Danger.
An insistent whisper that pierces a cloud of dreams and memories, a place I cannot escape.
But it fades, and the urgency within it does too.
"You'll be Alpha one day, Lucas. You'll have to learn to put your people first."
"But Father, that has nothing to do with blackberry pies." Clinging to a branch high above my father's head, I'm refusing to come down and face punishment.
Kellan's already been taken by his father, the scary-faced Jericho. Me? I ran my blackberry-stained face into the forest, knowing Father—the pack Alpha—would tan my hide for stealing a few pies.
Mom always did love to bake.
"Those pies were to go to the widows of last night's raid," Father says, his face fading and blurring from view.
Danger, that strange voice whispers again, and I sit up on the branch, no longer five years old.
I'm older now, but still a child.
