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Seven years ago, Peter was a very different person. He was shy and quiet, and though he had been all over the werewolf territories, he was naïve.

He was born into a family of nomadic wolves. His parents both had come from nomads and never once considered the idea of joining a pack. They didn’t care one way or the other about the Goddess or the Alphas. They were just very curious.

They traveled to see, touch, taste, and experience everything they could.

If a pack invited them in to stay and experience the culture, they did, and after a few days, they left. They marked it on their maps if they encountered a particularly hostile group. They avoided traveling through the more frequented parts of those territories.

Peter never knew a life different than his own.

The Goddess was more of a fairy tale than a deity. He only really heard about her in passing as they traveled from place to place. He had asked his parents about her a few times, but they knew just as much as he did.

They knew of the mate bond, but they had never experienced it. They chose each other, as had their parents before them.

So were the first fifteen years of Peter’s life. Just him and his parents, traveling and learning about the world around them. They made no real connections with anyone for more than a day or two. Only staying in one place for a week at the most.

But for some reason that Peter had never learned, they did something very strange shortly after his fifteenth birthday. They joined a caravan of sorts, a group of four other families of nomads traveling together.

Peter was curious about the change but was also excited about the other wolves his age. There were five other teenagers and two children.

For two weeks, they enjoyed themselves. They danced and laughed, and Peter made friends for the first time. They had even given him a nickname. Petey.

But almost everyone was dead by the first morning of the third week. Killed by rogue wolves that had attacked the camp in the very early hours of the morning.

Peter, four other teenagers, and one of the children were taken.

The rogues held them bound in the cage together for a week. They traveled during the night, and during the day, they made camp in dark caves.

At the end of the week, they arrived at a mountainside settlement. There were caves littering the mountain and rows of tents on the ground below.

When his parents had spoken of rogue wolves, they were always in smaller groups, feral and lacking in leadership. But looking around as they carried the cage up the small mountain path toward the caves, he knew his parents had been wrong.

There were at least two hundred wolves in this settlement. They were living together. Working together.

He didn’t have much time to observe anything else as the cage was carried into a dark cave. No torch was lit, and no light made its way to them from the entrance.

Peter had no idea how long they stayed alone, bound together in the cold darkness. But it was long enough that more than one of them had lost control of their bowels.

Eventually, someone came, bringing a torch with them. They separated the group into three cages. Peter was placed with the child; he didn’t know him well. Only that his name was Leon and that his older brother was the one that Peter had seen stabbed through with a spear as they had tried to run during the attack

Over several days, Peter did what he could to comfort Leon. They were given only small amounts of food and water. Peter shared some of his own to give Leon a more significant portion.

They still didn’t know why they were taken or why they were being kept alive.

Finally, one of the rogues returned. He looked at each of them carefully before choosing one of the others. She screamed as they dragged her away. She never came back.

Leon looked up at Peter, his green eyes filled with fear. Peter smiled and tried to reassure him they would be fine.

Over the next few nights, they were all taken. Only one of them returned. His face was swollen and bruised, he had open wounds all over his body, and he couldn’t speak. He didn’t survive the night.

The following night, it was down to Peter, Leon, and one other. The rogue stared at Leon, but Peter wouldn’t let him go.

The rogue pulled Peter out of the cage and shoved him to move along. Peter closed his eyes and did as he was told while Leon screamed and cried for him.

He was thrown out into a ring. Dirt and stone all around him with an audience of at least one hundred. But before he could wonder for too long about it, someone else entered the ring.

It was a rogue child no more than ten years old.

There was a sound like a horn, and the child shifted into his wolf, charging at Peter. It was then that Peter realized what was happening. He and the others were brought here for a particular purpose. They were training the child and using Peter and his friends to do it.

Peter did not have much experience fighting. But he was fast and creative. He dodged and avoided the wolf repeatedly until he could grab a handful of dirt, throwing it into the wolf’s eyes. When the wolf let out a soft whimper, Peter picked up a rock and swung with all his might, hearing a loud and sickening crack as the rock hit the wolf’s skull and the wolf hit the ground.

Peter survived the fight, but the rogue child did not.

It was clear that the rogues were angry. Peter had no way of escaping them. He was beaten and thrown back into his cage.

He was dizzy and weak. He felt the world slipping away. But the screams from Leon drew the last bits of consciousness in him. He saw as the rogue that had beaten him ran Leon through.

There was a soft gasp and then a whisper that barely left his lips.

“Petey…”

Leon fell to the ground, landing on his knees, and slumped to the side. His lifeless green eyes stared into Peter as the darkness closed on him.

Peter gasped as his eyes opened wide and shot forward in his chair, stopping painfully by the seatbelt across his chest.

“Bad dream?” Alice asked, keeping her eyes on the dirt road they were driving.

Peter took a deep but shaky breath.

He let out a soft scoff and swallowed.

“More like a haunting,” he whispered, laying back in his seat.

Alice nodded.

“I’m quite familiar with the feeling,” she replied. “I’m sorry.”

Peter clenched his jaw and took a deep breath.

“How familiar are you with my ghosts?” he asked.

Alice smiled.

“A little bit of a lot of things,” she whispered. “I know that you were a nomad. I know that you were captured by Torgen’s Rebellion.”

Peter swallowed.

Torgen’s Rebellion. A charismatic wolf from one of the outer packs, he believed he was meant to be an Alpha of a great pack but was born in the wrong place. He blamed the Goddess for cursing his birth.

He could not gather much in the way of followers among the average wolves. But the rogues, though not usually willing to be led, were starving. The great packs were hunting them down, and they were running scared. Torgen promised them that he would lead them to the lands of milk and honey.

“I know that you were the only survivor Corrine and her Valkyries were able to find.”

Peter turned to look out the window.

“No one was supposed to know,” he whispered. “Corrine promised–”

“I didn’t learn anything from Corrine,” Alice interrupted. “She would never break her word.”

“Then how?” Peter asked.

Alice took a deep breath.

“From Torgen.”

“What?”

“He wasn’t a random outer pack wolf,” she said. “He was a Spring wolf.”

“What?!”

“Gorn needed Winter to keep their attention away from Spring, so he sent Torgen to lead the rogues into rebellion,” she said. “I didn’t know him personally; I was hidden in the chandelier as he gave his report.”

“I thought he died in Luna Corrine’s raid….” Peter whispered.

“He ran, before Corrine had even reached the caves,” Alice replied. “And he never left Gorn’s manor. Once his report was done, his throat was slit by Holden.”

Peter couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Spring… is there no line they won’t cross?” He sighed.

Alice swallowed.

“You have no idea,” she whispered.