Chapter 2

Callie Waller POV:

Cortney stood over me. The monitor flatlined. 0 BPM.

He let out a long, shuddering breath. Then he laughed—low and ugly—and hit the mute button on the telemetry console so the alarm wouldn't reach the nurse's station.

"Clean and irreversible," he muttered.

I lay motionless under the white sheets, listening to the metallic click. Inside, the White Wolf core was still burning through its final fusion. I just needed a few more seconds.

Cortney turned to the control panel, adjusting his cuffs like a man who'd just closed a deal.

"The brokers from Shadow Isle demanded a female body with the ancient White Wolf bloodline," he said, blowing smoke at the ceiling. "Even a broken wolfless cripple—the faint genetic trace in your marrow is enough to suppress their master's fatal backlash."

I kept my breathing flat. Filed every word away.

"Word is, the Rogue they're buying you for is a convicted murderer named Cade Blake. Multiple organ failure, fractured wolf spirit, rotting in some damp basement in Blackrock Wasteland."

Cade Blake. No pack. Condemned for bloodshed. Left to die on the frontier.

"A dying murderer paired with a dead wolfless failure," Cortney sneered. "The Dark Mate Ritual was made for you two. Once both corpses are buried under the black stones, no one asks questions."

He reached down and tore the ECG leads from my collarbone, tossing the wires to the floor.

"Once that billion-crystal payment clears our offshore account, I'll clear every debt the Pack Council holds over my head. I'll buy Estefany that diamond-encrusted gown for her Golden Pack debut."

Estefany Vance. My stepmother's illegitimate daughter. She'd stolen my room, my mother's heirlooms. Now my father was using my corpse to fund her social debut.

"Your stubborn mother, Evelyn, refused to hand over her ancient herbal formulas and the Sinclair grove deeds." Cortney blew out another cloud of smoke. "Look where that got her. Dead in an icy ditch, while I run this family."

My mother's death. The mention sent a ripple of killing intent through my chest. The room temperature dropped several degrees.

Cortney shivered, pulling his lapels tighter. He glanced at the ceiling vents and muttered about faulty climate control.

"Whatever. Uncle Ken said the black market transport arrives at sub-basement two in twenty minutes. Time to wrap this up."

He dropped the cigar butt, ground it under his shoe. Then he stepped back to the bed and gripped the main oxygen conduit.

"Don't take it personally, Callie. In our world, genetics determine everything. You were born without a wolf—born to be a stepping stone."

His fingers tightened on the pipe. The pipe wall creaked slightly. Then he yanked backward with all his strength.

Snap!

The reinforced plastic coupling shattered. Residual air hissed into the cold room.

Cortney let out a long, shaking breath of relief. A grotesque smile spread across his face.

"Done. It's finally done. The wealth of the Waller Pack belongs to me."

He took two steps back and pulled a black satellite phone from his pocket, thumb hovering over the speed-dial for the underground mortuary team.

Before his finger could touch the glass, the air grew as heavy as molten lead.

The muted monitor stayed silent, but every fluorescent bulb in the ceiling began to flicker violently, buzzing with high-voltage static.

An ancient, primordial pressure—a sovereign dominance that surpassed any Alpha across the seven continents—surged from the bed and locked the room in an invisible vice.

Cortney's thumb froze mid-air. The blood in his veins turned to slush. Every hair on his arms stood on end as his Beta wolf's primal instinct screamed in terror.

"What is… what is this pressure?" he choked out, vocal cords trembling.

He turned his neck stiffly, eyes darting toward the hospital bed.

There, sitting propped against the pillows, the corpse he had just suffocated slowly opened a pair of piercing, amber-gold eyes.