The plea died on my lips. The fortune I offered meant nothing.

My father was dying, and my pack was at war.

I looked from the Healer's helpless face to Harper's urgent one, the two halves of my soul tearing in opposite directions. The choice was a blade in my gut.

“Tell him I'm coming,” I whispered, the words tasting like ash.

I gave my father's still form one last, agonized look, then turned and followed Harper out, leaving a piece of my heart in that sterile room.

The journey to the eastern border was a descent into a different kind of hell. If the chaos near the Grand Mansion...