In shock that he actually released me, I move slowly, half expecting him to change his mind at any second. Judging by the look on his face, he may be wrestling with that very thought. We are both weighing the same questions.

  Whether I will run.

  Whether I will return.

  Whether this was a mistake.

  I take careful steps toward the cave entrance, my gaze flicking between him and the widening sliver of night beyond the stone. It feels unreal, like a fragile dream that might shatter if I move too quickly.

  Then sensation floods back into me all at once.

  Cold stone beneath my bare feet.

  The fading warmth of embers brushing my skin.

  The scent of grass and wheat drifting on the evening air.

  Birds chirring softly as they settle into sleep.

  And beneath it all, the steady pull of the moon, tugging at something deep in my bones.

  My wolf whines with delight, pacing, dancing, desperate to be free. Her joy pours through me, intoxicating and overwhelming, until her wants blur into my own. For the first time since my change, I do not fight her.

  With one last glance at Azrael and a small, reassuring nod, I step into the open air.

  Static hums beneath my skin. My limbs tingle, pleasure sparking through every nerve. A deep, soothing heat unfurls inside me, spreading fast and bright.

  I leap. My body rips through my clothes as the shift takes me and my wolf pushes through.

  I land not as a woman, but as a wolf.

  The transition is smooth and exhilarating, edged with only a flicker of pain. She is free. Fully in control now. Her powerful body thrums with untapped energy, unchained and limitless.

  She runs.

  Faster and faster, paws pounding the earth until the world becomes a blur of motion and sound. Fallen logs vanish beneath her leaps. Trees become springboards. She twists and bounds like a pup discovering movement for the first time, reckless and joyous.

  We run for miles without direction or thought, only movement.

  The sound of trickling water catches her attention.

  She veers sharply toward it, bursting into a small clearing where a stream winds through moss and stone. The cool scent of water fills the air. She drinks deeply, letting the chill soothe her burning throat. When she is satisfied, she collapses onto the moss, rolling and writhing, scratching every itch she could not reach.

  I do not notice him arrive.

  He is simply there.

  Azrael’s wolf steps from the shadows, enormous and imposing. His black fur gleams beneath the moonlight, rippling with restrained power as he moves. Gold markings shimmer faintly across his form, revealed only when the light strikes just right.

  The curse made visible.

  He drinks from the stream, indifferent to us at first.

  My wolf shivers with delight and presses against him without hesitation, rubbing her body along his flank, whimpering softly. She nudges him. Pleads. Begs.

  He does not respond.

  When she persists, he lifts his head and huffs at her, unimpressed.

  Frustration sparks through me.

  I cannot believe it. Even my wolf is being rejected.

  When he settles beside us, she licks his cheek, hopeful.

  He turns away.

  Enough.

  She pounces.

  Her teeth catch in his fur as she tugs, pulling him onto his back with a strength that surprises even me. He does not panic. He does not fear her. With an easy roll, he tosses us aside, dominance effortless and unthreatened.

  She lunges again, snapping playfully at his ear.

  A low growl vibrates through my skull.

  “That is not a good idea,” his voice echoes in my mind.

  I blink. “Wait. I can hear you. I mean… of course I can.”

  “Of course,” he replies calmly. “This is what it is like. An echo of a voice.”

  We settle beside each other again, my wolf curling tightly against him.

  “Can I ask you something?” I say.

  “That depends.”

  “You and your wolf seem united. Of one mind.” I hesitate. “Was it always like that? Because I feel like I am constantly fighting mine.”

  “How so?”

  “She is desperate for your attention,” I admit carefully. “But I am not.”

  His scent shifts. Hurt, sharp and unmistakable.

  “Why do you keep rejecting her?” I ask. “I am not saying I want her to have her way. But disappointing her feels wrong.”

  “Because it is not what you want,” he answers quietly.

  “Most wolves are united,” he continues. “Without that unity, danger will devour you.”

  “But how do I fix it?” I whisper. “Should I give in? She is a part of me.”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  His scent washes over us, cedar and citrus and earth. My wolf melts against him, purring, vibrating with longing. The pull is dizzying.

  “Azrael,” I murmur. “Would it truly be so wrong?”

  He does not answer.

  He rises instead, stepping away.

  “We should go back.”

  For a heartbeat, temptation whispers that we could outrun him. That promises could be broken.

  But then I remember his words. About my parents. My real parents.

  Maybe this is more than a kidnapping. Maybe this is something I was never meant to understand until now.

  I follow him.

  We race back through the forest, side by side, pushing each other faster until the cave emerges from the darkness, hidden and nearly invisible.

  As I hesitate at the entrance, he speaks.

  “Go ahead,” he says. “I will wait for your signal.”

  My wolf licks his muzzle once, a final plea, then slips past him and into the shadows.

  The shift back is harder than the change itself.

  Heat coils tight beneath my skin, then snaps outward, leaving me breathless and shaking as bones realign and fur recedes. I stumble, catching myself against the stone wall just inside the cave. My limbs feel heavy, clumsy. Too human. Too small after the freedom of the run.

  Azrael is there instantly.

  He does not touch me at first. He watches, alert and ready, like a guard standing just beyond reach.

  When I steady, he nods once.

  Approval.

  Relief.

  Something else he refuses to name.

  “You kept your word,” he says quietly.

  “I said I would,” I reply. My voice sounds raw, scraped bare by the night air and too many thoughts pressing in.

  He steps aside so I can pass fully into the cave, attempting to cover myself as I do. The fire has burned low, embers glowing red and gold. The familiar weight of stone settles over me again, grounding and confining all at once.

  I wrap my arms tighter around myself, suddenly cold.

  The rush of the run fades, leaving my mind painfully sharp.

  I gather the furs from the bed, draping them over my shoulders, and take a hesitant step toward him.

  “You said,” I begin, then stop.

  He turns to face me.

  “You said if I came back,” I continue, forcing the words out before fear can swallow them, “you would tell me the truth about my parents.”

  Silence stretches.

  His jaw tightens. Not in anger. In resolve.

  “Yes,” he says at last. “I did.”

  My heart hammers.

  “Then tell me,” I whisper. “Please.”

  He studies me for a long moment, gaze weighing whether I will bend or break.

  “You believe the two people who raised you are your parents,” he says carefully.

  A chill creeps along my spine. “Because they are.”

  He does not contradict me.

  Instead, he says, “They love you. That part is real, from what I can surmise.”

  Something tightens painfully in my chest. “What does that mean?”

  “It means,” he says quietly, “that they raised you out of duty, not because you are theirs.”

  The words strike like a physical blow.

  “No,” I breathe. “That’s not possible.”

  “They were chosen,” he continues, “because they were loyal. Because they would obey. And because they would protect you without asking questions.”

  My thoughts scatter, scrambling for purchase. “Protect me from what?”

  “From the truth.”

  There is no doubt in his eyes.

  I shake my head, backing away until stone presses against my spine. “You’re lying.”

  “I am not,” he says. “But you may believe what you will.”

  “I’ll believe the truth,” I snap. “Once you stop lying.”

  His expression softens, just slightly.

  “There was another pack,” Azrael says quietly.

  My breath catches.

  “They lived far from crowns and councils,” he continues. “They did not seek power. They did not involve themselves in hierarchy. Your parents belonged to this pack.”

  My mouth goes dry. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “Because you need to know who you are,” he says.

  Cold dread sinks into my bones.

  “They were discovered,” Azrael continues, “by another pack.”

  The words press tight against my chest.

  “They were deemed a threat,” he says. “Not because of anything they had done. But because of what they carried.”

  I swallow hard. “What did they carry?”

  His gaze locks onto mine.

  “You.”

  The cave tilts.

  “No,” I whisper. “That doesn’t make sense. My parents never said…”

  “They did what they were told,” he says gently. “Because they believed it would keep you alive. Keep you contained.”

  Tears burn behind my eyes. “What are you saying?”

  “I am saying,” he replies, “that the night your real parents died was not an accident.”

  My chest tightens painfully.

  “Why don’t I remember them?” I whisper. “My real parents?”

  “You were very young when they took you,” he says. “No older than three.”

  My breath fractures.

  “What happened to them?” I ask. “To the other pack?”

  He hesitates.

  Only for a heartbeat.

  “They did not survive.”

  The words land final and irrevocable.

  My wolf stirs violently, not in grief, but in something darker.

  Recognition.

  “And me,” I whisper. “Why didn’t they kill me too?”

  Azrael steps closer, his presence steady, grounding.

  “Because someone intervened,” he says.

  “Who?”

  His jaw tightens.

  “Someone who knew what you were,” he answers.

  My pulse pounds.

  “Azrael,” I whisper. “What am I?”

  He does not answer.

  Instead, he says, “You were never meant to belong to the Vales.”

  The fire crackles loudly, sparks leaping as if in warning.

  I stare at him, breath shallow, my wolf suddenly alert in a way she never has been before.

  “And my parents,” I whisper. “The ones I remember.”

  “They were meant to love you,” he says. “Not to tell you the truth.”

  The stone walls press in around me.

  My wolf howls softly inside my chest.

  Not in sorrow.

  In awakening.

  And in that moment, I understand.

  Whatever I am, whatever was hidden…

  It began long before my first shift.

  And it is not finished with me yet.