They didn't give me time to run.

The scarred one moved first. His hand closed around my arm like a steel trap, and before I could shift, before I could even think about shifting, the gray-eyed one pressed something cold against my neck.

A syringe.

"This will only hurt for a moment," he said.

The world tilted. The moon spun above me like a broken coin. I tried to fight, tried to call the wolf, but my limbs had turned to water and my mind was sinking into a deep, dark ocean.

No, I thought as darkness swallowed me. Not like this. Not when I just got free.

I woke up to the smell of iron and old blood.

My eyes opened slowly. I was lying on a cold stone floor, naked except for a rough wool blanket someone had thrown over me. The ceiling above me was vaulted, ancient, made of bricks that looked like they belonged in a Byzantine church.

But this was no church.

I sat up slowly, my head pounding. The room was large-maybe the size of a warehouse-with pillars supporting a ceiling so high I couldn't see the top. Torches burned in iron brackets on the walls, casting dancing shadows that made everything look like a nightmare.

And everywhere I looked, there were eyes.

Dozens of them. Hundreds. Glowing in the darkness between the pillars. Watching me.

"Ah, the half-blood awakens."

A voice echoed from somewhere above. I looked up and saw a balcony circling the room. On it stood a woman with silver hair and skin so pale she looked like she had been carved from ice. She was beautiful in the way a frozen lake was beautiful-stunning, but capable of killing you if you stepped wrong.

"Where am I?" My voice came out rough, barely a whisper.

"The Legacy Council," the woman said. "The place where shifters from every corner of the world come to settle their disputes. I am Vera Volkov. Acting leader of the Siberian pack."

Siberian. That explained the cold eyes.

"Why am I here?"

Vera smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. "Your father, Hasan Demir, owed a debt to the Council. A blood debt. When he died, the debt passed to you."

"I never agreed to-"

"No one asked you to agree." Her voice was sharp now. "Debts of blood are not chosen, child. They are inherited."

A door opened somewhere behind me. I turned my head and saw the scarred man from the cliff approaching. He was carrying a bundle of clothes-simple black pants, a gray tunic, leather boots.

"Get dressed," he said. "The Council is waiting."

I dressed quickly, my fingers trembling. The clothes were too big, but they covered me. That was all that mattered.

The scarred man-his name was Dimitri, I learned-led me through a maze of corridors lit by more torches. Everywhere I looked, I saw shifters. Some were obviously wolves, with the same restless energy I felt in my own bones. Others looked almost human, but I could smell them. The wildness. The hunger.

We passed a group of three women with dark skin and braided hair who spoke in a language I didn't recognize. African, maybe. Then two men with sharp cheekbones and tattoos on their necks that looked like Nordic runes.

"Where are they all from?" I asked.

"Everywhere," Dimitri said. "Germany. Alaska. Siberia. Mongolia. Brazil. The Council brings together all the great packs. Once a year, they meet to discuss territory, alliances, and... debts."

"And tonight, they're discussing me."

Dimitri glanced at me. For a moment, something almost like sympathy flickered in his cold eyes. "You're not the first half-blood to stand before them. You won't be the last."

That didn't make me feel better.

The Council chamber was enormous.

It was shaped like a half-circle, with thirteen stone thrones arranged in an arc. Most of them were empty, but four were occupied. Vera sat in the center, her ice-white hair gleaming in the torchlight. To her left sat a massive man with a beard like a lion's mane-Alaskan, I guessed, from the bone necklace he wore. To her right, a thin, sharp-featured woman with eyes the color of amber-Mongolian, maybe.

And at the very end, a man who looked like he hadn't slept in years. His face was gaunt, his clothes ragged, but his eyes... his eyes burned with a fire that made me take a step back.

"Elif Demir," Vera said. "Step forward."

I didn't move.

"Step. Forward."

My feet obeyed before my brain could stop them. I walked to the center of the half-circle and stood there, surrounded by ancient shifters who could probably kill me with a thought.

"Do you know why you're here?" Vera asked.

"Because my father owed a debt."

"Not just a debt. A secret." Vera leaned forward. "Your father was a half-blood, like you. But unlike you, he earned the respect of every pack in this room. He was a warrior. A diplomat. A man who bridged the gap between purebloods and half-bloods."

I swallowed. I had never heard anyone speak of my father that way. To me, he was just a ghost-a man I barely remembered, a man my mother refused to talk about.

"What happened to him?" I asked.

Vera's expression hardened. "He was killed. Murdered by someone who wanted the secret he was protecting."

"What secret?"

The thin-faced woman spoke for the first time. Her voice was like sandpaper. "There is an artifact. A relic of the First Wolf, the creature who created our kind. It was lost centuries ago. Your father found it. And then he died before he could tell anyone where."

"And you think I know where it is?"

"We think," Vera said slowly, "that his blood knows. And you carry his blood."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. It was a broken, hysterical sound that echoed off the stone walls.

"You dragged me across the country, drugged me, stripped me, and brought me to this... this circus... because you think my blood might know something?"

The Alaskan man rumbled something in a language I didn't understand. Vera held up her hand.

"You will participate in the Blood Call," she said. "A ritual that forces the memories of your father to surface through your veins. If the relic's location is in your blood, we will find it."

"And if I refuse?"

Vera smiled again. That cold, empty smile.

"Then you will be declared rogue. And rogues have no rights. Any shifter can kill you. Any pack can hunt you. You will spend the rest of your short, miserable life running."

I looked around the room. At the thirteen thrones. At the shifters watching me from the shadows. At the ancient stones that had witnessed centuries of bloodshed.

I had no pack. No family. No power.

I had nothing to bargain with.

"Fine," I said. "I'll do your Blood Call. But when it's over, I walk free."

Vera tilted her head. "We'll see."

The Blood Call was scheduled for dawn.

Until then, I was locked in a small room with a cot, a bucket of water, and a single torch. I sat on the cot, my back against the cold wall, and tried to remember my father's face.

I couldn't.

I remembered his hands-big, warm, calloused. I remembered his laugh, deep and rumbling like distant thunder. I remembered the way he used to lift me onto his shoulders and carry me through the forest, telling me stories about wolves who could turn into men and men who could turn into stars.

But his face was a blur.

"D*mn you," I whispered into the darkness. "D*mn you for dying. D*mn you for leaving me with her. D*mn you for this debt."

The wolf stirred inside me. Not angry this time. Just... sad.

He loved you, it said. More than anything.

"Love didn't save him."

No. But it might save you.

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. But sleep wouldn't come. All I could think about was the Blood Call-the idea of strangers reaching into my veins, pulling out memories that weren't mine, using my father's ghost for their own purposes.

And all I could feel was rage.

Dawn came too fast.

Dimitri appeared at my door with two guards. They led me back through the corridors, past the torchlit halls, to a chamber I hadn't seen before. This one was smaller than the Council room, but more intimate. A stone altar stood in the center, stained with dark marks that could have been wine or blood.

Vera was waiting. So were the Alaskan and the Mongolian. The ragged man was gone.

"Remove your tunic," Vera said.

"No."

"You will be marked. The ritual requires the blood to flow from your chest. Remove your tunic or I will have my guards remove it for you."

I glared at her. But I wasn't stupid. I pulled the tunic over my head and stood there, bare-chested, trying not to shiver.

Vera approached with a knife. The blade was black obsidian, sharp enough to cut light itself.

"This will hurt," she said.

"I figured."

She pressed the blade to my chest-right over my heart-and dragged it downward. The pain was sharp, immediate, and far worse than I expected. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

The Alaskan man began to chant. The Mongolian woman joined him. Their voices rose and fell like waves, filling the chamber with a sound that vibrated in my bones.

And then I saw him.

My father.

He was standing at the edge of the room, watching me. His face was exactly as I remembered it now-strong jaw, kind eyes, a smile that made everything feel safe.

"Baba?" I whispered.

"You're so beautiful," he said. "My little girl. All grown up."

"Where are you? Where's the relic?"

His smile faded. "Don't trust them, Elif. They don't want the relic to protect it. They want it to control it."

"Then tell me where it is. I'll find it first. I'll-"

"The Black Sea," he said. "Where the water meets the fire. Where I buried my secrets so no one could-"

The vision shattered.

I gasped and stumbled backward, clutching my chest. The wound was already healing-the mark of shifter blood-but the memory was fading, slipping through my fingers like smoke.

"What did you see?" Vera demanded. "Where is the relic?"

"I... I don't..."

"TELL ME."

"The Black Sea," I said. "That's all I saw. The Black Sea."

Vera's eyes narrowed. She looked at the Alaskan man, who shrugged. The Mongolian woman whispered something I couldn't hear.

"It's not enough," Vera said. "But it's a start. You will remain with us until you remember more."

"You promised-"

"I promised nothing."

The door behind me opened. I turned, expecting guards, expecting Dimitri, expecting anyone.

But it wasn't anyone.

It was a man.

He was tall-taller than Dimitri, taller than the Alaskan. His hair was the color of dark honey, falling across a face that looked like it had been carved by a sculptor who hated softness. His jaw was sharp. His cheekbones were sharper. And his eyes...

His eyes were the color of the sea before a storm. Gray-green. Cold. And they were locked on me like I was prey.

He walked into the chamber like he owned it. Like he owned everything. The shifters around him stepped back, their heads bowing slightly. Even Vera's expression shifted-not fear, but something close to respect.

"So," he said, his voice a low rumble with an accent I couldn't quite place. German, maybe. Or Austrian. "This is the half-blood who has caused all this trouble."

He stopped in front of me. Close enough that I could smell him-pine and smoke and something wilder, something that made the wolf inside me sit up and pay attention.

"Who are you?" I asked.

He smiled. It wasn't a kind smile.

"Niklas Vollbrecht," he said. "Leader of the Black Forest pack. And the man who will be watching your every move until this business is finished."

"I don't answer to you."

"No," he agreed. "But you'll learn to."

He reached out and touched my chin-just two fingers, just enough to tilt my face up toward his. His touch was like lightning. My skin burned where his fingers pressed.

"Tell me, half-blood," he whispered. "Are you worth all this trouble? Or should I kill you now and save everyone the effort?"

The wolf inside me snarled.

And for the first time, I snarled back.

"Try it," I said. "And find out."

Niklas's eyes widened-just a fraction, just for a second. Then he laughed. A real laugh, deep and unexpected.

"Oh," he said, stepping back. "This is going to be interesting."

He turned and walked toward the door. But at the threshold, he stopped and looked back at me over his shoulder.

"The Blood Call was just the beginning," he said. "Tomorrow, the real test begins. I hope you survive it, half-blood. For your sake."

The door closed behind him.

I stood there, shaking, my chest still wet with my own blood, and I realized something that terrified me more than the Council, more than the relic, more than anything else.

The wolf inside me wasn't afraid of Niklas Vollbrecht.

The wolf wanted him.

Sleep eluded me that night. Every time I closed my eyes, his face materialized: those storm-gray eyes, that cruel, beautiful mouth. The way he had looked at me, as if I were something he yearned to shatter, or devour. I struck the thin mattress beneath me. "Stop it," I hissed, my voice a ragged whisper. "He called you a half-blood like it was a disease. He's not your enemy. He's not anything."

The wolf disagreed. He's pack, it countered. Or he could be.

"He's pureblood. He probably bathes in the tears of half-breeds."

You don't know that.

"I know enough."

Abandoning the pretense of sleep, I sat by the small window in my cell. The sky above Istanbul was a dull, polluted gray, a stark contrast to the clear skies of the Black Sea coast. Somewhere out there, my mother was likely sipping her morning tea, content in her pretense that I had never existed. Good. Let her pretend. I had far greater problems now.

Dawn brought the guards. Not Dimitri this time, but two younger shifters, their movements as cold and efficient as any of the Council's servants. They led me through a different network of corridors, wider and brighter than the ones I knew, their windows offering glimpses of a courtyard I hadn't seen before.

The courtyard teemed with shifters. Dozens, perhaps a hundred, stood in hushed clusters, their eyes constantly scanning, constantly observing. I recognized some of the packs from the previous night-the Alaskans with their bone necklaces, the Mongolians with their sharp features, the Africans with their intricately braided hair.

And then I saw them. The Germans. They stood apart, a small, dark-clad contingent. They didn't speak, didn't move, merely waited, like a pack of wolves poised for the perfect moment to strike. Niklas stood at their center, clad in black: black pants, black shirt, black boots. His hair was pulled back, revealing the sharp planes of his jaw and the subtle curve of his ears. He looked like a predator cloaked in human skin. As his gaze met mine, his lip curled in a sneer.

"Ah," he announced, his voice carrying across the silent courtyard. "The dirty blood arrives."

The courtyard fell silent. I felt the weight of a hundred eyes upon me-curious, hostile, indifferent. Yet, my gaze remained locked on Niklas. "Dirty blood," I repeated, walking towards him. "How original. Did you conjure that yourself, or did your mother teach you?"

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by a few nervous titters. Niklas's eyes narrowed. "You have a mouth on you."

"And you have a stick up your-"

"Enough." Vera's voice, sharp as a honed blade, sliced through the rising tension. She appeared at the far end of the courtyard, flanked by the Alaskan and the Mongolian. Behind them, a man I hadn't seen before, tall and dark-skinned, his eyes holding an ancient depth, followed close.

"This is not a brawl," Vera continued, her tone firm. "This is a Gathering. You will show respect."

Niklas inclined his head, a barely perceptible movement, but his eyes never left mine. "Of course, Councilwoman. I was merely... greeting our newest guest."

"Guest?" I scoffed. "Is that what you call kidnapping now?"

Niklas's smile was a predatory flash. "I call it recruitment. You should be flattered."

"Recruitment for what?"

Vera stepped forward. "The Blood Call was merely the first step. You carry your father's memories, Elif. That makes you valuable. But value must be tested." She gestured to the assembled shifters. "Every year, the Council hosts a Competition. Packs from across the globe send their finest warriors-purebloods, half-bloods, it matters not. They fight. They prove their strength. And the victors receive land, resources, and the Council's favor."

"And what does that have to do with me?"

"You will compete," Vera stated. "For the Council. If you win, you earn your freedom. If you lose..." She shrugged, a gesture that conveyed finality. "You belong to the pack that claims you."

I stared at her, incredulity warring with a rising tide of anger. "You want me to fight for you? After you drugged me, kidnapped me, and cut me open?"

"I want you to survive," Vera replied, her gaze unwavering. "There's a difference."

The courtyard slowly emptied, the shifters dispersing back into their groups, no doubt whispering about the half-blood who had dared to confront Niklas Vollbrecht. I remained alone in the center, grappling with the enormity of what had just transpired.

"Elif Demir."

I turned. The tall, dark-skinned man from earlier was approaching. Up close, the lines etched into his face weren't wrinkles, but something deeper, like intricate maps of forgotten lands. "I am Kianuk," he introduced himself. "Of the Alaskan pack."

"I remember you. You were on the Council last night."

He nodded. "I was watching you. Not because of the relic. Because of your energy."

"My energy?"

"You are different from other half-bloods. You carry something within you. Something ancient." He tilted his head, studying me with an intensity that was both unnerving and insightful. "Have you ever wondered why your father chose to hide the relic instead of using it?"

Until that moment, the question hadn't even crossed my mind.

"He wasn't greedy," Kianuk continued, his voice a low rumble. "He was scared. The relic isn't merely a weapon. It's a key. And keys can unlock doors that are best left closed."

"Are you going to tell me what door?"

Kianuk offered a smile, a sad, gentle expression that unexpectedly reminded me of someone-perhaps my father, or the father I wished I had. "Not yet," he said. "You're not ready."

Before I could press further, a shadow fell over us. "Step away from her, Alaskan."

Niklas. Of course.

Kianuk remained unperturbed, his gaze steady as he looked at Niklas, then back at me. "Be careful, Elif Demir. The wolf you fear might be the only one who can save you." He turned and disappeared into the dispersing crowd.

Niklas watched him go, his jaw set tight. "What did he say to you?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

"Everything about you concerns me now." He stepped closer, close enough for me to catch his scent again-pine, smoke, and something darker, more primal, beneath. "You heard Vera. The pack that claims you gains possession of the relic's location. And I intend to be that pack."

"So you can control it?"

"So I can destroy it."

I blinked, taken aback by his unexpected declaration. "Why?"

Niklas's expression flickered, a fleeting glimpse of pain, raw and unguarded, crossing his features before the cold mask snapped back into place. "Because relics like that don't bring power," he said, his voice low and quiet. "They bring death. And I've seen enough death to last a lifetime." He turned and walked away, leaving me with a thousand unspoken questions.

The remainder of the day was a blur of introductions and explanations. Vera convened all the competitors in the main hall, outlining the rules of the upcoming trials: three distinct challenges-strength, speed, and cunning. Each pack could field a single representative. The ultimate victor would claim all.

"But Elif doesn't belong to any pack," a voice called out. A woman with hair like spun moonlight and eyes like chips of ice, likely Siberian, I surmised. "She's a rogue. A half-blood. She has no right to compete."

"She will compete as the Council's champion," Vera declared, her voice brooking no dissent.

Murmurs rippled through the assembled shifters. "The Council has never had a champion."

"There's a first time for everything," Vera stated, her gaze challenging anyone to dispute her authority. "Unless any of you would like to question my decision?"

Silence.

The white-blonde woman stepped forward. She possessed a chilling beauty, akin to a blizzard-cold, deadly, impossible to ignore. Her icy eyes met mine, holding them captive. "I am Anastasia Volkov," she announced, her voice as sharp as frost. "Leader of the Siberian pack. And I have no desire to witness a half-blood embarrass herself in the ring."

"I didn't ask for your interest," I retorted.

Anastasia offered a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You have spirit. I appreciate that. Perhaps when Niklas breaks you, I will collect the pieces and forge something useful."

"You want me in your pack?"

"I want your blood. Your father was a formidable warrior. His daughter might prove useful-if she survives." She turned and walked away, but I felt her gaze on me for the rest of the afternoon, a calculating, predatory stare. Another enemy, I thought grimly. Perfect.

That evening, I found a secluded corner of the courtyard and leaned against the cool stone wall, watching the sun dip below the Istanbul skyline. I didn't hear Niklas approach; I only knew he was there when his shadow fell across me.

"You're alone," he observed. "That's foolish."

"I'm not alone. I have myself. And myself is excellent company."

He snorted. "Your mouth will be the death of you."

"My mouth has kept me alive so far."

He sat down, not beside me, but close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body. We sat in silence for a long moment, the sky bleeding into hues of orange and red.

"Why do you hate half-bloods so much?" I finally asked.

Niklas was silent for so long I thought he wouldn't answer. "Because they remind me of what I lost," he said at last.

"What did you lose?"

"Everything."

He stood abruptly. "The first trial is tomorrow. Strength. You'll be facing a pureblood from the Mongolian pack. His name is Temur. He's killed seven half-bloods in the past year."

I swallowed, a knot forming in my stomach. "Thanks for the warning."

"I'm not warning you. I'm telling you that you're going to lose. And when you do, I'll be there to collect the pieces." He began to walk away, then paused. Without turning, he added, "One more thing."

"What?"

"The wolf inside you. Does it feel different when I'm near?"

My heart stopped. "What?"

"Answer the question."

I desperately wanted to lie, to deny any connection, to assert that he was merely another arrogant pureblood who believed he owned the world. But the words wouldn't come. "Yes," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "It feels... restless."

Niklas turned his head just enough for me to see the sharp profile of his face, the tension in his jaw. "Good," he said, his voice low. "That means you're not completely broken yet." He walked away, vanishing into the encroaching darkness.

The morning of the first trial dawned cold and gray. I stood in the center of the arena-a circular pit lined with stone, surrounded by hundreds of expectant shifters. Above us, the Council sat on their elevated thrones, observing the proceedings like gods presiding over a gladiatorial contest. Across from me stood Temur. He was a giant of a man, easily six and a half feet tall, with shoulders like a bull and hands the size of my head. His eyes were black, empty, and a cruel smile stretched across his face.

"A half-blood," he rumbled, his accent thick. "I've killed your kind before. You all scream the same way."

"And you all bleed the same way," I countered.

His smile faltered. Kianuk, the Alaskan, stood at the edge of the pit, holding a staff. He raised it high, then brought it down. "Begin."

Temur charged. I dodged left, but he was faster than his bulk suggested. His fist slammed into my shoulder, sending me spinning. I hit the ground hard, my vision blurring.

"Get up," a voice from the crowd commanded. "Get up, half-blood!" I recognized Anastasia's voice, her ice-blue eyes gleaming from the stands.

I pushed myself up. Temur charged again. This time, I was ready. I dropped low, swept his legs out from under him, and watched him crash to the ground. The crowd roared.

"Not bad," Temur growled, regaining his footing. "But not good enough."

He shifted. Not fully-only his hands. His fingers elongated into sharp claws, fur sprouting from his knuckles. He lunged at me, claws extended, aiming for my throat.

I shifted too. Just my legs. Just enough to grant me speed. I leaped over his attack, landed behind him, and kicked the back of his knee. He stumbled. I grabbed his arm and twisted. Bone cracked with a sickening sound.

Temur screamed. I released him and stepped back, my heart hammering against my ribs. The crowd fell silent. Even the Council seemed frozen. Temur stared at his broken arm, then at me. His eyes, no longer empty, were wide with fear. "I yield," he gasped.

Kianuk raised his staff. "Winner: Elif Demir."

The arena erupted. I stood in the center of the pit, breathing heavily, my entire body trembling. I had won. I had actually won.

And then Niklas was there. He grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight I gasped. His eyes burned, his face inches from mine. "You cheated," he hissed.

"I won."

"You shifted. The rules state-"

"The rules say nothing about partial shifts. I read them."

Niklas's jaw tightened. For a terrifying moment, I thought he would strike me. But then he did something far worse. He smiled. "You're clever," he said, his voice dangerously soft. "I'll give you that. But cleverness won't save you in the next trial." He pulled me closer, his breath hot against my ear. "Listen to me very carefully, half-blood. You are now bound to my pack. Not the Council's. Mine. If you object, I will execute you myself. Do you understand?"

I tried to pull away, but his grip was like iron. "Why?" I whispered. "Why do you want me so badly?"

Niklas pulled back just enough to meet my gaze. And for a fleeting moment, I saw something other than hatred in his eyes. Something that looked like hunger. "Because," he said softly, "you're the most dangerous thing I've ever seen. And I want to be the one holding the leash."

He released my wrist and walked away. I stood there, trembling, and felt the wolf within me shiver with something that wasn't fear. It was desire.

Training began at midnight.

I was dragged from my cell by two of Niklas's Germans-a man and a woman with the same cold efficiency as their leader. They didn't speak to me. They didn't look at me. They just grabbed my arms and marched me through the labyrinthine corridors of the Council's stronghold until we reached a door I hadn't seen before.

It opened onto a forest.

Not a courtyard. Not a training ground. An actual forest, with trees that stretched toward a moonlit sky and soil that smelled of rain and decay. I blinked, disoriented.

"How is this possible? We're under the city."

"The Council's architects were clever," a voice said from the shadows.

Niklas stepped out from between two pines. He was wearing nothing but a pair of loose pants, his chest bare and gleaming with sweat. The moonlight caught the lines of his muscles, the ridges of his scars, the way his skin moved over bone and sinew like water over stone.

I looked away. Too late. The wolf had already seen.

Beautiful, it whispered.

Shut up, I told it.

"Where are the others?" I asked, keeping my eyes fixed on a point just above his left shoulder.

"There are no others." Niklas walked toward me, slow and deliberate. "Your training is with me. Alone."

"Why?"

"Because you're dangerous. Because you don't know how to control what's inside you. And because I don't trust anyone else to put you down if you lose control."

He stopped in front of me. Close enough that I could feel the heat rising off his skin.

"Shift," he said.

"What?"

"Shift. Fully. Now."

"I can't shift fully on command. It doesn't work that way."

"Then you'll learn." His voice was flat, uncompromising. "Shift, Elif. Or I'll make you."

The wolf stirred. Not with fear. With anger.

"Try it," I said.

Niklas's eyes flashed. In the moonlight, they looked almost silver.

He moved so fast I didn't see it. One second he was standing in front of me; the next, he had my throat in his hand and my back against a tree. His grip was tight-not enough to choke, but enough to warn.

"I don't have time for your defiance," he said quietly. "The second trial is in three days. If you fail, you belong to the Council. And the Council will use you until there's nothing left. Do you understand?"

I couldn't nod. His hand was too tight. But I understood.

"Good." He let go and stepped back. "Now shift."

I didn't shift.

Not fully. But something happened. The wolf came forward-not all the way, but enough. My eyes changed. My teeth sharpened. My fingernails darkened into claws.

Niklas watched me with an unreadable expression.

"Better," he said. "Now hold it."

"How?"

"Control your breathing. The shift is tied to your emotions. If you're angry, the wolf rises. If you're scared, the wolf hides. You need to find the middle ground."

"And how do I do that?"

"Think of something that makes you calm."

I thought of the Black Sea. The waves crashing against the rocks below my mother's house. The salt wind in my hair. The feeling of running along the cliff's edge, free and wild and alive.

The wolf settled.

My claws retracted. My teeth shrank. My eyes faded back to brown.

"Good," Niklas said again. There was something different in his voice now. Something that might have been respect. "Again."

We trained until dawn.

Shift. Hold. Release. Shift. Hold. Release. Over and over, until my muscles screamed and my mind blurred with exhaustion. Niklas was relentless. Every time I faltered, he was there-correcting my stance, adjusting my arms, touching me.

And every time he touched me, fire raced through my veins.

I tried to ignore it. I tried to tell myself it was just adrenaline, just the heat of training, just anything other than what it was.

But the wolf knew.

Mate, it said.

No, I argued.

Mate, it insisted.

"Focus."

Niklas's voice cut through my thoughts. He was standing behind me, his hands on my shoulders, positioning my body for a defensive stance. His chest was pressed against my back. I could feel his heartbeat.

"You're trembling," he said.

"I'm cold."

"No, you're not."

He was right. I wasn't cold. I was burning.

He stepped back abruptly, putting distance between us. "That's enough for tonight. Tomorrow, we work on speed."

He walked away without looking back.

That night, there was a fire.

I don't know who built it. Maybe the Germans. Maybe the Council. But when I emerged from my cell to find something to eat, I saw Niklas sitting alone in the courtyard, staring into the flames.

I should have walked away.

I didn't.

"Mind if I sit?" I asked.

He didn't answer. I sat anyway.

The fire crackled between us. For a long time, neither of us spoke. The sounds of the stronghold-distant voices, footsteps, the clink of metal-faded into the background.

"Why are you really here?" Niklas asked finally.

"You kidnapped me. Remember?"

"Not what I meant." He looked at me. In the firelight, his eyes looked almost warm. "Why are you sitting here? Next to me?"

"Because you look like you need company."

He laughed. It was a bitter sound. "I don't need anything."

"Everyone needs something."

"Not me." He picked up a stick and stabbed at the embers. "I learned a long time ago that needing things is a weakness."

"What happened?"

He was quiet for so long I thought he wouldn't answer.

"My wife," he said at last. "Her name was Liesel."

I froze. "You're married?"

"Was. She's dead." His voice was flat, empty. "Killed three years ago. By a half-blood."

The fire seemed to dim.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Don't be. She was everything to me. And the half-blood who killed her didn't just take her life. He took my ability to trust. To feel. To need."

"Is that why you hate me?"

Niklas looked at me. Really looked at me. "I don't hate you, Elif. I hate what you represent. A reminder that the thing I loved most was destroyed by something like you."

"I'm not like him."

"Aren't you? You have the same blood. The same instincts. The same hunger."

I reached out to touch his arm. Just to comfort him. Just to let him know that not all half-bloods were monsters.

He flinched away.

"Don't," he said. "Don't touch me. Don't pity me. I don't deserve it."

"You deserve to be loved."

His laugh was hollow. "Love is for people who haven't lost everything."

He stood up and walked into the darkness, leaving me alone by the fire.

I fell asleep in my cell with his words echoing in my head.

Love is for people who haven't lost everything.

The dream came without warning.

I was standing in a forest-not the training forest, but somewhere older, darker. The trees were black and twisted, their branches reaching toward a sky that had no stars.

And in the center of the clearing stood my father.

He was covered in blood.

"Baba?" I ran toward him, but no matter how fast I moved, I couldn't get closer. "Baba, what happened?"

"The relic," he said. His voice was thin, distant, like an echo from the bottom of a well. "Don't let them find it, Elif. Promise me."

"I don't even know where it is!"

"You will. And when you do..." He looked at me with eyes that were hollow and scared. "Don't win. Whatever you do, don't win."

"What? Why?"

"Because winning makes you one of them. And once you're one of them..." His body began to dissolve, pieces of him falling away like ash. "Once you're one of them, you become a monster."

"Baba!"

"Promise me!"

"BABA!"

I woke up screaming.

The walls of my cell were the same. The cot was the same. The torch flickered in its bracket, casting shadows that danced like ghosts.

But I wasn't alone.

Niklas stood in the doorway.

He was still shirtless. His hair was disheveled, like he had just woken up. And his eyes-those storm-gray eyes-were fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath catch.

"You heard me screaming?" I asked, my voice shaking.

"I heard more than screaming." He stepped into the cell, and the door closed behind him. "I heard him."

"Who?"

"Your father."

I stared at him. "You heard my father?"

Niklas knelt beside my cot. Close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his gray eyes, the slight curve of his lips, the tension in his jaw.

"That wasn't a dream, Elif," he said quietly. "That was a call. Your father is trying to reach you from beyond the grave. And if he's telling you not to win..."

"He's trying to protect me."

"Or he's trying to protect the relic." Niklas reached out and touched my cheek-just a brush of his fingers, barely there. "Either way, you need to be careful. Dreams like that can kill you."

"How do you know?"

His hand dropped. For a moment, something flickered across his face. Pain. Grief. Regret.

"Because I had them too," he said. "After Liesel died. Every night for a year. And they almost drove me mad."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Niklas stood up. He looked down at me, and in the dim torchlight, he looked almost human. Almost kind.

"Because you're not my enemy, Elif. I wanted you to be. I tried to make you my enemy. But you're not." He walked toward the door. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow, we train harder."

He opened the door.

"Niklas."

He stopped.

"Thank you," I said. "For not letting me scream alone."

He didn't turn around. But I saw his shoulders relax, just a fraction.

"Don't thank me yet," he said. "The worst is still to come."

The door closed behind him.

I lay back on my cot, my heart pounding, and stared at the ceiling.

The wolf inside me was quiet now. Not sleeping. Waiting.

And somewhere in the darkness, I could have sworn I heard my father's voice one more time.

Don't trust him, kızım. Don't trust any of them.

But it was too late for that.

I already did.