Page 3

CHAPTER 3

T he stone beneath the beast’s claws was cool, the late afternoon sun not quite reaching the shadowed ledge where he crouched. His massive body remained perfectly still, only his eyes moving as he watched the activity below.

Something had changed in the Vultor encampment, and the beast bristled at the unusual patterns, instinctively wary of change. Vultor moved with purpose, carrying items down the path to an open clearing. Some constructed a central pavilion with branches woven into intricate patterns. The scent of ceremonial herbs reached him.

A bonding ceremony. The knowledge came unbidden, as if someone else had placed it in his mind.

He shifted his weight, a low growl building in his chest. Two moons had passed since that sweet scent had pierced his consciousness, bringing flashes of… something else. Something that wasn’t beast. Those moments had grown more frequent, more intrusive—painful fragments of thought breaking through the simpler existence of hunt and territory and survival.

Protect. Mine. Territory.

The concepts were clear enough to the beast. But other thoughts came now, unbidden and unwelcome.

Who am I? What happened to me?

Another memory surfaced—sharp-edged and disorienting. Standing before a mirror, adjusting ceremonial robes across broad shoulders. Slate-grey skin rather than fur. Hands with retractable claws instead of these permanent weapons. Pride in his reflection. Arrogance.

The memory shattered as quickly as it had formed, leaving him disoriented and angry. He dug his claws into the stone, gouging deep furrows as he fought the urge to howl his frustration.

As much as he’d tried to force himself deeper into the mountains, he’d remained in this area, moving between the Vultor enclave and the human village, watching, listening. Only a few weeks ago, he’d come to the aid of a human female. Her presence in Vultor territory confused him—why was a human here?—but when she was threatened, he’d brought her mate to her. He’d even brought an old healer to them.

Why had he done that? The beast had no answer, only the lingering echo of a thought: Not right. Protect.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the valley, and he rose to his full height, stretching muscles that had grown stiff from stillness. Time to hunt. Time to?—

A new scent caught his attention. Faint but familiar. He turned his head, nostrils flaring.

Not the sweet, enticing scent that had first awakened him, but something older. Something that tugged at deeper memories.

Without conscious decision, he abandoned his perch and moved through the trees at the edge of the encampment, following the scent. His big body blended with the deepening shadows as he circled closer to the source.

Two female figures emerged from the trees ahead, walking along a narrow path that wound towards the clearing between the Vultor enclave and the human village. One young, one old. The younger female walked with a fluid grace, wrapped in a flowing blue green gown edged with silver embroidery. A bonding dress .

The elder’s scent reached him first and triggered another flash of memory—a small woman with fierce eyes, speaking words he couldn’t recall. Her scent was the one he had recognized—herbs and smoke. The healer. Agatha.

The younger female turned, laughing at something the older one had said, but her scent… there was none. Not human. Not Vultor. Nothing.

His beast-mind couldn’t comprehend this absence, but something deeper recognized it as significant. He stared, transfixed, as they passed.

Mine?

He took an involuntary step forward, leaves crunching beneath his weight, but something else stirred in the depths of his mind. Not my female. Not the one whose scent had awakened him.

Agatha tilted her head at the sound, but didn’t look in his direction as she sent the young female up the path. The younger female hesitated, then nodded and continued down the path, casting one worried glance over her shoulder before disappearing around a bend.

He remained motionless, fighting the urge to go after her. Even though she was not his female, something about her called to him—the gown, perhaps, or the way she held herself.

A memory flashed: another female in a similar gown, presented to him in a grand hall. He had rejected her with casual cruelty, dismissing her as unworthy.

The memory vanished, leaving only confusion in its wake. He took another step forward, drawn by the need to understand, and Agatha turned towards him, her eyes, sharp and knowing, scanning the shadows where he stood. For a moment, he thought she couldn’t see him—but then her gaze locked with his, and recognition flickered across her features.

“Come out,” she said quietly. “I know you’re there.”

He hesitated, then stepped forward. The last rays of sunlight caught his fur, turning the dark-grey to burnished silver along his arms, but she showed no fear, only a deep sadness.

“Malrik.”

His name. Spoken aloud, it unlocked something—a cascade of fractured memories. A noble house. A betrayal. Pride before a fall.

The beast—Malrik—moved closer, drawn by the sound of his name on familiar lips.

“Agatha,” he growled, the word rough and malformed in his beast throat.

“You remember.”

Did he? Fragments only. This woman. Warnings unheeded. Something about a curse. He growled low in his throat and took another step forward. His gaze followed the path where the younger female had disappeared, and he made a questioning sound.

Agatha shook her head. “No, Malrik. She is not for you.”

He growled again, taking another step towards the path, but Agatha stepped in front of him, her small body somehow blocking his way.

“She is not yours,” she repeated, her voice gentler now. “The one you seek is elsewhere.”

Confusion gave way to rage—hot and sudden. The beast reared up to his full height, towering over her, but she didn’t retreat, just studied him with knowing eyes.

“Your anger changes nothing,” she said firmly. “You made your choice long ago, when you let your pride consume you.” Her voice softened. “But there may yet be hope for you, if you can find your way back.”

He snarled, frustrated by words he half-understood and memories that slipped through his grasp like water. Something about her words struck deep—a truth he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Lost. Alone. Cursed.

The words echoed in his mind, bringing with them a wave of grief and rage so intense that his vision blurred. He threw back his head and howled, a sound of such raw anguish that birds exploded from nearby trees in panicked flight.

When the sound died away, he found Agatha still standing before him, a single tear glistening on her cheek.

“Go home, Malrik,” she whispered. “Wait. Your time will come.”

But the beast had taken control again, driven by a pain it couldn’t understand. With another snarl, he turned and crashed back into the forest, running blindly through the gathering darkness, trying to outpace the grief that followed like a shadow.

Trees whipped past, branches tearing at his fur. He ran until his lungs burned and his muscles screamed for rest, but still he pushed on, driven by an agony that had no name.

Only when the moon had risen high above the mountains did he finally slow, his chest heaving with exertion. He must have circled back because he found himself in front of a familiar building—the overgrown remains of what had once been his home. The keep rose against the starlit sky, its towers like accusing fingers pointing toward the heavens.

Something about it both repelled him and called to him. A sanctuary and a prison.

With a last mournful howl that echoed across the valley, he padded towards the ruins, disappearing into the shadows of what had once been his domain.