Chapter 1: You Bring Shame On Us!

"Get out of the way, you stupid bitch," a man snarls as he shoves past me.

I'm overpowered by the smell of meat and gore, his body reeks with it and his hands are red with blood as he helps his friends haul a carcass into the meeting hall. I try to stumble backwards out of the way but another man pushes me from behind and I fall to my knees, gagging. The loose-necked head of a slain stag rolls in my direction and it stares at me.

The hunters move around me like I don't exist. I hunch my shoulders up, pull myself together and count all the way from one through five until I no longer need to bring up my little bit of lunch over the earth.

My mama always said that a little bit of trouble never killed anybody. My mama also ran away the second the Moon Goddess cursed her with a no-soul daughter. I've learned to make my own proverbs, and the one I live by is that it only gets worse if you don't move out of the way.

The gravel cuts into my knees as I shuffle backwards, not daring to lift my head too high until I'm far enough from the hunters that I won't catch their attention. Boys and girls on bloodlust are more violent and raw. I'm in no mood to get myself a whipping.

Finally I can stand and I brush the rocks from my knees, wincing at the sight of blood on me that didn't come from a deer or boar. If I were anything like the others in my pack I'd heal up faster than you can wink an eye, but I've never managed to make a habit of being like other people.

The hunters are inside and I scuttle forwards, keeping my head tucked down so none of the other servants rushing around and getting ready will see my eyes and start something. I've got a simple job today and Marta from the kitchens will have my hide if I can't do it right.

My bucket sits to the side of the big fine windows that decorate the front of the meeting house. Old Wren put them together out of dozens of shards of coloured glass, forming a big golden wolf with his head tipped towards a harvest moon.

I sneak a glance over both shoulders to make sure no more hunters are coming and plunge my rag into the freezing soapy water. It stings the cuts on my knuckles, pulling a small gasp from my lungs as I focus on one little bit at a time. A blue shard. One of the red ones. A little bit of gold. Getting it perfect and clean for the arrival of the goddess this evening.

"Moons above," someone snaps, kicking my bucket so it splashes over me, skirts and all. "Is there a time and place where you aren't in the way, Dirty Ella?"

My little sister, two years younger than me and built out of poison, glares at me with the beautiful golden eyes I will never share and bares fangs I will never have. She’s more beautiful than a flower blooming in the dew and more deadly than the viper sitting under it’s roots. I loved her once and I think I do still, somewhere deep down.

I pick up my bucket, counting my way back up to five again. "I've got to get this looking good for tonight, Vi."

Immediately she flushes red and grabs a fist of my old shirt so tight the fabric tears in her hand. "I've told you. There's no blood between us. You speak to me like you speak to Alpha's kin, not your own."

I'm as cold as my hands as I meet her gaze and then duck my head. A dozen times a day I tell myself not to bring trouble, and a dozen and one times I manage it anyway with my foolish words. "Yes miss."

"Good. Better. You're going to stay out of the way tonight. We don't want the Goddess to see you."

I don't look up again. She'd see the lies in me, the thought in my head that there's no way the Goddess is leaving here without answering to me as to why I'm the cursed of my family. "Yes."

"Yes what?" she asks, her smile sharper and sweeter than honey.

"Yes miss."

"If you were any other servant, father would have whipped you from the pack and cast you out to the rogues by now."

I feel her fingers pull at the threads of my tearing shirt and for a moment I think she's going to pull it off me or claw my face. I feel panic rising in my chest at the thought of being bare naked in front of the pack.

"Now Vi," a deep voice says and I see a tan hand close on her elbow. "Leave her be. There are other things you could be busying yourself with."

Elliot Hawk, the son of my father's beta and the boy I grew up believing I would marry the moment our wolves mated, kisses my sister lightly on the cheek and she leans against him. She's so young, I think. He's so handsome, and he knows it. He's like a cat instead of a wolf. All sleek strength and self confidence. They're trouble together, too much fire for one pair of hearts to handle. And each time I see them I ache a little in the place my wolf was meant to be.

Violet goes with him. No one else can bid her stay like he does, no one else would dare. She is the tiny queen of our clan and won't let any forget it. As they walk away, leaving me cold and torn behind them, Elliot looks back a moment. There's sadness between us, sadness that makes him offer me small kindnesses and sometimes makes me want to hate him.

I want to raise my hand and wave, so instead I turn and walk away. Someone else can clean the windows and to hell if I get in trouble for it. No matter what my mama said, trouble can kill a body if there’s too much of it in one day.