The first day of exile was a waking nightmare painted in shades of gray. Using nothing but pure, primal instinct, Aria's feet took her deeper into the wild wilderness she now claimed to be; far from the scent of the house that had rejected her. Grief was a cold, heavy stone in her gut; Selene was a whip at her back, urging her onward. Move. Find water. Stay downwind. They are not our pack. This is not our land. We are intruders here; We are prey.

Every crack of a twig, every rustle of a leaf sent adrenaline shooting through her veins. Without the constant reassuring thrum of a pack mind linking her to hundreds of others, the forest was filled with silence, each moment accentuating a potential threat. What used to be a world of vibrant colors became just survival-scapes. She found a stream, drinking deep, the icy water cutting through her. As twilight started to stain the oaks, she found shelter in the hollowed base of a monstrous old oak, its roots forming a shallow cave.

Sleep would not come. The first night alone was an agonizing torment, filled with phantom sensations-the sensation of the pack bond trying to connect to something that was no longer there, an imagined sound of Damian's voice weaving in the air. She lay alone in darkness, a lone wolf mourning the loss of her soul, waiting for dawn.

Morning brought with it a debilitating wave of nausea. Aria stumbled out of her shelter, clammy with sweat and dizzy. She thought it was the physical toll of it all: the shock of grief and no food. Yet, when she went hunting, her movements were sluggish and the vision was blurred. The scent of a rabbit put another wave of sickness through her, easily sending the little creature away from her clumsy lunge.

Frustration and fear were beginning to rise. The huntress that she was barely standing. That day and the next, nausea made a comeback; a sickening, gnawing illness that had her mornings engaged and left her weak and shaken.

Then a chill thought, terrifying as cold biting ice, tore through the fog of her despair. One hand pressed against her abdomen, where an unfamiliar warmth had given her protection just moments ago. Seven—no, way more than that—days gone; her thoughts raced back through the last few weeks—the stolen moments of passion shared with Damian; the certainty of their fated bond; the way her body had sung in his presence. Her cycle—always as regular as the moon—was late.

It couldn't be.

But it was. The signs were downright undeniable. Sure, her mind was rejecting the thought, but her body was screaming it—Nausea. Exhaustion. Very deeply primal instinct to protect her.

She was pregnant.

A half-hysterical sound, half-sob, half-laugh managed to escape her lips. The Moon Goddess had, in her cruel ways, endowed her with one last, indissoluble link with the man who had forsaken her. Utter, stark panic gripped her. A lone she-wolf is vulnerable; a lone pregnant she-wolf is a death sentence. Out of the fear, though, something else began to take root: an uncontrollable white-hot fire of resolve. Now the fight was no longer just for herself. A tiny, innocent life depended on her. A life she would guard with her dying breath.

It was in the nick of time that such resolve came. Resting on a ridge, a scent darkened by the ill wishes of her fragile hope brushed against her senses. The scent of wolves. Three, maybe four. Not the rogue musk of the wild. Pack wolves. Underneath, she could detect the light, familiar scent of Nightbane pine but tainted, shaded with the sharp metallic smell marking the presence of the Crimson Fang pack.

Lilith's pack.

Cold dread washed over her. Lilith had not been satisfied with her exile; she wanted Aria wiped out. This surely wasn't a chance meeting; this had all been carefully planned: an assassination squad.

A slow snarl surfaced in Selene's voice, echoing in Aria's mind. They hunt us. They hunt the pup. Run.

There was no need for Selene to tell her twice. With her heart pounding against her ribs, she scrambled to her feet and went even deeper into the murky undergrowth, driven on by a frantic, panicky strength. It was then she became aware of an even heavier sound of thudding paws crashing through the forest and tentative calls echoed in the trees. They were simply toying with her. They were enjoying the chase.

Her lungs were on fire; her legs were in agony. Weakened as she felt, it was a burden rather than any advantage. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw them--dark grayish forms with snarling lips, three of them, neared her.

She burst between trees, her stomach lurching. Below her was a sunken ground leading into a deep rocky gorge, a river at the bottom with white, hooting water. She was cornered.

Panting, she faced them as they began to surround her, cutting off any prospects of evasion. They shifted, bones cracking and popping as they morphed into their bipedal forms. Damian's guard turned warriors, their eyes bore the famished glint that now came to her as the merciless marking of Lilith.

A brutish male by the name of Valerius stepped forward, and a cruel smirk carved his features. "Nowhere left to run, little omega."

"What will Damian do with this?" Aria forced out, her voice trembling, but firm. "He exiled me. He did not sentence me to death."

Valerius laughed, a rough abrasive sound against her ears. "The Alpha sees only what the Luna wishes him to see. And she wishes to tidy up loose ends." The wicked-looking long knife was drawn from his belt, its blade humming under dappled sunlight.

He stepped nearer, certainty of the killer in his gaze, blade raised, point aimed straight at her heart.

"The Luna sends her regards."