Page 54

I stare at the food, uncertain how to proceed. In the facility, I was thrown scrapes on a good day, stale bread once every few days. But they would stick a needle in me, ‘to make sure you don’t die’ as my tormentor would say.

I reach for the food with my fingers but he grabs my wrist, shaking his head. “Not everything can be eaten with your hands.”

He lifts a spoon and dips it into one of the bowls. He blows on it gently before offering it to me. "It's hot," he warns.

I lean forward, my lips parting. The sweetness explodes on my tongue, shocking after years of bland sustenance. Something like a whimper escapes me.

"Good?" he asks, a small smile touching his lips.

I nod, unable to speak through the rush of sensation. He hands me the spoon, and I take it, my fingers clumsy around the unfamiliar weight. I dip it into the bowl as he did, lifting it with trembling care.

"I was human," I say after several careful bites, testing the words like I'm testing the food. The concept still feels strange, like clothing that doesn't quite fit. "And they... changed me."

Erik nods, his expression darkening. "The Silver Ring Organization has been experimenting with dormant shifter genes in humans. They activated something that was already inside you."

I look down at my hands—smooth now, healed by whatever magic touched me while I slept, but I can still feel the phantom sensation of claws bursting through my fingertips, of bones reshaping beneath my skin.

"Is that why it hurts?" I ask. "When I change?"

"It shouldn't," he says carefully. "Not like that. Not anymore."

I take another bite, letting the sweetness ground me. "And those men in the woods—the ones you killed..."

"They were part of the organization that held you captive," Erik confirms. "The same one that held my brother for ten years."

The weight of that settles between us—this shared understanding of captivity, of torture, of being treated like an object rather than a person.

"I didn't mean to kill those other men," I say suddenly, the words rushing out. "The ones by the fire. But they were going to hurt me. I could smell it on them. I could see it in their eyes." I swallow hard, remembering the laughter, the cruel anticipation.

Erik's jaw tightens. "You don't need to explain. You were defending yourself."

"Have you..." I hesitate, unsure how to ask. "Have you killed many people?"

He doesn't flinch from the question. "Yes. To protect others. To protect the kingdom." His gaze holds mine steadily. "To protect you."

Something warm unfurls in my chest at his words. It's unfamiliar, this feeling of being worth protecting.

"How did you escape?" he asks after a moment, his voice careful, like he's aware he might be stepping on bruises he can't see.

I set the spoon down, suddenly not hungry anymore. The memories rise like floodwater, threatening to drown me.

"They were moving me," I say, my voice flat even to my own ears. "They were trying to get me to change but it wasn’t working. And that man — The one from the woods, he got angry and he started hurting me. My neck, he cut something and I felt numb, like I was becoming empty—”

“You were dying.” Erik’s voice is dark.

I stare down at the food. “I think I did die. But something inside me was waking up and it felt strange. When I woke up, my restraints were not there and I was being dragged by my arm. I knew I had to escape.” I close my eyes, remembering the way my body felt different, changing.

“That was my first time shifting. I killed. I just killed everyone I could see. They tried to stop me and they cut me very badly but I got away.”

Erik says nothing, just listens with an intensity that makes me feel heard in a way I've never been before.

"I just ran. I don't know how long. I stopped at one point near a stream to drink. I was back to human and then someone spotted me and I started running again. And then I came across those men.”

I can feel my heart racing now, the memory too close, too real. My hands begin to shake.

"It's okay," Erik says, his voice hard. "You're not there anymore."

I look up at him, at the certainty in his eyes.

"But I am," I whisper. "Every time I close my eyes, I'm back in that room with the white walls and the metal table.

I'm back with the needles and the tests and the—" My voice breaks. “I wanted to die. I wanted to be free or die. I don’t want to be cut up anymore. I don’t want to be beaten and hurt all the time.”

Erik moves the tray aside and shifts closer, his movements slow and deliberate. "May I?" he asks, arms slightly open.

I don't understand the question at first, and then I do. No one has ever asked permission to touch me before. They just took, cut, prodded, restrained.

I nod, a small motion.

He reaches for me, drawing me against his chest. His arms encircle me, firm but not confining.

I'm stiff at first, unfamiliar with this kind of contact, but then something in me gives way.

I melt into his warmth, my face pressed against his shoulder, breathing in the scent that makes my wolf feel calm for the first time since I can remember.

"You survived," he says, his voice a rumble I feel against my cheek. "That's what matters. You survived, and you found your way here."

I don't tell him that I didn't find my way anywhere—that I was simply running blind, that meeting him was chance, not destiny. But even as the thought forms, something deeper whispers otherwise. The wolf in me recognizes him, is drawn to him in ways I don't understand.

"What happens now?" I ask, my voice muffled against his shirt.

His hand moves to my hair, stroking gently. "Now you heal. You rest. You learn what it means to be free." He pulls back slightly, looking into my eyes. "And I'll be here. For as long as you need me."

I believe him. I don't know why, after everything I’ve been though, I can still trust someone’s words.

But I do. Perhaps it's the wolf in me, sensing something in him that my human mind can't fully grasp.

Or perhaps it's simply that he's the first person who's ever looked at me and seen someone worth saving.

Either way, for the first time since I can remember, I feel something other than fear.

I feel hope.

After breakfast, Erik leads me down a long corridor, his hand occasionally brushing against mine as if to reassure me that he’s still there. We stop before a large wooden door, carved with intricate patterns I don't recognize.

"This is one of our meeting rooms," he explains. "Maya thought it might be more comfortable to talk here than in your bedroom."

Maya. The Queen. A human turned shifter, like me.

I nod, though anxiety crawls up my spine.

Erik seems to sense my hesitation. "I'll be with you the whole time," he promises, pushing open the door.

The room inside is nothing like I expected.

Warm light streams through tall windows, illuminating comfortable chairs arranged around a polished table.

A woman with auburn hair stands as we enter, her movements graceful and assured.

She carries a small case in her hands, and her eyes are kind but analytical as they scan over me.

"Hello, Freya," she says, her voice gentle. "I'm Maya. I’m Erik’s sister-in-law. How’re you feeling?”

Hearing her link to Erik helps me relax.

“Okay.” I try to shrug.

“Good.” Her smile is — Not sweet but sharp, her eyes glittering with intelligence. She reminds me of the scientists in the labs but not entirely. She seems warm and approachable. I glance towards Erik as she speaks.

“I'd like to talk with you and run some simple tests, if that's okay."

Tests. The word makes my stomach clench. Erik puts his hands on my shoulders, his presence solid and reassuring.

"She won't hurt you," he says, as if reading my thoughts. "Maya was human once, too. Like you, remember?"

He told me about her before we came here. I look at her more closely, searching for some sign of difference, some hint that she wasn't born a shifter. But she seems so comfortable in her skin, so balanced. Nothing like the chaos I feel inside.

"He stays," I say, the words coming out sharper than I intend. "Please."

Maya nods, setting her case on the table. "Of course. Whatever makes you comfortable."

Erik guides me to a chair, taking the one beside me, close enough that I can feel his warmth but not so close that I feel trapped. I draw strength from his presence.

"I need to take a small blood sample," Maya explains, opening her case. "And I'd like to ask you some questions about what happened to you. Is that all right?"

I nod, though my heart races at the sight of the needle she removes from her case. Maya seems to notice my fear, because she slows her movements, explaining each step before she takes it.

"This will just pinch for a moment," she says, approaching with the needle. "You can look away if you want."

I don't. I watch as the needle pierces my skin, feeling Erik's hand settle lightly on my back. The small pain is nothing compared to what I've endured, but having him there makes it easier to bear.

Maya works efficiently, drawing blood into several small tubes. "Perfect," she says, placing a small bandage over the puncture. "Thank you, Freya."

She labels the tubes carefully before returning to sit across from me, a small notebook in her hands. "Can you tell me how long they held you captive?"

I close my eyes, trying to sort through memories that blur together in an endless stream of white walls and pain. "I don't know. Years. Many years."

"Do you remember how old you were when they took you?"

The memory surfaces like a bubble breaking the water's surface. "Six," I say. "I had just turned six."

Erik’s hands tighten on my shoulders.

Maya makes a note, her expression carefully neutral, but I see the tightening around her eyes. "And do you remember anything about your life before? Your family?"