Page 55

"My mother," I say softly. "She disappeared one day. My stepfather took her with him and came back with money..." I trail off, the bitterness coating my tongue. "He sold her, just like he did me."

Erik stiffens beside me, a low growl rumbling in his chest. The sound makes my wolf stir, responding to his anger.

"Sold you?" Maya asks gently.

I nod, focusing on the pattern of the wooden table beneath my fingers. "Some men came to our town. They were looking for gifted children, they said. Special ones." I swallow hard. "They took blood samples from several kids. They came back for me a few days later. With money for my stepfather."

Maya's pen scratches across her notebook. "Did they say what made you special? What they were looking for?"

"No. But I remember hearing them talk about 'potential' and 'markers.'" I pause, remembering something else. "I think I have a photographic memory. I always have. I could remember things exactly—books, conversations. My teachers noticed. Maybe that's why they chose me."

Maya looks up sharply. "You have a perfect memory?"

I shrug. "I don't know if it's perfect. But yes, I remember things easily.

Details most people miss. And when I'm taught something, I can recall it perfectly later.

I understand things quickly too." I hesitate.

"They used to test that. They'd teach me complicated things—languages, mathematics, diagrams of the human body—and then make me recite it back.

If I made mistakes..." I don't finish the sentence. I don't need to.

She glances at Erik before making another note. "That's remarkable, Freya. And it might explain part of their interest in you."

"They were very careful about what to teach me. They said I didn't have to know anything about the outside world, that if I was success, then they would think about it.”

Erik's hand on my back tenses, his fingers pressing slightly into my spine. The pressure is grounding, anchoring me to the present.

"Were there others like you?" Maya asks. "Other subjects?"

I nod, images flashing behind my eyes. "Many. But they were most vicious with me. The tests were worse for me than the others." I look down at my arms, remembering needles and scalpels. "They said I healed faster. That I could take more."

Maya's pen stills. "And the shifting? When did that start?"

"It didn’t. Not with them. They were trying to make it happen for a long time. Injections, electric shocks, drugs." I shudder at the memory. "Then it just... happened. When I was escaping."

Maya and Erik exchange a look I can't interpret.

"Freya," Maya says carefully, "you seem to pick things up very quickly. Your speech patterns, your comprehension—it's remarkable for someone who's been isolated for so long."

I hadn't thought about it. "I've always learned fast. And I listened to them talking. The scientists, the guards. It helped me understand... what was happening to me."

Maya closes her notebook and smiles. "You're doing incredibly well, Freya.

We'll help you adjust to life here, I promise.

" She stands, gathering her things. "I'm going to run some tests on your blood, but everything else can wait.

You should rest, explore a little if you feel up to it.

The palace is your home now, for as long as you want it to be. "

After she leaves, Erik stays with me, quiet and thoughtful. "Are you okay?" he finally asks.

"Yes," I say, surprised to find it's mostly true. "She's nice."

"Maya understands better than most what you're going through. She had to adjust to being a shifter too." He rises, offering me his hand. "Would you like to see more of the palace? Or would you prefer to rest?"

I take his hand without hesitation. "Show me."

The palace is overwhelming—vast and filled with more people than I've seen in years. Erik keeps close to my side as we walk, explaining things in his deep, calm voice. People bow to him as we pass, their curious eyes lingering on me before quickly looking away.

"Why do they do that?" I ask after the fourth person bows.

"I'm the king's brother," Erik explains. "Former king, actually, while Griffin was captive. It's habit for them."

The revelation surprises me. Erik doesn't look like what I imagine a king would be. He's too... real. Too solid and unpretentious. But there's something in the way he carries himself that speaks of authority, of power worn comfortably.

We enter a large courtyard, the afternoon sun warm on my face. The space is filled with men and women moving in coordinated patterns, weapons flashing in practiced strikes. Training.

"These are our soldiers," Erik explains. "I command them."

I watch, fascinated, as they spar and drill in pairs and groups. Their movements are precise, disciplined. Nothing like the chaotic violence I've known.

Erik's attention is caught by something across the yard. "Excuse me a moment," he says. "Wait here? I won't be long."

I nod, and he crosses to speak with a man who looks older, more weathered than the others. I lean against a stone pillar, content to observe from a distance.

After several minutes, Erik removes his shirt and steps into one of the training circles.

My breath catches. I've never seen a man's body this way—not as something to be admired rather than feared.

His muscles move under his skin with fluid grace as he faces off against a younger soldier.

They begin to spar, their movements almost like a dance—controlled, powerful, but without malice.

I can't look away. Each strike, each dodge and counter show the incredible strength and control Erik possesses. No wonder my wolf submitted to him in the forest. He's magnificent—powerful but restrained, dangerous but disciplined.

As I watch, entranced, a woman approaches the edge of the circle. She's striking, with dark hair pulled back in a tight braid and a confident stance that marks her as a fighter. She watches Erik with open appreciation, calling out suggestions and encouragements as he trains.

When the match ends, she steps forward, offering Erik a cloth to wipe his face. He takes it with a smile, and they fall into easy conversation. She touches his arm casually, laughing at something he says, and stands closer than necessary.

Something hot and uncomfortable twists in my stomach. I don't like the way she looks at him, the easy familiarity between them. I don't like how she makes him smile, how she touches him without hesitation.

The feeling confuses me. I have no claim on Erik. He's my protector, my rescuer, but nothing more. Yet watching this woman with him makes me want to bare my teeth, to growl low in my throat.

It isn't until the woman places her hand on Erik's bare chest, still talking animatedly about something, that I recognize the feeling burning through me.

Jealousy.

I've never felt it before—never had anything worth being jealous over. But there it is, sharp and insistent, making my wolf pace restlessly beneath my skin.

Erik glances up and sees me watching. Something in his expression shifts. He says something to the woman and steps away from her touch, moving back toward me with purpose in his stride.

"Sorry about that," he says, pulling his shirt back on. "Duty calls, even when I'm trying to show you around."

"Who is she?" I ask, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

Erik follows my gaze to the dark-haired woman, who is now talking to another soldier but still watching us. "That's Elina, one of my lieutenants. She leads our reconnaissance teams."

"She seems... familiar with you," I say carefully.

A flicker of something passes across Erik's face—surprise, maybe, or amusement. "We've worked together for many years. She’s a friend.”

“Oh.”

She’s watching us now, her expression blank and then she begins walking towards us. She flings her arm around Erik’s neck. “You’re supposed to be training us, not babysitting.”

I feel like the words are meant to wound but they mean nothing to me.

“Elina, this is Freya.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Her tone doesn’t seem genuine, a flatness in it that I’m far too familiar with.

“Hello,” I say awkwardly.

Elina leans against him in a way that has my wolf bristling. “So, you’re the kid Erik rescued. You’re quite scrawny. How old are you, fourteen?”

“Twenty-six,” I murmur, fascinated by the complex emotions she’s struggling to hide.

“Oh.” The disdain in her voice makes me blink.

“Hey Elina!” Someone calls her for her and she reluctantly leaves.

“Elina’s a bit blunt—” Erik begins apologetically.

“She doesn’t like me.” I look at him.

Surprised, he looks over his shoulder at her. “That’s not the case. She’s just protective.”

“I know when people don’t like me,” I say quietly.

“I can sense it. there are a few people in the facility who felt sorry for me. I could sense it in how they spoke. Then there were those who despised me, female shifters whose men liked to use my body. I could sense their anger. Elina spoke to me how they used to.”

When Erik doesn’t say anything, I look at him. His expression is ashen.

“What did you say?”

His harsh question puts me on edge. “I didn’t mean anything bad. I just think she—”

“They touched you?”

It takes me a moment to understand why he's angry and what he’s so focused on.

“It wasn’t uncommon. They kept the female captives unclothed. From the day I was taken from my home, when you put your shirt on me, that was the first time in all those years that I wore clothes. They liked to keep us scared. We would cooperate more easily.”

Erik’s fingers dig in my arms. “We have trauma counselors here. You can—”

“What?”

“You were assaulted, Freya. You need to speak to someone to help—”

I stare at him. “That was nothing. I’ve had far worse done to me. The things that were done to me inside that cell were nothing compared to the experiments and the torture.”

I gently remove his hand from my arm. "I want to move forward with my life. I don't want to remember what happened to me or what was done to me. I want to remember that I managed to escape. That I’m free.”

Erik goes still. “You’re right. But if you ever need someone to talk to—”

I nod. “If I do, I’ll ask you.”

Erik seemed pretty upset by my revelation.

But then he didn’t have to live through what I did.

When he leaves me to deal with something, I decide to explore the palace.

It’s vast and confusing, but I remember the path Erik showed me earlier.

My newly discovered ability to shift doesn't come with an instruction manual, but my senses are sharper now—I can detect scents, hear sounds that would have been impossible before.

I follow the scent of books and ink, finding myself in a large room lined with shelves reaching to the ceiling. Books of all sizes fill every available space, more books than I've ever seen. In the facility, books were rare treasures, smuggled contraband from guards who occasionally took pity.

"Do you like to read?"

I spin around to find Maya standing in the doorway, a gentle smile on her face.

" I think so,” I reply hesitantly. I was given books on mathematical and different subjects to read and understand them.”

She steps inside, running her fingers along the spines of nearby books. "You're welcome to read anything here. Knowledge belongs to everyone."

I approach one of the shelves tentatively, touching a leather-bound volume. "I saw Erik," I say suddenly. "Training with the soldiers."

Maya nods. "He's the commander of our army. The best fighter in the kingdom, many say."

"There was a woman with him. Dark hair. She seemed... close to him."

Maya's expression shifts slightly. "Elina. She's one of his lieutenants."

"She touched him like she had the right," I say, the words coming out harsher than intended. "And I felt..." I struggle to name the emotion.

"Jealous?" Maya supplies gently.

I nod, embarrassed by the admission. "I don't understand why.”

I can't find the words to explain the confusing tangle of emotions Erik stirs in me.

Maya guides me to a comfortable reading nook by one of the tall windows. "Those are all valid feelings. And there's no rush to figure it all out. You've been through so much, Freya. Give yourself time."

I turn back to her. "I want to be like her," I say suddenly. "Like Elina. She's so confident. So sure, of herself and her place here. I want to understand this world, to catch up on everything I've missed.”

Maya's eyes soften. "You're already more than that, Freya. But if you want to learn, I'll help you. We can start with books about our history, our customs. About shifters and what it means to be one. About anything you want to know."

"Really?" Hope flutters in my chest.

"Really," she confirms with a smile. "Your ability to remember and understand quickly will be a tremendous advantage. We can help you catch up on all the years you missed."

I glance at the thousands of books surrounding us. "I want to know everything."

Maya laughs, the sound bright and genuine. "Then we'd better get started."

As she begins selecting books from the shelves, explaining their contents and significance, I feel something new taking root inside me.

Not just hope, but purpose. I may not fully understand what this freedom means or how to navigate this new world I've been thrust into, but I know this: I refuse to remain a victim.

I will learn. I will grow. I will become strong.