The Alpha's Rejected Vessel

Lia woke up dead.

At least, that's what her body thought. Skin branded with enemy marks. Blood that wouldn't clot. A scent screaming Silver Creek loud enough to get her throat slit before breakfast.

The only problem? She was still breathing.

Pain slammed into her-white-hot, everywhere. Her body felt flayed, every nerve raw and screaming. She forced her eyes open. One barely cracked. The other swollen shut, throbbing with each heartbeat.

Dawn light crept through the grimy window, gray and sickly. Wrong. Everything was wrong.

The smell hit first. Sharp. Metallic. Invasive. Enemy wolf scent coating her skin like oil. Not Black Rock. Not her pack.

Silver Creek.

Her throat closed. Silver Creek wolves had marked her-territorial claims scratched deep into flesh. She could feel the raised welts across her shoulders, ribs, thighs. Branding her like livestock.

Lia tried to sit up. Her arms buckled. Pain exploded through her skull, and she tasted copper-split lip bleeding again. In the cracked mirror across the room, a stranger stared back. Face mottled purple and black. Cheekbone slashed to bone. Eye swollen grotesque.

A pure-blood would heal within hours. Her half-human blood meant these wounds would linger for days.

But something felt off. Not the wounds-something else. Something warm coiled deep in her chest, pulsing faintly with each breath. Like embers buried under ash.

She pressed a hand to her sternum. The warmth flared, just for a heartbeat, then settled back to a quiet hum.

Footsteps thundered outside. The door slammed open. Elder Morna burst in, silver-streaked hair pulled tight. Pack members crowded behind her, disgust radiating in waves.

"The council demands your presence." Morna's lip curled as she tossed a threadbare cloak at Lia's feet. "Now."

The walk to the central clearing felt like a death march. Each step sent jolts of pain up her leg, but she forced herself forward. The thin cloak did nothing to hide the enemy scent.

Whispers erupted before she reached the gathering.

"...reeks of Silver Creek..."

"...marked like a common whore..."

"...tainted blood finally showing..."

Lia kept her chin up. Five years she'd lived here. Five years of swallowing their contempt, believing she could earn acceptance through silence.

All of it built on one man's protection.

Jason.

She could see him now, standing near the stone platform. Tall. Strong. The Alpha's son who'd found her half-dead at the border five years ago and convinced his father to let her stay.

"I'll always protect you," he'd whispered just last week, arms tight around her. "You're mine, Lia."

She'd believed him.

Jason stood with his back to her, refusing to look.

"Lia Dorman." Elder Morna's voice sliced through the murmurs. "You were found unconscious beyond our territory, bearing enemy marks. Explain yourself."

"I don't-" Lia's voice cracked. She swallowed blood. "I don't remember. I was gathering herbs, and then..." Nothing. A black gap where memory should be.

"How convenient." Morna's smile was poisonous. She turned to Jason. "As her intended mate, what say you about these marks?"

The clearing went silent.

Jason finally turned. Slowly.

The eyes that had once promised sanctuary were now cold. Empty.

"The engagement is void."

Three words. Simple. Final.

Lia's knees buckled. Mark caught her elbow, his grip gentle.

"A marked half-blood has no place as my mate." Jason's voice carried, meant for everyone. "I need someone pure for my bloodline. Not..." His gaze met hers-nothing there. "Not damaged goods who can't even protect herself."

Something inside Lia shattered. Her chest caved. Vision blurred.

But beneath the pain, that strange warmth flared. Hotter this time. Almost angry.

Jason's eyes slid past her to where Aileen Graham stood, golden hair gleaming. He moved toward her with deliberate steps. Their fingers intertwined. Aileen pressed herself against him, then looked over his shoulder at Lia.

Her smile sharpened. Triumphant.

The crowd erupted.

"Finally showing her true nature-"

"Tainted blood attracts trouble-"

"Should've been exiled years ago-"

That warmth in her chest pulsed harder. Burning.

"The council has deliberated." Morna's satisfaction was thick. "Lia Dorman, your blood was already impure. Now marked by enemy wolves, you have become a liability. You will be stripped of all protection and-"

"Wait."

The word cracked across the clearing like thunder.

Conversations died. The crowd parted, and Derek Damsi stepped through.

Raw power radiated from his massive frame-the kind that made grown wolves bare their throats. Black wolf pelt draped his shoulders. Every step measured, controlled, inevitable.

His glacial blue eyes swept the clearing, then locked onto Lia.

She couldn't breathe. Derek Damsi, who'd never shown mercy, was looking at her like she was a puzzle he intended to solve.

He moved closer. This close, she could see scars across his jaw and throat-battle wounds no ordinary wolf survived.

"Derek." Morna's voice held a warning. "This doesn't concern you."

"I can sense something in her." His voice was flat but carried. His nostrils flared slightly. "Something valuable. Something this pack would be foolish to discard."

He took another step. The scent of him hit Lia-pine and steel, sharp as winter wind. But beneath it, something wild and barely leashed.

That warmth in her chest suddenly flared hot, responding to his proximity.

Derek's eyes narrowed fractionally, gaze dropping to her sternum for a split second, as if he could see the heat beneath her skin. His pupils dilated.

But Lia had seen it. That flash of recognition. Of hunger.

"She bears enemy marks," an Elder protested.

"Then I will replace their mark with mine." Derek's gaze never left Lia. "I will take her as my mate."

The clearing exploded.

Jason's head whipped around, face contorting. Aileen's triumph cracked into confusion and fury.

"My claim will override theirs," Derek stated. "The marking ceremony will take place in seven days. At the full moon."

"Don't I get a say in this?" The words burst from Lia.

Derek's eyes locked onto hers. Surprise flickered-as if furniture had suddenly spoken. He moved closer, that wild scent overwhelming.

He reached out, hand hovering inches from her shoulder. Close enough she felt heat radiating from his skin.

Then something happened.

Derek's entire body went rigid. Every muscle locked. His fingers curled into a fist, tendons standing out sharp. His eyes widened, and for just an instant-a heartbeat-Lia saw gold flicker in those glacial depths.

Not blue.

Gold.

Molten and utterly inhuman.

His breath came faster. The scent of him intensified-that wild edge sharpening into something dangerous, barely controlled.

He was looking at her throat. At the pulse jumping frantically. His lips parted slightly, revealing canines that seemed longer than they should be.

Then he jerked back. The gold vanished. His expression shuttered. But his hand-the one that had almost touched her-was trembling.

He clenched it into a fist, knuckles white.

"Would you prefer exile?" His voice was soft, dangerous, slightly rough. "Winter comes. Silver Creek wolves hunt these woods. How long would you last alone?" He paused, jaw tight. "A day? Maybe two?"

He leaned down, breath warm against her ear. "At least with me, you'll live to see spring."

Brutal honesty. Accept this cage or die alone.

But Lia noticed the faint tremor in his voice. The tension coiled through his frame. Whatever he'd sensed in her-whatever had made his eyes flash gold-he wanted it.

Badly.

Derek straightened, stepping back with visible effort. Controlled again, but something remained wrong. Tense.

"The ceremony will proceed as stated," he announced. "Prepare accordingly."

Then he turned and walked away, hands clenched at his sides, knuckles white.

"Thank you," Lia whispered. Ash on her tongue.

Derek stopped mid-stride. Shoulders stiffened. For three heartbeats, frozen.

Then, barely audible: "Don't thank me yet."

He walked away without looking back. The crowd dispersed, whispers following. Lia remained where she stood, trembling.

Seven days until the full moon.

But as the crowd cleared, Lia caught one last glimpse of Derek.

He'd stopped at the clearing's edge, one hand braced against a tree-no, not braced. Clawing. Five deep gouges ripped through bark, sap weeping like blood.

His other hand pressed flat against his chest, fingers spread wide, as if trying to contain something struggling to break free.

And for just a heartbeat, before he vanished into shadow, Lia saw it again:

His eyes.

Gold.

Burning like twin suns, wild and utterly inhuman, locked on her across the distance.

The tree he'd clawed was still bleeding sap. She could smell it from here-sharp, acrid, wrong.

Just like the scent of her own blood had been, these past five years.

Wrong.

Lia stood alone in the clearing now, morning sun climbing higher. That strange warmth in her chest had settled back to embers, but she could still feel it. Waiting.

Seven days until they tried to chain her to a man who looked at her with hunger in his eyes.

But a single thought crystallized. Cold. Sharp. Clear as winter steel.

He wasn't the only one with secrets.

The enemy marks on her skin throbbed. Not with pain anymore. With something else. Something that tasted like silver and smelled like vengeance.

Valuable, he'd called her.

Damaged goods, Jason had sneered.

Let them all think what they wanted. Let them believe her broken, weak, compliant.

She'd survived five years in this pack by being underestimated.

She could survive seven more days.

And then she'd show them exactly what damaged goods could do.

Lia walked away from the clearing, chin high despite everything.

Behind her, in the shadowed treeline, Derek watched. Hand still pressed to his chest. Eyes still burning gold.

Neither of them knew it yet, but the marking ceremony in seven days wouldn't be a claiming.

It would be a detonation.

Six days until the marking ceremony.

Lia jerked awake to pounding on the door.

"Up," Mark's voice cut through the pre-dawn darkness. "Now. They need you."

Need. Not want. Not request.

Need.

She was on her feet before her brain fully engaged, Derek's cloak-his scent still clinging to it-wrapped tight around her shoulders. The cabin he'd deposited her in last night was small, isolated, perched at the territory's edge. He hadn't spoken. Hadn't explained. Just left her there like cargo.

"What happened?" Lia pulled open the door. Mark's face was grim.

"Elder Torin's son. Border skirmish with Silver Creek. He's dying."

The words hung heavy. Lia's stomach dropped. "And they think I can-"

"They don't think. They're counting on it." Mark's jaw clenched. "Move."

The main lodge was chaos when they arrived. Elders shouting. Pack members pressed against the walls. And in the center, on a blood-soaked pallet, a boy-couldn't be more than sixteen-gasping like a landed fish.

The smell hit Lia first. Blood. Infection. Death creeping closer with each rattling breath.

"There." Elder Morna's voice cracked like a whip, pointing at Lia. "Let's see if Derek's pet has any actual value."

Lia's hands clenched beneath the cloak. Pet. As if yesterday's humiliation hadn't been enough.

Elder Torin pushed through the crowd, his face haggard. "Please." The word clearly cost him-begging a half-blood. "He's my only son."

The boy's eyes found hers. Glassy with pain. Terrified.

Lia moved before she could think. She dropped to her knees beside the pallet. "Let me see."

Torin unwrapped the bandage with shaking hands.

Lia's breath caught.

Four parallel gashes ran from the boy's shoulder to elbow. Deep. So deep she could see bone gleaming white through shredded muscle. The flesh around the wounds was mottled purple-black, infection spreading in ugly tendrils up his arm, across his chest.

He was dying. Right here. Right now.

"Silver Creek?" Her voice came out steady. How, she didn't know.

"Dawn patrol," Mark confirmed quietly. "Three of them ambushed our scouts."

The boy whimpered. His skin was burning-fever cooking him from the inside.

"I need a blade." Lia held out her hand. "Clean. Sharp."

Someone pressed a knife into her palm. The Elders had already arranged a clay bowl on the low table. Waiting. They'd planned this. Probably the moment Derek claimed her yesterday.

Vessel.

But the boy was dying.

Lia pressed the blade to her left palm. The strange warmth in her chest-the thing that had pulsed to life yesterday when Derek's gold eyes found hers-stirred. Responding. Almost eager.

She cut.

Pain flared bright and sharp. Blood welled immediately, but wrong-darker than it should be, with something silvery catching the firelight.

The warmth surged.

Lia tipped her hand over the bowl. One drop fell. Two. The liquid shimmered, actually shimmered, silver light pulsing beneath the surface like a heartbeat.

The air grew warm. Fragrant. Like spring rain and new grass and something indefinably alive.

"What-" Torin started.

Lia didn't wait. She plunged her fingers into the bowl, coating them with blood-with whatever this was-and pressed them directly to the ravaged arm.

The world exploded in silver light.

Not gentle. Not gradual. It detonated from the point of contact, brightness searing across her vision, flooding the lodge until everyone threw up their hands, crying out.

The boy screamed.

But not in pain-in shock, in overwhelming sensation as the light poured into him like liquid fire.

Lia couldn't look away. Couldn't move. The warmth in her chest had become an inferno, pouring down her arm, through her hand, into the boy. She watched-transfixed, terrified-as the ravaged flesh began to knit.

No. Not knit.

Rebuild.

Muscle fibers wove themselves together like threads on a loom, fast enough to see. Skin crawled across the exposed tissue, pink and new and perfect. The black infection veins reversed, pulling back, vanishing as if they'd never existed.

The silver light pulsed once more-so bright Lia had to close her eyes.

Then silence.

The light vanished.

Lia opened her eyes slowly. Her hand was still pressed to the boy's arm. But there was no wound. Not even a scar. Just smooth, unmarked skin.

The boy sat up, gasping. He stared at his arm. Flexed his fingers. Touched the place where bone had been visible moments ago.

"I-" His voice cracked. "It doesn't... it doesn't hurt."

The lodge was dead silent.

Then someone whispered: "Silver blood."

"The legends," another breathed. "They're real."

"True Healer's blood," Morna murmured, but her voice had changed. No longer dismissive. Hungry. "Imagine what we could do with-"

The door slammed open.

Derek filled the frame.

His eyes swept the room in one predatory glance-the healed boy, the Elders' expressions, the clay bowl still shimmering faintly with residue.

Then his gaze locked onto Lia.

Every muscle in his body went rigid.

His nostrils flared. Once. Twice. His pupils dilated so fast it looked like his eyes were being swallowed by darkness.

And Lia watched-everyone watched-as gold bled into the blue. Not a flicker this time. A flood.

His hands clenched at his sides. She heard his knuckles crack from across the room.

The scent. That sweet, vital fragrance that had bloomed when her blood transformed. It was everywhere now, clinging to her skin, saturating the air.

And Derek was breathing it in like a drowning man gasping for air.

"What. Happened. Here." Each word was bitten off. Controlled. But Lia heard the strain beneath. Saw the tremor in his jaw, the rigid set of his shoulders, the way his hands were shaking.

"The half-blood healed my son," Torin said, wonder thick in his voice. "With her blood. It was extraordinary-"

"I can see what she did." Derek's voice was flat. Cold. But his eyes-his gold, burning eyes-never left Lia's face. "Mark. Remove her. Now."

"Derek-" Morna began, already moving toward Lia. Toward the bowl. "We need to discuss the implications. If her blood can do this, we should-"

"Touch her," Derek said softly, "and I'll remove your hand."

The room froze.

Derek took one step into the lodge. Just one. The movement was controlled, but Lia saw the cost. Saw the way his entire body locked up afterward, as if stepping closer had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed.

That scent-her transformed blood-hung between them like a living thing.

"Mark," Derek repeated. His voice had gone rough. Strained. "Get her out. Now."

Mark didn't argue. He gripped Lia's elbow, hauling her to her feet, toward the door. Toward Derek.

As they passed him, Derek's hand shot out.

Not touching. But close. So close she felt heat radiating from his palm, hovering inches from her bleeding hand.

His breathing changed. Faster. Shallower. His eyes were fixed on her palm, on the blood still seeping from the cut, and his lips parted. Canines longer. Sharper.

"Derek?" Lia's voice came out smaller than she intended.

His eyes snapped to hers. Pure gold now. Burning. Wild.

For one heartbeat, she saw it-the war raging behind those eyes. The thing inside him that wanted to close the distance. Wanted to-

He wrenched his hand back, slamming it against his chest. "Go."

Lia went.

Mark practically dragged her through the morning mist. Neither spoke until they were back at the cabin, door closed, bolt thrown.

"What the hell is wrong with him?" Lia demanded, cradling her bleeding palm. "Why did he look at me like-"

"Like you were the only thing in the world that mattered?" Mark shoved a roll of clean linen at her. "Bind this. Quickly. And listen very carefully."

His expression was grave. Worried in a way that made Lia's pulse spike.

"That scent from your blood. It's... different. Strong.

Every wolf in the pack can smell it, and it's making them restless."

Mark's jaw clenched. "Derek wants you to stay inside. Don't ask me why. Just... trust me. Something about that healing made you visible. Too visible."

"Visible to who?"

"I don't know," Mark lied. But his eyes said he knew exactly.

Mark moved to the window, scanning the treeline. "That's why Derek wants you hidden. That scent is a dinner bell, and you just rang it for every predator in the territory."

Cold dread washed through her. "How long will it last?"

"I don't know. Hours? Days?" Mark turned back. "But until it fades, you stay inside. You don't open this door for anyone but Derek or me. Understand?"

Lia nodded numbly.

Mark hesitated at the door. "And Lia? What Derek did back there-stopping himself from coming closer? I've known him my entire life. I've seen him fight entire packs without flinching. I've seen him take wounds that would kill most wolves and not make a sound."

He met her eyes.

"I've never seen him afraid before today."

Then he was gone.

Lia sank onto the cot, wrapping the linen around her palm with shaking hands. The cut throbbed dully, but that warmth in her chest had settled back to embers.

Beacon. Signal. Dinner bell.

She'd just painted a target on herself. On the entire pack.

And Derek-

She couldn't stop seeing his face. The gold eyes. The trembling hands. The way he'd looked at her blood like it was the answer to a question he'd been asking his entire life.

Like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Hours crawled past. The sun climbed, peaked, began its descent. Lia dozed fitfully, exhaustion from the healing crashing over her in waves.

She woke to evening shadows and a sound outside.

Not footsteps. Something else.

Scratching. Low and rhythmic and wrong.

Lia moved to the window, peering through the shutters.

Derek stood in the treeline, maybe twenty paces away. His back was to her, shoulders heaving.

As she watched, he raised one hand and dragged it down the trunk of a massive oak.

Five deep gouges appeared in the bark. Fresh. Raw. Sap weeping like blood.

He did it again. And again. Tearing into the wood with savage force, each strike punctuated by a sound that might have been a snarl or a sob.

Lia's breath caught in her throat.

Then Derek stopped. Pressed both palms flat against the scarred tree. His head bowed. Even from this distance, she could see him shaking.

Slowly-like it cost him everything-he turned.

His eyes found her window unerringly.

Gold. Still gold. Burning in the dying light.

They stared at each other across the distance. Predator and prey. Neither sure which was which.

Lia's hand moved to the window latch. She didn't know why. Didn't know what she'd say or do if she opened it.

But Derek saw the movement.

He took one step toward the cabin.

Then stopped. Froze. Every muscle locked.

His hands clenched into fists so tight she saw blood drip from between his fingers. He was clawing into his own palms.

"No," she heard him say. Just that one word, raw and broken. "No."

Then he turned and vanished into the shadows, leaving only the torn tree behind.

Lia's legs gave out. She slid down the wall, heart hammering.

After a long moment, she looked down at her wrapped palm. Blood had seeped through the white linen.

She unwrapped it slowly.

The cut was clean, already beginning to close. But the bandage Mark had given her-the one he said Derek had prepared-bore marks she hadn't noticed before.

Claw marks.

Deep gouges in the fabric, as if whoever had handled it had been gripping too tight. Fighting not to tear it apart.

Derek had prepared this bandage himself.

And he'd nearly shredded it in the process.

Lia pressed her bleeding palm against the fabric, her blood covering those desperate claw marks.

Six days until the marking ceremony.

Six days until she was bound to a man who clawed trees to shreds to stop himself from coming to her.

A man who looked at her blood with hunger and desperation and something that might have been need.

And she still didn't know what terrified her more:

The beacon she'd become.

Or the beast she'd awakened.

Five days until the marking ceremony.

Lia woke to voices drifting through the night air.

Elders. Multiple. Arguing in hushed, urgent tones from the direction of the main lodge. At this hour-well past midnight-that meant trouble.

She should stay inside. Mark's warning still rang clear: Don't open this door.

But those voices were talking about something. And given yesterday's healing, given the way the Elders had looked at her with hunger in their eyes-

Lia pulled on her boots.

The night was cold and still, stars scattered like salt across black velvet. She moved through shadows, keeping to the treeline. Her half-blood heritage made her weak in most ways, but she could move quietly. Nearly human footsteps, almost silent.

The main lodge glowed with firelight. Lia crept to the back wall where age had warped the wood, leaving gaps. She pressed her eye to the largest crack.

Five Elders sat around the fire. Morna. Torin. Three others she rarely saw-the eldest, who spoke only at the most important gatherings.

"The bloodline sickness grows worse," Elder Cain said, his face a map of wrinkles. "My grandson died last week. Three days old. Lungs too weak. That's the third pup this year alone."

Silence fell, grim and heavy.

"Which is why we need her blood," Morna said. "Not drops. Not rationing. The great blood offering. As much as she can give."

Lia's breath caught. As much as she can give.

"That could kill her," Torin said quietly.

"Then she dies serving her purpose." Morna's voice was ice. "She's half-blood. A vessel. Nothing more."

Lia's nails bit into her palms. Vessel. Always that word.

"But the prophecy-" one Elder began.

"The prophecy is precisely why we must act quickly." Morna stood, firelight casting her shadow long across the walls. Her voice took on a ritualistic cadence:

"When silver blood walks among wolves,

The ancient power shall wake.

Old orders will crumble to dust,

And the marked shall rule or break."

The words hit Lia like ice water. Her whole body went cold.

Silver blood.

Could they mean-no. Impossible. She was just half-blood. Mongrel. Worthless, they'd said so for five years. This had to be about someone else. Some legendary figure from the past.

But that warmth in her chest-the thing that had exploded in silver light yesterday-pulsed once. Hard. Like it was responding to the words.

Lia pressed her hand to her sternum, trying to quiet it. Trying to understand.

"'Old orders will crumble,'" Torin repeated slowly. "That could mean-"

"Chaos," Morna snapped. "Everything our ancestors built-hierarchy, bloodline purity, pack order-threatened. We cannot allow it."

"But what if the prophecy means salvation?" Cain said quietly. "The marked shall rule or break. What if-"

"Superstition." Morna's voice cracked like a whip. "I don't care what ancient ravings say. That girl's only purpose is providing blood to heal our people. The ceremony is perfect. Once Derek marks her, the bond forces compliance. She'll have no choice but to submit to whatever we require."

Cold flooded Lia's veins. The marking wasn't a claiming. It was a leash.

A magical leash that would let them bleed her until there was nothing left.

"And Derek?" Torin asked.

"Derek is compromised." Morna's tone went cold. "You saw him yesterday. He can barely control himself around her. That makes him unreliable. If his... attachment becomes a liability, we have contingencies."

"You're talking about removing our Alpha," an Elder said, shocked.

"I'm talking about survival. The pack comes first. If Derek chooses her over us-" Morna's voice hardened. "Then we do what must be done."

Lia's heart hammered against her ribs. They'd kill Derek if he tried to protect her.

But would he even try? Or was his claim just another cage, another way to use her?

Silver blood walks among wolves.

Lia looked down at her hands, at the faint scar on her palm from yesterday. When her blood had touched that boy, it had glowed. Actually glowed, silver and bright and impossibly alive.

Was that what the prophecy meant? Was she-

No. She couldn't be. Prophecies were for important people. Pure-bloods. Alphas. Not discarded half-bloods who spent five years being called mongrel.

But the warmth in her chest pulsed again, insistent.

A twig snapped behind her.

Lia spun, heart in her throat.

Derek stood three feet away. Gold eyes catching starlight.

His gaze moved from her to the gap in the wall. Understanding flickered across his features.

Then his hand shot out, gripping her arm-firm, burning hot-and he pulled her into the forest.

Lia tried to speak but he pressed a finger to his lips. Silent. They moved quickly through trees until the lodge was far behind, until they reached a moonlit clearing.

Only then did Derek release her.

His hand left a phantom heat on her arm.

"What," he said quietly, dangerously, "were you thinking?"

"I heard voices. I needed-"

"You risked everything." His voice was controlled but she heard the edge. "If they'd caught you-"

"They're planning to drain me!" Lia's fear morphed to anger. "At the ceremony. They'll use the bond to force me to give blood until it kills me. And they don't care."

Derek's jaw clenched. "I know."

Two words. Devastating.

"You know?" Lia stared. "You knew and you still claimed me-"

"I claimed you to protect you from exactly that." Derek's hands clenched at his sides. "The ceremony was supposed to buy time. Time to find another way. Time to-"

He stopped abruptly, head turning.

Footsteps. Coming from the lodge.

"Mark," Derek said. "Checking on you." His eyes snapped to hers, urgent. "Go back. Now. If they realize you heard-"

"What about you?"

"They won't suspect me." His voice went flat. Cold. The warmth vanished behind ice. "Because I'm simply keeping my property secure. Nothing more."

The word stung. Property.

But Lia saw his hands shaking before he clenched them into fists.

Before she could respond, Derek's expression changed. His nostrils flared, head tilting slightly. He was scenting something on the air.

"Go," he said, but his voice had gone rough. Strained. "Now. Before I-"

He cut himself off, jaw clenching so tight she heard teeth grinding.

"Before you what?" Lia demanded.

Derek took a step back from her. Then another. Like he was forcing distance between them.

"Just go," he rasped.

Lia turned, racing back through trees. Behind her, Derek's footsteps headed a different direction-not toward the settlement, but deeper into the forest. Running from something.

Or running from her.

She reached the cabin seconds before Mark appeared on the path. Threw herself onto the cot, pulling Derek's cloak over her.

Mark's knock came. "Lia?"

"Sleeping," she made her voice groggy.

"Thought I heard something."

"I'm fine."

Pause. "Lock the door."

His footsteps retreated.

Lia lay in darkness, mind racing. The prophecy. The plan. Derek claiming he was protecting her while calling her property.

Silver blood walks among wolves.

The marked shall rule or break.

She was marked. By Silver Creek. Soon by Derek.

But could she really be what that prophecy meant? It seemed impossible. Ridiculous, even. She was nobody. Nothing.

Except her blood had glowed silver yesterday. Except that warmth in her chest responded to the prophecy's words like recognition. Except the Elders were terrified enough of some ancient prediction to plan her death.

Maybe she wasn't nobody.

Maybe that was exactly what they were afraid of.

A sound outside made her tense.

Derek stood at the clearing's edge, barely visible in starlight. Something was wrong with his posture. Rigid. Strained.

His hand pressed against his chest. Trying to hold something back.

Then his head tilted back. Even from here she saw elongated canines.

His eyes found her window.

Gold. Burning.

His lips moved. She couldn't hear but she could read them:

"Don't. Come. Closer."

He wasn't talking to her.

He was warning himself.

Derek's hand dropped to his side, fingers curling into claws. He took one step toward the cabin. Stopped. Every muscle locked.

"Don't," she saw him mouth again. Barely audible across the distance: "Don't come near her. Don't-"

His voice broke into something between growl and plea.

Then he ran. Not walked. Ran into the forest with inhuman speed.

Lia stood at the window, shaking.

She'd seen trapped animals gnaw off their own limbs to escape.

Derek looked at her cabin like she was the trap.

And he was desperate not to gnaw free.

She pressed her hand to the window, fingers splaying against cold glass. That strange warmth in her chest pulsed, responding to something. His proximity? His distress?

A connection. Growing stronger with each encounter.

The marking would forge a bond. The Elders wanted to use it to control her.

But what if it unleashed whatever was clawing inside Derek instead?

Lia moved from the window. Sat on the cot. The prophecy echoed in her mind, the words feeling heavier now, more real:

When silver blood walks among wolves, the ancient power shall wake.

She thought about five years of contempt. Of molding herself to fit their world. Of swallowing insults with grateful smiles.

Five years of being called vessel. Half-blood. Mongrel. Damaged goods.

And now they wanted to chain her with magic and bleed her until she broke.

Unless she was something they hadn't anticipated. Unless that prophecy wasn't about some legendary figure from the past.

Unless it was about her.

Something cold crystallized in her chest. Not the silver warmth-something harder. Sharper.

If they wanted to call her dangerous, maybe she should become exactly that.

Lia pulled Derek's cloak tight, breathing in pine and steel and wildness.

Five days until the marking ceremony.

Five days to figure out what she was.

And what she was capable of becoming.