I'm being kidnapped, but this must be a mistake. Why would anyone want to take me? And where are we going, anyway?

Maybe this is what happened to Jules. Maybe these same people grabbed her. But why her? And now why me?

Oh my gosh, what if we're both being trafficked? I don't want to end up as a sex slave in some Middle Eastern country or forced to make porn in Asia.

Maybe there's a way I could fight these people off. There's at least two of them, but perhaps three. I'm still being carried and I'm trying to be as much dead weight as possible. So far they've overpowered me, but they have to tire at some point, right?

If there was ever a time that I wished that I could turn at will, it's now. But my wolf refuses to emerge no matter how hard I concentrate. What a useless power. If only I'd been kidnapped during a full moon.

It's Saturday night so I get that campus might be a bit deserted, but does no one find any of this odd? Are there no students on their way to a house party questioning why a struggling woman with a hood over her head is being carried against her will by at least two strangers?

And where the heck is campus police?

I'm placed in some type of vehicle. I didn't hear a door open, but I'm now definitely sitting on a cushioned seat with someone next to me. There is a jolt and we begin to move. I hear the whirl of an electric motor and I can feel the wind on my skin.

Are we in a freaking golf cart?

I'm beginning to think that these aren't sex traffickers and that my captors are local, which narrows the suspect pool quite a bit. And since the only potential enemy I might have is Douglas Calhoun, maybe this is the university president's way of not so subtly telling me to get out of Dodge.

He wouldn't have the Black River pack do anything more drastic than run me out of town, would he? I don't get a chance to ponder it.

After a brief but uncomfortable ride where I nearly tumble off in a sharp corner, we come to a stop. Someone fusses with what sounds like a chain link fence and then I'm pulled to my feet.

We shuffle up an uneven sidewalk where I trip over a broken piece of what I'm assuming is pavement, but I'm caught by the person on my left. Based on their size and strong grip, I'm guessing that's a man, but they still haven't given their identity away even with a stray word.

The clink of a turning lock and the creak of an old hinge welcome us inside a building. The air smells of dust and mold, which means it has been abandoned for quite some time. There's only one such place on campus that I know of. And since we didn't travel far from where I was originally grabbed, we're likely now in Duchess Hall.

Constructed in the 1870s, it was one of the first buildings on campus. Once quite majestic, a devastating fire fifty years later and then decades of water damage from subpar renovations led to the facility eventually being condemned. It has sat fenced off and empty for years, or so have most people—including me—been led to believe. Until now.

I'm led across the entryway, through a few twists and turns, then down a narrow set of stairs. The increasing chill and damp signal it's a basement; the smell of burnt tar indicate open torches. I'm not thrilled about either, but there's nothing I can do while tied up and blindfolded.

The murmur of indistinguishable voices quiets as we approach, meaning that someone has been waiting for us. I'm also handed off to a new chaperone who removes the gag from my mouth and yanks the hood off my head.

"Oww," I squeak as a part of my hair is caught with it and I squint into the sudden brightness.

My sight takes a few seconds to adjust. We're in a vaulted passageway, the ceiling low and the walls crumbling. Straight ahead are three figures in dark, hooded cloaks with their faces obscured by full masks.

I involuntary gasp at their sinister appearance, but for the first time, the person tending to me speaks.

"Don't worry. We're not here to hurt you," she whispers into my ear while holding out a robe for me to put on.

In spite of everything, these words give me reassurance and I slip my arms into the black garment. The woman pulls the hood over my hair, but unlike everyone else, I don't get a mask. I suppose there isn't a need for anonymity on my side. Everyone here must know who I am.

After I'm dressed, the three figures turn and I momentarily consider an escape. I could try to run back the way we came, overpowering the cloaked woman behind me.

But I quickly abandon this idea.

If these people have put so much effort into getting me here, surely they have others guarding the exits. Plus, I don't feel like I am in danger and I'm more than a little curious about what this is all about. So when the woman gives me a nudge to get going, I do so willingly.

We silently walk down the maze of corridors with the three in front and the two of us in the rear. The novelty of the twists and turns soon wears off, and I'm starting to feel like the Minotaur in his island labyrinth when we finally get to a weathered door.

After three knocks, it opens.

There are more still and silent people inside wearing the same cloaks and masks. Lit candles are everywhere and eerie shadows are cast on the walls. No one turns toward us as I'm led into the middle of the circle they've formed.

Based on the worn frescoes on the vaulted ceiling, I'm guessing this was once a subterranean chapel. The pews and crosses however are long gone, likely removed at the time of deconsecration. There's no altar, either, but now a throne-like chair sits on a raised pedestal in its place.

The only masked figure who isn't standing rises from the chair at the top of the circle.

"Welcome, brothers and sisters," he says and my breath catches. Because I was expecting Douglas Calhoun, but this voice belongs to none other than Clayton Ward.

I take a step forward because I need to say something, but Clayton puts up his hand for me to stop.

Not now, I can almost hear him say and it's enough to get me to step back.

"As Alpha of the Allegheny pack, I have final say on who we allow to join our ranks. And while not everyone could make it here tonight on such short notice, I believe that there are no objections to inducting Barlow Milligan as our newest member."

I scoff. No one except me, that is, I think as my anger escalates.

I could have maybe seen Calhoun forcing me to join his pack, but the fact that Clayton has outright ignored my refusal is unforgivable.

"You may not yet know Barlow, but she has my endorsement and for now, that should be enough. Although she has never been part of a pack other than her family, in time I expect her to be a valuable member of ours," Clayton continues to say and I roll my eyes.

What else he's going to expect from me, I wonder.

Turning, Clayton pulls a long sword from a sheath next to his throne.

"The ceremony is the same as it has always been. You will each have a say on whether you approve of the initiate's membership. If you do, you will tap them on the shoulder with this blade," he says, raising the sword into the air. "In return, the initiate will genuflect in appreciation and fealty."

I feel like I just time traveled back a half millennium and frankly, I don't like it. Declarations of loyalty and gratitude aren't my thing even when they're genuinely warranted. Do they even mean anything when done under duress?

I doubt Clayton cares about the difference because he doesn't slow down the explanation.

"But if any of you oppose Barlow's ascension into our ranks, you will need to be ready to defend your choice," he says before stepping forward and placing the sword onto my upturned palms.

There is a brief moment when both of our hands are touching not only the weapon, but also each other and I lift my eyes to his. Clayton is also directly looking at me and I try to read his expression solely through his gaze, but I realize that I don't know him well enough and it could mean anything.

Oh, no. What am I getting myself into? I know nothing about pack life other than giving unwavering obedience to the Alpha, which until his death had previously been my father. And even then in spite of our family bond, which should have been a mitigating factor, my life was often hard and unhappy.

I came to Packard University to be the driver of my own destiny, but after barely a week into it, I'm once again becoming shackled to a man.

My only hope is that someone in the circle around me is both against my initiation into this pack and also willing to go against Clayton to voice it.

This realization helps me get started and after a nod from Clayton as he steps back, I hand the sword to the person on his left.

I think this is my chaperone who led me into this room, so I am not surprised when she taps my shoulder with the blade. After she lowers the weapon, I bend down on one knee and lower my head for a beat before looking up. She gives me an approving nod, so I stand and take back the sword.

I repeat this process clockwise around the circle with the other members of the pack who are in attendance, and no one deviates from the pattern. Tap, knee and bow. Tap, knee and bow.

As I near the end and take back the sword one more time, there are only two remaining pack members who must bless my initiation. And one of them is Clayton, who has already admitted to being my chief proponent.

Fearing the inevitable, I try to drag out the last moments for as long as I can. When I can't stall any longer, I step forward one more time and hand the sword to the penultimate person judging me today. They take it swiftly and I can already see the tip of the blade rising into the air in order to gently tap me on the shoulder.

But for the first time during this ceremony, I am mistaken. Because the blade rises only far enough for it to be swiftly thrown onto the ground beside me, landing with a deafening clink.

There's a collective gasp from the circle, but it's swiftly drowned out by Gemma Calhoun tearing her mask off and beginning her transformation into her wolf form right in front of me.

And that's when I learn that maybe one day I'll be smart enough and be careful with what I wish for.