I barely slept.

Even with the fire burning low and the thick furs pulled over me, sleep didn’t come easy in a place that breathed danger through the walls. Every creak of stone made me flinch. Every howl in the distance made my pulse spike.

Kale hadn’t returned.

That bothered me more than it should have.

I didn’t want to need him. But I didn’t exactly trust the walls around me either. Not when people like Rhea existed—ice-veined, unreadable, and ready to gut me with a look.

I must’ve dozed off eventually, because when I opened my eyes, sunlight was bleeding through the narrow window slits.

And Kale was there.

Not in bed. Not sitting.

Standing. At the far end of the room, back to me, shirtless.

His skin was streaked in red.

I gasped.

He turned slowly at the sound. The blood on his arms was already drying, smeared across his knuckles, soaked into the waistband of his pants. His face was pale, unreadable.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said quietly.

I sat up fast, dragging the fur tighter around my chest. “What the hell happened to you?”

He looked down at his hands like he’d forgotten the mess.

“Pack business.”

“Someone’s blood is on you,” I snapped. “Don’t brush it off.”

He hesitated. Then walked to a basin near the fireplace and started scrubbing his hands. The red swirled into the water like paint.

“There was a breach,” he said. “One of the scouts found a rogue just outside the ridge line. I handled it.”

“By killing him?”

“Yes.”

My stomach twisted.

I didn’t know why I expected a different answer. Maybe because Kale didn’t strike me as reckless. Brutal, yes. But calculated. Controlled. Not the kind of man who wore other people’s blood like armor.

“And you think that’s normal?” I asked, climbing off the bed. “To come in here, covered in blood, like it’s just part of your day?”

He didn’t look up. “It is.”

My voice rose. “I’m not like you.”

“No. You’re not. But you’re becoming like me whether you want to or not.”

I froze. “What does that mean?”

He met my eyes.

“It means your body’s already changing. The mark wasn’t just a claim, Aura. It was a trigger. You had wolf blood before—dormant. But now? Now it’s waking up.”

I stepped back. “No.”

“You’ve felt it, haven’t you? The headaches. The heat at night. Your hearing. Your scent. That’s not your imagination.”

I shook my head. “You don’t get to decide who I become.”

“I didn’t,” he said flatly. “Fate did.”

“That’s such a cop-out—”

“Your scent’s already shifting.”

I stopped.

“What?”

Kale stood, wiping his hands on a cloth. His expression had changed—less defensive, more focused.

“You don’t smell human anymore.”

I swallowed. “So what does that make me?”

He stepped closer. Slowly. Carefully.

“A threat. To the wrong people.”

My breath caught.

There was a knock.

Kale’s gaze flicked to the door. He hesitated, like he didn’t want to answer it. Then he moved.

A different voice this time—lower, male, clipped.

“Alpha. There’s movement near the ruins. Something you should see.”

Kale cursed under his breath. “Stay here.”

I stepped forward. “No—wait. What ruins?”

But he was already gone.

⸻

He didn’t come back that night.

Or the next morning.

Someone brought food to the room—left it on a tray by the door without saying a word. I didn’t eat much. Couldn’t. My skin itched. My bones felt like they were humming under my skin.

And the dreams…

I saw blood.

Fangs.

A boy with green eyes.

And a voice I hadn’t heard in years.

“Run, Aura.”

When I woke up on the third day, the air was heavy.

And my door was unlocked.

I knew because I’d checked it twice a day, rattling the handle like a caged animal. But now?

The latch gave way. Just like that.

I stepped into the hall, heart racing. It was early—dawn light barely cracked through the high windows. No guards. No patrols.

No sign of Kale.

And something in my gut whispered that wasn’t an accident.

I followed the corridor down the eastern wing, past cold tapestries and silent doorways, until I found a narrow stairwell spiraling downward.

The scent hit me before I reached the bottom.

Earth. Wet stone. Iron.

Blood.

I moved slower.

The stairs ended in a narrow passageway lit by faint torchlight. Carved into the stone at irregular intervals were thick wooden doors reinforced with iron bars.

Cells.

This was the dungeon after all.

I almost turned back.

But one of the doors at the end… was open.

I crept toward it, every step echoing louder in the silence.

Inside was a small chamber. Blood stained the floor. Chains hung from the wall. But what made me stop—

Was the symbol scratched into the stone.

A perfect circle, with three slashes through the center.

I knew that mark.

I’d seen it once before.

On my father’s chest. The night he died.