For all the eighteen years Tansy lived in Birch Grove, it had never been more quiet than in the moments she sat in the passenger seat of her family's pick-up truck. In the driver's seat, her sister fumbled with the keys while cursing underneath her breath. 

Rose was three years her senior. As an Alpha, she was expected to inherit her mother's role as pack leader. She stood a whole head taller than her little sister. Where Tansy was soft, Rose turned lean with muscle. Like their mother, her black hair fell like a curtain down her back. She wore her hair like a crown-- after-all, it was a Godspeed's signature calling. 

"I think it's that one--" Tansy attempted to break the quiet. 

"Will you just shut the fuck up for a few seconds, Tans," Rose never raised her voice at Tansy, but this morning, the stress clouded her judgment. 

Within a second, Tansy's mouth snapped shut. It didn't matter. A jingle of keys, a scraping noise, and then-- the loud purr of the truck.

"Shit, that's loud," Rose said. "Shit, shit, shit." 

Tansy nodded, still hesitant to speak. Instead, she would give her sister the room to think as she pulled the truck out of park and into drive. The wheels crackled over the gravel road as they slowly pulled out of the driveway. Every single noise another clue to whoever-- to whatever-- they were running from. 

Tansy watched the rear-view window as the pack house disappeared from view. Outside of the truck, there was still no sign of trouble. Just the sickening scent of blood-- gallons of it. She lifted up the sleeve of her jacket and stuffed her sensitive nose into her palm in attempt to drown out the scent. 

It didn't help. 

"What did Mom tell you?" Rose asked as they finally came to the end of the drive. 

"She told me to run like hell," Tansy said. "What did she tell you?" 

"Drive like hell," Rose replied. "But she didn't tell me shit about what the hell is going on." 

"Dad is hurt," Tansy whispered. The words felt oddly heavy on her tongue. In her entire lifetime, her father was a symbol of pure strength. Broad shoulders, red hair, kind dark eyes and the reigning Pack Doctor. 

"What do you mean Dad's hurt?" Rose asked. She turned onto the only dirt road that led out of Pack land. 

Tansy's nose crinkled. The scent of blood thickened the farther they traveled. 

"I mean he's hurt enough to not be here, Rose," Tansy whispered. "He's-- he's the Pack Doctor. Who is going to take care of him?" 

"As long as his head isn't cut off, he'll be fine," Rose said. "He's hurt. Not hunted." 

"You don't smell it, do you?" Tansy said, so low her words almost turned to breath. 

But, Rose was an Alpha shifter. What Tansy lacked, Rose was naturally attuned, including sound. 

"Smell what?" Rose asked. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened until her tanned knuckles turned white. 

"Death," Tansy whispered. "So much death." 

She regretted her words. Instantly, Rose went quiet. The color in her sister's face drained and her unblinking gaze remained on the road, as if she needed to focus on each and every pebble and tree they passed in order to keep her emotions from boiling over. 

"Why would there be death in Birch Grove?" Rose asked. "We don't have enemies, we don't make enemies. We don't spill blood."

Tansy didn't have an answer. There was no budding war across any pack in North America. While there may be tensions from neighboring packs, her mother was careful never to overstep a boundary and cross the line of war. It was useless bloodshed and it almost always ended in the death of many innocent wolves. 

She turned her attention to the outside world. Thick trees clouded the view of whatever happened inside the forest. The morning sun still leaked through the thinning branches of treetops. 

It could have been a perfect morning. It was supposed to be a perfect morning. 

"Wait," Rose whispered. Suddenly, the truck slowed down. 

"What are you doing?" Tansy asked. "Mom said drive. Drive, Rose." 

"The Bradshaw house," Rose said. She lifted up a trembling hand and pointed to the east. 

Tansy wanted to ignore her sister's silent question. She wanted to keep her eyes forward on the road, to the blinding sunlight, to the way out. 

But she couldn't. 

Instead, she followed to where her sister pointed. All of the air in her lungs suddenly disappeared. For a moment, it felt as though her chest had been crushed-- but that was only the dizzying waves of grief rushing through her. 

The Bradshaw estate was a modest one-story ranch house, home to a family of four brothers. Smoke still raised from the brick chimney and as though someone had only just stood from the porch swing, the chair eerily swung back and forth. 

On the carefully manicured lawn, four bodies. Two still in the yard. One just at the gate. The last beside one of their trucks. 

They were running. And they were dead. 

"Go," Tansy couldn't believe the words came out of her mouth. It was the opposite of what she wanted to do. She imagined herself ripping the passenger door open and falling to her knees beside the men. There, she could pump on their chests, pinch their noses, and breathe into their mouth. Maybe, she would find life in them. 

Maybe they weren't dead at all. Maybe they were pretending. 

The word was enough to make Rose nail the gas pedal. Tansy clung to her seat, terrified of the beast capable of killing four Alpha shifters. 

As they rapidly increased in speed, the old truck shook. Tansy didn't care. Instead, she closed her eyes, terrified of what she would see if she dared to open them. 

And then-- the truck stopped. 

They were moving, and suddenly, they weren't. 

It sent both of the women forward into their seats. Another second passed and the emergency airbags flew into action, popping Tansy in the face as her head flew back into the chair. She heard screaming. It sounded like her. 

She blinked again. 

Yes, she was the one screaming. Shouting bloody murder as the truck spun at the sudden pause and into the side of a tree. 

If they were human, they would be dead. 

But they weren't. 

Tansy moved her right hand. White searing hot pain traveled up her arm as she realized it was throbbing from a broken bone. She couldn't help the cry that escaped her mouth. She never knew fear like this before. 

Suddenly, the sound of smashing glass erupted from behind her. 

She turned to catch Rose's terrified eyes, wide and dark and tearing up, just as two tanned hands ripped her from the driver's seat, over broken shards, and away from Rose's gaze. 

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between Tansy's harsh breathing and the mad beating of her chest. 

And then came another pair of hands. Rough and tight. They pulled her over the broken glass frame and she screamed as a sharp edge stuck into the meat of her thigh. 

Kill me. Kill me. Kill me quick, please. 

The mantra repeated itself over and over again in her head until she spoke the wish aloud.

Instead of being thrown onto the ground as she expected, a set of arms supported her body in an almost tender grasp. She stared up into the morning sun, wondering why she wasn't dead yet. 

"Tansy Godspeed," a deep voice spoke above her. 

It was almost familiar. But still, she couldn't place it. That didn't matter-- what mattered was the pain surrounding her. Her broken arm. Her aching face. The glass still in her thigh. 

"I've been looking for you." 

She moved her gaze slowly from the sun and toward the face of the man who held her. 

She froze. 

Silas Armstrong. 

High Alpha of Typhon, and her mate.