strength, will, and worth among the Elite. Victory will grant you a new branch of magic to pass down through your entire bloodline, altering your legacy forever.

Report to the Hall of Binding at 0800 sharp tomorrow to choose your weapon and bond to your wolf.

Failure to appear will result in disqualification and forfeiture of your Sponsor’s mark.

Stand with purpose. Bleed with pride. Rise with power.

With authority,

Magistrate Corvessa Solvaris

High Seat of the Trial Council

Aerly n

I stood, panting. I was in complete shock and denial. I, Brynn Brighton, a lowborn from the Dregs, was currently wearing a magic user mark and had been initiated into the Arcane Trials.

Holy Hades!