Chapter 2 2

Sarah woke to pain. Not sharp or sudden, but a dull, gnawing ache that pulsed through her limbs and nestled behind her ribs. Her wrists were blistered raw from the iron shackles, but the scent of lavender and wolfbane lingered in the room- a sign that someone had tended to her wounds while she slept.

For a moment, she lay still, wrapped in a thick fur blanket on the stone-framed bed. The silence was comforting, but deceptive. Nothing about this place was safe. Not the walls built from ancient power. Not the Lycan king who'd dragged her here. And definitely not the strange warmth blooming in her chest.

A knock echoed against the door.

She jolted upright, clutching the blanket around her.

"It's open," she called, her voice still rough.

The door creaked open and a woman entered-tall, graceful, with storm-grey eyes and silver-streaked dark hair pulled back in a braid. She wore a cloak of deep forest green and moved with the quiet confidence of someone used to being obeyed.

"I'm Kaelen," the woman said. "Damien asked me to check on you."

Sarah narrowed her eyes. "Are you one of his... warriors?"

A soft smile. "Not anymore. I was a healer. Before the war took everything."

Kaelen crossed the room and sat beside her, unwrapping a fresh strip of linen. "Let me see your wrists."

Sarah hesitated but held them out.

Kaelen worked with practiced hands, her touch gentle. "Iron leaves more than just burns. It unsettles the wolf inside."

Sarah flinched. "I don't have a wolf."

Kaelen's gaze met hers-knowing, calm. "You don't know that."

"I'm eighteen. I should've shifted by now."

"Not all wolves shift the same way. Especially not those touched by old blood."

There it was again-that phrase. Old blood. Everyone kept saying it like it explained something.

"What does that mean?" Sarah asked. "Old blood. The curse. The prophecy. No one's ever explained anything. They just branded me and threw me away."

Kaelen paused, wrapping the last bandage with care.

"Because they were afraid," she said quietly. "And fear makes monsters out of cowards."

Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat.

Kaelen rose. "You should eat. And then... talk to Damien. He may not seem like it, but he's waited a long time for someone like you."

The woman left as quickly as she had come, leaving behind a plate of dried meat, roasted root vegetables, and fresh water. Sarah ate in silence, thoughts spinning.

Finally, unable to sit with the questions any longer, she stepped out into the hallway.

The fortress was less a castle and more a carved sanctuary. Torches lined the stone walls, casting shadows that danced like wolves on a hunt. She followed the sound of voices-low, urgent, masculine.

She found Damien in a chamber that overlooked the forest from a wide, broken balcony. Two other Lycans stood with him-one blond with sharp green eyes and a scar running down his jaw, the other dark-skinned with braids pulled back and arms crossed tight.

They stopped talking when they saw her.

Damien turned, and something flickered in his eyes when he saw her-relief? Wariness?

"You're awake," he said.

Sarah crossed her arms. "I have questions."

He nodded toward the others. "Give us the room."

The men hesitated, but obeyed.

She waited until the door shut behind them before walking to the edge of the balcony. The Blood Moon had faded overnight, but its remnants still tinted the sky a dusky red.

"I want the truth," she said.

"And you'll get it," Damien said. "But once I tell you, you won't be able to un-know it."

Sarah turned to face him. "Try me."

He studied her for a long moment.

"You've heard of the Curse of the First Fang?"

"Only whispers."

"Then let me tell you what they won't."

He stepped closer, his voice low, resonant with memory and magic.

"Long ago, before the packs, before the councils, the world belonged to the Primals-Lycans so powerful, their blood could shape storms, crack mountains, and command the beasts. But power always demands balance. And when one Primal-Alareth-tried to conquer death itself, the gods cursed him. His bloodline was marked, his heirs hunted."

Sarah's throat tightened. "And I'm one of them?"

"Not directly," Damien said. "But the blood runs thin through the ages. You are a Spark-what we call someone with diluted Primal blood. But the prophecy speaks of a true bearer-a Spark born under the Blood Moon, carrying enough of the ancient magic to either awaken the old gods... or destroy them."

She stared at him. "You think that's me."

"I know it is."

Sarah backed away. "That's insane. I've never shifted. I've never cast magic or-"

"You burned through iron shackles meant to suppress wolves. That shouldn't be possible. Your heart didn't stop when they abandoned you to die. And your blood-" he paused "-your blood woke something the moment you stepped into this forest."

"I didn't ask for this," she whispered.

"I didn't ask to be king," Damien said. "But here we are."

The silence between them stretched, pulsing with something dark and unfinished.

"I brought you here because I believe you're more than a cursed girl," Damien continued. "You're a weapon forged in betrayal. And I intend to help you wield it."

Sarah looked out at the endless forest, heart pounding.

All her life she had been told she was broken. Damned. Wrong.

And now this man-this beast-was telling her she might be the answer to a prophecy that could burn the world or save it?

She didn't know whether to run... or believe him.

But something deep within stirred. Not fear. Not doubt.

A howl. Quiet. Dormant.

Waiting to rise.

Sarah looked at him- really looked at him- and for the first time, saw past the fearsome stories, past the cold authority he wore like armor.

He looked tired.

Not the kind of tired that came from sleepless nights, but the deep exhaustion of someone who had carried too much, for too long.

"What happens now?" she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

Damien's jaw tightened. "Now, we test what's inside you."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean? Another prophecy? Another cryptic riddle?"

"No," he said. "We start with the basics. Your wolf. If you are what I think you are, the spark of your shift is buried under trauma and fear. We'll draw it out-slowly, or violently. Your choice."

Her mouth went dry. "Violently?"

Damien stepped closer, his presence like gravity. "The wolf is instinct. It responds to threat. Pressure. Pain. Some wolves need the push. Some need the pull. You've been shackled, beaten, hunted- you've never been seen."

She looked away. "And you think you can fix that?"

"I think you need someone who doesn't see you as a burden."

Sarah's heart thudded in her chest, unexpected and erratic. She hated how sincere he sounded. Hated how part of her wanted to believe him.

"And if I shift?" she asked. "Then what?"

"Then you learn control. And we go from there."

"And if I don't?"

He didn't answer immediately.

Finally, he said, "Then I teach you how to survive without it."

The honesty in his voice caught her off guard. No threats. No promises. Just something solid to stand on.

She nodded slowly. "Fine. Where do we start?"

He looked out over the forest. "Tonight."

That evening, the moon was a pale crescent against a bleeding sky. Damien led her beyond the fortress walls into a wide glade surrounded by jagged stone pillars. It felt sacred-wild and unclaimed. The kind of place where the old gods still whispered in the wind.

Several Lycans waited there, sparring in pairs or standing watch. They paused as Sarah entered. Eyes flicked to her, some curious, others doubtful.

"Everyone here knows who you are," Damien said. "They know what you carry."

Sarah clenched her fists. "So, what? I'm a freak show?"

"No," he said. "You're the unknown. And the unknown is always feared first."

One of the Lycans approached-a tall female with braided red hair and sharp golden eyes. She held out a blunt training staff.

"She'll be your first lesson," Damien said.

Sarah blinked. "What? No shifting, just fighting?"

"If you can't defend yourself on two legs, you won't survive on four."

The red-haired woman grinned. "I'm Brynn. Try not to bleed too much."

Sarah took the staff reluctantly.

The first hit came fast. Brynn didn't hold back-sweeping low and aiming for Sarah's knees. Sarah stumbled, barely managing to block in time.

"Come on, Spark," Brynn taunted. "You've got fire in you, or was that just rumor?"

Sarah gritted her teeth and attacked. Her form was messy, untrained. But she was fast, and her desperation made her unpredictable.

Strike after strike, they clashed in the center of the glade. The crowd watched in silence. Even Damien said nothing.

After the fifth round, Sarah's arms ached, and her legs trembled.

Brynn stepped back, panting lightly. "Better than I expected."

Sarah raised the staff, barely holding it steady. "That... was a compliment, right?"

Brynn chuckled. "Sort of."

But then, something happened.

A distant howl broke through the air-long, low, and mournful.

Every Lycan in the glade went still.

Sarah felt it like a jolt down her spine. Her chest tightened. Her heartbeat slowed, then surged.

Pain bloomed in her bones- sharp, sudden.

She cried out, dropping the staff, falling to her knees.

Damien was at her side in seconds.

"Breathe," he said. "Let it happen. Don't fight it."

But it wasn't a shift.

It was a memory.

Flash. A burning village. Screams. Shadows with silver blades.

Flash. A woman with eyes like Sarah's, whispering a name-Seraphiel-before vanishing in fire.

Flash. The mark on her wrist glowing bright gold instead of red.

Sarah gasped, jolting back.

Her eyes were glowing faintly-an unnatural, liquid gold.

Damien knelt before her, not touching her, just watching. "What did you see?"

"I... I don't know," she breathed. "But it wasn't mine."

"You tapped into the ancestral vein," he said. "That's Primal memory. Echoes passed down through blood."

Sarah looked down at her hands.

They were trembling.

The crowd murmured behind her. Some in awe. Some in fear.

Damien stood and turned to them. "She is one of us."