PART I

PURGATORY

I was exhausted; with the two of us uncertain of our way, we halted on a plateau lonelier than desert paths.

Dante, Purgatorio

ONE

I COULDN’T SHUT OUT the screams. Darkness surrounded me. A terrible weight pressed into my chest, making me struggle for each breath as I lay drowning in my own blood. I sat up with a gasp, blinking into the shadows.

The screaming had stopped. The room became still, flooded with silence. I took a couple of painful swallows, trying to moisten my parched mouth. It took me a moment to realize that the screams had been my own, each cry clawing my throat until it was raw. I brought my hands up to my chest. My fingers moved along the surface of my shirt. The fabric was smooth, with no sign of rips or tears from the crossbow bolts. I couldn’t see well in the dim light, but I could tell this shirt wasn’t mine, or rather, wasn’t Shay’s borrowed sweater—the one I’d been wearing the night everything changed.

A blur of images rushed through my head. A blanket of snow. A dark forest. The pounding of drums. Howls calling me to the union.

The union. My blood grew cold. I’d run from my own destiny.

I’d run from Ren. The thought of the Bane alpha made my chest tighten, but when I dropped my face into my hands, another figure replaced him. A boy on his knees, blindfolded and bound, alone in the forest.

Shay.

I could hear his voice, feel the brush of his hands on my cheek as I’d slipped in and out of consciousness. What had happened? He’d left me alone in the dark for so long. . . . I was still alone. But where?

My eyes adjusted to the low light of the room. The cloudy skies filtered sunlight through tall leaded windows stretching the length of the opposite wall, tingeing pale shadows with a rose-hued gleam as I scanned the room for an exit, finding a tall oak door to the right of the bed. Ten, maybe fifteen feet from where I sat.

I managed to slow my breathing, but my heart was still pounding. Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I tentatively put weight on my feet. I had no trouble standing and felt each muscle spring back to life, coiled and taut, ready for anything.

I’d be able to fight, and kill, if I had to.

The sound of booted footsteps reached my ears. The knob turned and the door swung inward to reveal a man I’d seen only once before. He had thick hair, deep brown like the color of black coffee. The contours of his face were cut at strong, chiseled angles, slightly worn with lines and covered with the shadow of several days of unshaven, salt-and-pepper stubble—neglected but still appealing.

I’d last seen his face seconds before he coldcocked me with the pommel of his sword. My canines sharpened as a growl rumbled deep in my chest.

He opened his mouth to speak, but I shifted into a wolf, crouching low, snarling at him. I kept my fangs in plain view, a steady growl rolling out of my throat. I hadtwo options: tear him to pieces or bolt past him. I was guessing I had only a few seconds to pick one.

His hand went to his waist, pushing back his long leather duster to rest on the hilt of a long, curving saber.

A fight it is.

My muscles quivered as I hunched down, angling for his throat.

“Wait.” He moved his hand off the hilt, lifting his palms in an attempt to pacify me.

I froze, stunned by the gesture and a little irked at his presumption. I wouldn’t be calmed that easily. After a quick snap of my fangs, I risked a glance toward the hall at his back.

“You don’t want to do that,” he said, stepping into my line of sight.

I answered with a growl.

And you don’t want to find out what I’m capable of when I’m cornered.

“I understand the impulse,” he continued, folding his arms over his chest, the sword in its scabbard. “You might get past me. Then you’ll run into a security detail at the end of the hall. And if you get past them—which I think you probably could, given that you’re an alpha—you’ll hit a larger group of guards at any of the exits.”

“Given that you’re an alpha.” How does he know who I am?

Still growling, I backed off, throwing a glance over my shoulder at the tall windows. I could easily smash through them. It would hurt, but as long as it wasn’t too high a drop, I’d survive.

“Not an option,” he said, glancing at the windows.

What is this guy? A mind reader?

“That’s at least a fifty-foot drop onto solid marble.” He took a step forward. I backed up again. “And no one here wants to see you get hurt.”

The growl died in my throat.

His voice dropped low and he spoke slowly. “If you’d shift back into human form, we could talk.”

I gnashed my teeth, frustrated, sidling along the floor. But we both knew I was feeling less sure of myself by the minute.

“If you try to run,” he continued, “we’ll be forced to kill you.”

He’d said it so calmly that it took a moment for me to process the words.

I let out a sharp bark of protest that turned to dark laughter as I shifted into human form.

“I thought no one here wanted to hurt me.”

One corner of his mouth crinkled. “We don’t. Calla, I’m Monroe.”

He took a step forward.

“Stay where you are,” I said, flashing my canines.

He didn’t come any closer.

“You haven’t tried to kill me yet,” I replied, still scanning the room for anything that would give me a tactical advantage. “But that doesn’t mean I can trust you. If I see that steel hanging from your belt move an inch, you lose an arm.”