In the five years since she had been brought into the Silver Ridge Territory, Victoria had resorted to the silver cane only once. It was a thrashing so brutal that Avery’s wolf had whimpered in the dark, and her body had taken a full moon’s cycle to knit back together. Now, the cycle of cruelty was turning once more.

Avery bowed her head, the silence of the hall pressing in on her. Without a functioning voice to scream and without a pup to secure her rank, she was nothing but a ghost in the Montgomery line. The guard handed the silver-tipped cane to Victoria, who raised it high, the metal...