Chapter 3 A MEMORY OF BLOOD

The growl wasn't imagined.

It came from somewhere deep-not just my chest, but from a place buried further down, somewhere I didn't even know was still alive. It was low, rough, almost feral. A sound that didn't belong in the human world.

It scared me a little. Not because it happened-but because it felt right. It vibrated beneath my ribs, a strange, ancient warning bell.

For a second, I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

Then everything fell away.

The cold ground. The battered shed wall at my back. The bruises on my arms from earlier.

Gone.

And I was eight years old again.

Our cottage had smelled like cinnamon that morning. My mom had made tea. My dad had kissed my forehead before he left for a scout patrol. I remember the way the sun filtered through the kitchen window, warming the worn tile floor.

Then the world changed.

It started with a howl. Not the usual kind-not from a hunting call, not the communal, familiar voices of pack wolves. No. This one was feral. Hollow. Wrong.

The glass in the windows shook. My mom froze, mug halfway to her lips. She didn't speak. She just listened.

Then she moved fast.

"Lia, under the stairs. Now."

I didn't understand, but I obeyed. That's what you did when her voice hit that pitch. I crawled into the little space behind the stairs. She knelt beside me. Hands trembling.

She cupped my face.

"No matter what happens. No matter what you hear. You don't come out. Do you understand me?"

I stared at her. She looked terrified. I had never seen my mother afraid. Not once. Not when I scraped my knees, not when other wolves came through with reports of rogue attacks. But now, her fear was real. It clung to her like a second skin.

I couldn't speak. I just nodded.

She kissed my forehead, her lips cold.

And then she was gone.

What happened next came in sounds. Screams. Roars. Glass shattering. Furniture breaking. A howl that ended in a wet choke.

I couldn't stay hidden.

I know. I promised. But I was just a kid. Scared. Alone. And I loved them. Loved them too much to stay behind while they fought whatever had come.

So I crept out.

And saw everything.

My father was already bleeding. He stood in the middle of the room, half-shifted, his stance unyielding. My mother had taken up a blade-the old one she kept behind the wood stove, never used except during drills. She was surrounded.

Six rogues. No scent of allegiance. Just bloodlust.

But the worst part? The man standing behind them. Not shifted. Just... watching.

Cloaked. Still. Like this was a show, and he was enjoying the final act.

His voice cut through the chaos.

"Give us the girl."

My father's growl tore from his throat. "Not a chance."

"You can't protect her."

"Try me."

And then the fight broke loose.

My mother screamed something I didn't understand-maybe an old language, something tied to her lineage, maybe just raw pain-and lunged. The blade caught one of the rogues across the chest. My father went down under two more.

Blood sprayed across the walls.

And me?

I ran.

Again.

I crashed through the back door, hit the dirt, and bolted into the trees. My lungs burned. Branches tore at my arms. My bare feet stung every time they hit frozen ground.

Behind me, something followed.

I didn't know what. I didn't look back. I ran until the pain overtook the fear.

Then I tripped.

Hit the earth so hard the air left my lungs. I tried to roll, to scramble back up.

And that's when I saw him.

The man.

Not a wolf. Not a beast. Just a man. Standing calmly over me like he'd known exactly where I'd fall.

He looked almost sorry.

"There you are," he said.

And everything blinked out.

---

I came to behind the shed. My throat was raw. My fingers dug into the dirt like I'd been trying to claw my way out of the memory.

"Lia!"

Milo's voice. Near. Panicked.

He grabbed my shoulders, shaking me once. "Hey-hey, look at me. Are you okay? What just happened?"

I stared at him. Everything inside me felt too tight. I couldn't speak for a second. Couldn't even remember how.

Then the words came.

"I remembered."

He eased back but didn't let go. "The fire? The night they died?"

"It wasn't random," I said. My voice sounded shredded. "They came for me. Not them. Me."

Milo sat beside me, slow and careful like I might break.

"You're sure?"

"I saw him. The one in the cloak. He told them to get me. Called it like a command. They weren't rogues, not in the feral sense. They were organized."

He exhaled hard. "Why would someone want you dead?"

I looked down at my hands. They were shaking. "I don't know. But they were willing to kill my parents for it."

I swallowed hard. Guilt bloomed in my chest like it always did. "They told me to stay hidden. And I didn't. I ran. And I watched. And then I ran again."

"Lia, you were a kid. You survived. That doesn't make you weak. That doesn't make you wrong."

"It makes me a coward."

"No," he said firmly. "It makes you alive. And maybe it means your story's not over yet."

I turned to him. "What if there's something wrong with me? What if that's why? What if my wolf never came because of something they did, or something I am?"

"Then we figure it out."

"I don't even know where to start."

He reached for my hand. "Start with not doing this alone."

The wind shifted. A new scent hit my nose.

I stiffened. "Rogue."

Milo turned, his body going tense. "Where?"

I stood slowly. "Close. But not too close. Fresh. Minutes old."

"You want to go after it."

"I need to."

"No, Lia. Not alone."

"You know I have to. What if it's connected? What if they're still watching?"

He looked like he wanted to argue.

Then he just nodded. "Yell. If anything happens. I mean it."

I gave him a shaky smile. "Always."

Then I turned and walked into the woods.

Whatever was waiting? I wouldn't run this time.