Matilda's pov

The rogues' faces became jagged masks as the firelight cast a harsh orange hue across the clearing. They sat in a scruffy clump, hungry and with low voices. I was in the center, and I felt a knot of fear in my stomach.

In addition to holding myself upright, a cold breeze pricked my bare arms. I refused to let them witness my trembling.

One of the older outlaws appeared, his eyes glinting and his face scarred. Although she goes by Luna, she is not a wolf. How can we obey ...