002

(Rael’s POV)

She stirred again.

I felt it before I heard it.

The subtle shift of breath, the tremble in her heartbeat. From where I stood just beyond the doorframe, every sound in the room was amplified. My wolf was already awake beneath my skin—still, alert, ears pricked with instinct.

She was awake.

And she didn’t remember a d*mn thing.

Good.

Or maybe… maybe that was just the lie I kept telling myself.

Because if she did remember—if those storm-gray eyes locked onto mine the way they did before the blood, before the screaming, before the bite—I didn’t know if I could survive it.

I tightened my grip around the wooden doorway, knuckles white.

The girl they carried into my territory three nights ago wasn’t a girl. Not really. She was wolf and woman, soul and shadow, flesh and fracture. Torn nearly in half by a shift gone violently wrong. Her skin shredded mid-transition. Her bones twisting in ways no wolf should have to endure.

It should have killed her.

Any other wolf would’ve died screaming.

But she hadn’t.

Because she fought.

Because she begged—not in words, not aloud—but in the way her trembling fingers clawed at my chest as I bent over her body in the mud. In the way her lips mouthed soundless pleas while blood bubbled from between her teeth. In the way her half-formed wolf whimpered, desperate and afraid.

And then there were her eyes.

Gods.

Those eyes.

They looked at me like I was salvation. Like they knew me. As if some part of her recognized what I refused to admit.

And in that moment, something inside me—something old and buried and cruel—snapped.

I didn’t know her name.

Didn’t know her purpose, her pack, or her loyalties.

All I knew was that she was dying, and the thought of her heart stopping made something primal in me rise up with a roar I could barely contain.

So I did what no Alpha should ever do.

I marked her.

No permission. No logic. No strategy.

Just raw instinct.

A claiming born of need, not choice.

I sank my teeth into her skin, deep enough to bleed, deep enough to seal.

I made her mine.

And I’ve regretted it every breath since.

The healer had stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered, voice low as he wiped her blood from her thighs. “Her scent’s wrong. It’s masked. There's Moonveil magic in her blood.”

Moonveil.

The name was enough to twist my gut.

The Moonveil wolves had been our enemies for generations. A pack of liars and sorcerers who twisted the old ways, who burned their bonds and broke sacred laws. I’d watched them rip through border towns and poison rivers just for land and power.

I should’ve killed her.

The moment her scent hit me, I should’ve ended it.

But I didn’t.

Because I’m a fool.

Because I’m weak where she’s concerned.

Because when she looked at me like that—with those broken, begging eyes—I couldn’t say no.

Now the mark was sealed.

The bond was forming.

And my wolf—usually cold, calculating, impossible to shake—was snarling at the thought of ever letting her go.

Even if she was a spy.

Even if she had Moonveil blood.

Even if she turned on me the second her memory returned.

Mine, he growled again.

“Not yet,” I hissed under my breath.

Then I opened the door.

The room was quiet. Warm. Lit only by the fire’s low glow and the scent of her. She sat at the edge of the bed, wrapped in thick furs, her posture tense—like a doe ready to flee.

When her gaze snapped up and met mine, I froze.

Not because of fear.

But because it still hurt to see those eyes and know she didn’t remember me.

Didn’t remember what it felt like to cry in my arms.

Didn’t remember how her voice broke when she begged to live.

Didn’t remember choosing me.

“I told you I wouldn’t hurt you,” I said, keeping my tone steady. Controlled.

She didn’t respond.

Just stared at me like I was something strange. Dangerous.

Her eyes held no recognition. No trust.

Only the pure instinct to survive.

“You said my name,” she whispered, voice hoarse.

I blinked. “What?”

“Last night,” she said, eyes narrowing. “You called me yours.”

My throat clenched. “You are.”

Her breath caught.

“You marked me.” It wasn’t a question. Just disbelief. “But I don’t remember anything.”

“I know.”

She rose slowly, still weak, still unsteady. The blanket slipped down her shoulder, revealing skin that was bruised and raw—but healing fast. Faster than it should have.

That scared me more than anything.

The stronger she got, the more dangerous this became.

“I want answers,” she said, voice trembling. “I deserve that much.”

I took a step forward.

She stepped back.

My eyes dropped to the mark on her collarbone—still red, still faintly glowing under the firelight. My mark. My scent. My claim.

“I only know what we found with you,” I said. “A pendant. Moonstone crest. It belongs to the Moonveil pack.”

Her brows furrowed. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It means you’re from a rival pack,” I said coldly. “An enemy.”

Her lips parted. “That can’t be right. I don’t feel like—like one of them.”

I shrugged. “Memory loss doesn’t erase blood.”

“I don’t feel like a killer!” she shouted suddenly, voice breaking. “I don’t feel like someone who would lie. Or sneak into enemy land. I just… I don’t know who I am.”

Her fists clenched at her sides. She was shaking.

I didn’t speak.

What was there to say? That I believed her?

Because I did.

And that was the problem.

“Then why didn’t you kill me?” she whispered, like she’d been holding the question in her chest until it hurt.

I stayed silent.

She stepped forward, eyes burning. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t question this—this mark? You took away my choice.”

“You begged me to,” I said flatly.

Her mouth opened.

“You were dying,” I continued, walking closer until we were just a few feet apart. “Caught between forms. Your body breaking itself apart. I’ve never seen anything like it. Your shift was stuck. And your wolf—your soul—was screaming.”

I paused. Let the truth fall like stone.

“You said, don’t let me die like this. You said, please, I don’t want to die alone.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes, even as she tried to fight them.

I hated that.

Because it cracked something in me.

Not pity. Not guilt.

But something else.

Something tender. Something dangerous.

“I thought it would save you,” I said quietly. “And it did.”

She swallowed hard. “But now I’m yours?”

My wolf rumbled beneath my skin.

“Yes.”

Her hands trembled. “And if I want out?”

I stared at her. Long. Hard.

“There is no out.”

She took another step back.

I didn’t follow.

She stared at the mark on her skin like it was poison.

“I don’t know who I am,” she whispered. “But I know I would never have chosen this.”

I looked at her for a long moment.

And then, with a voice as raw as the truth itself, I said the one thing I’d been burying since the moment I tasted her blood.

“Neither would I.”

—

She didn’t run.

Even after I left, she didn’t scream. Didn’t rage. She just sat there, silent, staring at the mark on her skin while the fire cast flickering shadows across her pale shoulders.

I stood in the hallway outside her door, unable to walk away.

Something about her… it tugged at a part of me that hadn’t felt anything in years.

She should have been bound. Questioned. Interrogated.

But I couldn’t do it.

Because her scent—her voice—her pain—it quieted the storm in me that no one else had ever touched.

And that made her dangerous.

Not just to my pack.

Not just to the world.

But to me.

More than any blade.

More than any curse.

She was the threat my instincts never warned me about.