Every wolf in the great hall went to their knees when Ronan Thorne walked in. I stayed standing. I couldn't smell him. I have lived twenty years without a single scent. In a pack where fate is decided by smell, that makes me nothing. Not cursed, not sick. Just the girl in the kitchen who can't tell rain from smoke. Then the visiting Alpha came through the doors, and his wolf turned toward me like a compass finding north. He had chased my scent for seven years. He didn't know that I have never smelled anything in my life. He refused me in front of two hundred wolves. He had his reasons, and they were good ones, and I will hate him for them until I die. He didn't know what refusing costs. In this pack, the one who turns away from their fated mate loses their sense of smell forever. By morning, Ronan Thorne could not smell his own blood on his hands.