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I don’t flinch. I don’t startle. The number doesn’t strike me like a blow because it is me. It’s always been me. It’s what they carved into my memory, into my spine, into the parts of me I never had a chance to name.

“Come here or the next time I remove your skin, I’ll let the maggots feast on your flesh before I let you heal.”

My fingers dig into the clothes of the man standing before me.

I remember the pain.

I had done everything right but he had wanted to see how fast I would heal. I don’t think I’ve screamed louder than I did that day. I thought my heart would burst. It was so much pain as the soldiers went at me with a scalpel—

The man who who’s shielding me steps forward, his voice a low growl.

Just one step. Just enough to plant himself fully between me and the man who once decided how much pain I could withstand before losing consciousness. And it centers me.

“She’s not going anywhere,” Erik says, voice like gravel soaked in quiet fury, low and unwavering.

The scientist doesn’t seem surprised.

Instead, he tilts his head and says with mock curiosity, “Does a deposed king still get to make demands?”

That word—king—it doesn’t mean anything to me. It’s just a sound, a label, maybe a title. Something people in stories wear like a cloak. I don’t understand it, and I don’t care to. But my protector stiffens.

That matters.

“Oh,” the scientist continues, as if savoring the moment, “you don’t like the title anymore? What a shame. You wore it proudly once, Erik.”

The name falls between us like a stone dropped in a still lake—subtle but heavy.

So that’s his name.

Erik.

He doesn’t speak.

But the tension in his shoulders speaks volumes.

“She’s not yours,” Erik says finally, quietly, like a knife being unsheathed.

“She’s not anyone’s,” the scientist replies, voice sharpening now. “She’s a failed prototype. A walking scar with a heartbeat. You’re not rescuing something lost—you’re clinging to something that never should’ve survived.”

Erik doesn’t move. Doesn’t answer.

The scientist takes a step forward, carefully, slowly, the firelight flickering against the glint of his coat buttons and the calculating glimmer in his eyes.

“But you,” he says now, eyes shifting to Erik, “you’ll make a fine consolation prize. Ever since Griffin escaped our grasp, we’ve been looking for someone carrying royal blood. The young king of the Eastern kingdom is constantly guarded. But you — You’re replaceable, aren’t you?”

“Take them both,” the scientist says, his voice snapping through the clearing like a whip. “Alive.”

That’s all it takes.

The guards move as one—swift and practiced—and Erik erupts.

The change is fast, but not uncontrolled.

It’s deliberate, seamless, a shattering of bones and skin that reforms into power and precision.

One second, he’s a man, the next a beast—larger than anything I’ve ever seen, fur the color of shadow, eyes molten gold, and fangs that flash like moonlit steel.

He meets the first shifter mid-charge and tears his throat open before the man even blinks.

The second is slower and suffers longer, claws raking wildly before Erik pins him to the ground and rips open his side with surgical brutality.

Blood flies. Flesh tears. Screams ripple through the night like smoke.

The others hesitate—just for a breath.

It’s one breath too long.

Erik is among them before they can regroup, moving like thunder, like wind, like death with purpose. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t give them a chance to strategize.

He destroys.

One tries to shift mid-air and is caught mid-transformation—Erik snaps his back in two before the bones finish forming.

Another tries to flank him and gets gutted with a single upward claw across his chest. A third reaches for something at his belt, but Erik is faster—his jaws clamp down on the man’s arm, and when he pulls away, the arm stays in his teeth.

I can’t look away.

I want to. I should.

But I don’t.

Because for once, the fear isn’t mine.

It’s theirs.

And I’ve waited my entire life to see it.

The bodies pile quickly. The ground is soaked. The firelight dances across broken skin and scattered limbs, and still Erik keeps moving.

I watch the scientist flee, fear on his face. He turns and disappears into the forest, vanishing into the trees like smoke on the wind.

Erik watches him go. He doesn’t chase him.

Instead, he turns back to me.

The transformation is slower this time, like the fury in him is reluctant to retreat. His body folds back into human shape, skin stitching over muscle, bones shrinking beneath flesh, until he stands there again—tall, his breath fogging in the cold air.

He looks at me.

And I don’t know what he sees.

He removes his shirt and then crouching beside me, he gently pulls it on me.

I know what clothes are. As he carefully pulls the sleeve over one arm, and then the next, I watch him. I’ve never been allowed to have clothes ever since I became their property. Being naked doesn’t bother me anymore. It is all I know.

But it seems to bother my protector.

He buttons up my shirt, his hands quivering. I can smell the sharp scent of his anger.

Is he angry at me?

I can’t tell.

But this creature inside of me is pleased.

Erik picks me up in his arms. “Come on, little one.”

His voice is exceedingly gentle. “I’ll take you somewhere safe.”

I rest my head against his chest and close my eyes.

He killed the ones who wanted to hurt me.

I can trust him.