The basement of the Blood Moon packhouse did not know the warmth of the sun. It knew only the damp chill of stone, the scent of mildew, and the heavy, suffocating weight of silence.

​Aria Winters pressed her back against the roughest corner of the wall, drawing her knees tightly to her chest. She pulled her tattered, oversized grey sweater over her shins, trying to cover the expanse of pale, unblemished skin that marked her as an outcast.

​In a pack of grey, brown, and midnight-black wolves, Aria was an anomaly. A mistake.

​She was an albino. Her hair fell around her shoulders in a curtain of stark, snow-white strands, completely devoid of pigment. Her skin was so translucent that the faint blue tracks of her veins showed beneath the surface, and her eyes—the ultimate brand of her curse—were a piercing, unsettling shade of crimson. To the Blood Moon Pack, she wasn't just an Omega. She was an omen of bad luck, a blight on the lineage of a proud warrior family.

​"Look at it," a voice sneered from the top of the wooden stairs.

​Aria flinched, her body tensing automatically. The heavy thud of combat boots echoed on the steps, vibrating through the floorboards. She didn't need to look up to know who it was. The scent of ozone and sharp, aggressive cedar belonged to Ethan, her older brother.

​Except, he hadn't called her his sister in over ten years.

​Ethan kicked a rusted metal bowl across the floor. It clattered violently against the stone, stopping a few inches from Aria’s bare feet. Inside was nothing but dirty water and a few stale crusts of moldering bread.

​"Alpha Jaxon demands the packhouse be pristine for the Selection Ceremony tomorrow," Ethan barked, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto her white hair. He spat on the ground. "Get up, freak. If the Alpha catches so much as a single white hair on the carpets upstairs, I’ll make sure the enforcers use the silver-tipped whips on you again. Do you understand me?"

​Aria kept her eyes lowered, staring at the dirt beneath her fingernails. Her voice was a raspy whisper, unused for days. "Yes, Ethan."

​"That’s Enforcer Winters to you, Omega," he snapped, stepping forward to plant the heel of his boot firmly onto her hand.

​Aria gasped, biting her lower lip so hard it bled to keep from screaming. She could feel the bones in her fingers grinding together under his weight. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, venomous hiss. "Mom and Dad are ashamed to even walk through the village because of you. Tomorrow, Jaxon chooses his Luna, and our family will be elevated to the Alpha’s inner circle. Don't ruin this for us, or I'll kill you myself."

​He lifted his boot, leaving a dark, muddy print across her pale skin, and turned on his heel. The heavy basement door slammed shut above, plunging Aria back into the suffocating darkness.

​She clutched her throbbing hand to her chest, a single tear slipping from her crimson eyes. She didn't pray to the Moon Goddess for strength anymore. She only prayed for invisibility.

By midnight, the packhouse was dead silent. The high-ranking members were asleep, resting before the grand ceremony that would dictate the future of the Blood Moon Pack.

​Aria crept up from the basement, a bucket of soapy water in one hand and a tattered rag in the other. Her stomach growled, a sharp, twisting pain that reminded her she hadn't eaten a full meal in three days. Her ribs pressed sharply against her skin, a testament to the systematic starvation the pack inflicted upon her. They believed that starving the beast inside her would prevent her "curse" from spreading.

​She dropped to her knees in the grand foyer, scrubbing the marble tiles by the dim light of the moon filtering through the skylight.

​"Still crawling in the dirt, I see."

​Aria froze. A cold dread washed over her, far worse than the fear her brother inspired.

​Slowly, she looked up. Standing at the top of the grand staircase was Alpha Jaxon Vance. He was towering, broad-shouldered, with eyes the color of dark amber and a cruel, symmetrical face that the pack women swooned over. He wore his dominance like a heavy cloak, radiating an aura of pure, suffocating power that instantly forced Aria’s head down toward the floor.

​"Alpha Jaxon," she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

​Jaxon descended the stairs slowly, his footsteps silent. He stopped right in front of her, the expensive leather of his shoes inches from her face. He reached down, gripping her white hair tightly in his fist, forcing her head back so she had no choice but to look at him.

​Aria whimpered, the strain on her neck sending a jolt of pain down her spine.

​"Tomorrow, I take my rightful place with a true Luna," Jaxon murmured, his gaze tracing her pale face with utter disgust. "The elders say a curse like yours can infect a pack's bloodline if left unchecked. I've tolerated your existence in my house out of respect for your father's service, but my patience is wearing thin, Aria."

​"I... I stay in the basement," she choked out, tears pooling in her eyes. "I don't bother anyone."

​"Your very breath bothers me," Jaxon sneered, twisting his grip on her hair. "You are an eyesore. A weak, pathetic Omega who couldn't even shift properly if her life depended on it." He shoved her away, sending her sprawling across the wet marble floor. Her bucket overturned, soapy water flooding the pristine tiles she had just spent hours cleaning.

​Jaxon looked down at the mess, his expression hardening. "Clean it up. And tomorrow, during the ceremony, you will stay in the courtyard with the low-borns. If you embarrass me in front of the visiting Alphas, I will make you beg for death."

​Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, leaving Aria shivering on the wet floor, surrounded by the ruins of her labor.