The fire in my neck pulsed in rhythm with my heart. Every throb of blood in my veins echoed with a flash of white pain that made my vision darken. I pressed my forehead against the cold, cracked mirror in the corner of my cubbyhole, trying with trembling fingers to pin a strand of hair over Cale's crimson bite.
"Too high."
I flinched and spun around, nearly knocking over a rickety stool. Liam stood in the doorway. His shoulders brushed the doorframes, his face an inscrutable mask of shadow and stubble.
"Back to your old tricks?" I pressed myself into the wall, feeling the fabric of my dress cling to the fresh wound. "Did Cale send you? I'll clean it all up. The wine... I'll wipe it..."
"Shut up and get over here." Liam didn't budge. "Now."
"I'm not going to the kennels."
"To Isabelle."
I froze, pressing my palm to my neck. "To the healer? Why? If Cale finds out, he..."
"He's busy. With the hounds, the borders, his own rage. We don't have much time." Liam stepped into the room, and I instinctively ducked my head into my shoulders. "Take off the bandage. That filthy rag. You're only making it worse."
"It hides—"
"It's rotting. Go." He jerked his head toward the corridor. "And don't you dare look back if you hear the guards. Pretend you're lost."
We picked our way through the darkest veins of the castle. Liam led the way, his steps unnaturally quiet for a man of his size. The air in the lower passages smelled of damp and old fear. At the turn by the old laundry, he stopped abruptly, pinning me into a niche behind a tapestry.
"Quiet."
"Liam," I pulled at the sleeve of his leather jacket. "Why are you doing this?"
"Cale will devour you if the wound becomes inflamed. An omega with a fever is useless dead weight."
"You're lying."
He turned his head slowly. Torchlight from the corridor hit his face, and my breath hitched. His pupils. A thin golden ring around the iris, exactly like mine. The same strange, almost inhuman shade of copper.
"Watch your step, Alina." His voice became hollow, cracked. "Your eyes... they will betray you sooner than your tongue."
"Yours are the same. You—"
"Silence." He grabbed my elbow roughly and dragged me toward the exit to the courtyard.
The old annex met us with the heavy scent of dried wormwood and soot. Madame Isabelle was waiting at the threshold. Small, hunched, looking like a bundle of old rags, she was grinding something in a stone mortar.
"So you brought her after all," she croaked without looking up.
"Do what needs to be done," Liam nudged me forward. "I'll be outside. I'll whistle if anyone approaches."
"Wait," the old woman snapped. "And don't loiter by the door like a beaten dog. You're an eyesore."
The door slammed shut, cutting off the cold morning mist. Isabelle pointed to a low stool under a window where gray light barely filtered through.
"Sit. Get your hair out of the way."
I obeyed. Her fingers, gnarled and cold as tree roots, unceremoniously pushed back my strands. I cried out when she touched the edge of the mark.
"Hush!" Isabelle clicked her tongue. "Whining already. Cale marked you with fury. He went deep."
"It hurts..." I squeezed my eyes shut. "It's burning."
"Of course it burns. Your blood is fighting his venom." She took a small jar of thick black ointment from the cupboard. "Smells like filth, I know. Endure it."
The scent hit my nose—tar, hellebore, and something sickly sweet. My eyes began to water.
"Will it help?"
"Depends on what for." The old woman scooped up some ointment with her finger. "It will heal the mark. But as for what's beneath it..."
As soon as the ointment touched the wound, I nearly fell off the stool. At first, it felt as if a shard of ice had been driven into my neck, and a second later—red-hot iron.
"Grab the edges! Don't you dare twitch!"
Isabelle began to whisper. These weren't prayers to the Moon. The words fell heavily, like stones into a deep well. A strange, guttural dialect that made the back of my head tingle. I had heard it somewhere before. Long ago. In the lullabies my mother sang before...
"Hush, hush, ancient blood..." Isabelle muttered. "Asleep for too long. Waking up? You always wake up in pain."
"What are you talking about?" I tried to pull away, but the old woman's grip on my shoulder was like steel.
"Look here." She jabbed a finger at my neck.
A drop of blood, mixed with the black ointment, slowly trickled down. And it... glowed. A thin thread of pulsing amber light, cutting through the darkness of the hut.
"What is that?" My voice broke into a rasp. "Isabelle, what's happening to me?"
The old woman froze. Her eyes, clouded by cataracts, suddenly cleared, reflecting that terrifying light. She looked at me with such a mixture of pity and horror that I wanted to bolt.
"Poor girl," she exhaled, quickly wiping the blood with a rag. "Better you had just rotted away in that cubbyhole."
"Explain! Liam said—"
"Liam only knows half of it!" She abruptly applied a bandage, pulling it so tight I gasped. "Your blood isn't just red water. It's old. Older than this castle, older than their whole pack. It's reacting to the Alpha."
"Will Cale feel it?"
"Cale is a beast." Isabelle grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at her. "He'll scent the change in your smell in a day or two. If you don't learn to hide your essence behind his mark—he'll cut you open. Just to see what's glowing inside."
"I don't know how... I don't know how!"
"Learn!" She shoved me toward the door. "Don't come back. I've rubbed everything I could into your hide. From here on—you're on your own."
I stumbled outside, greedily gulping the cold air. Liam immediately peeled himself away from the wall.
"Done?"
I didn't answer, only pressed my palm against the bandage. Under the fabric, that strange, foreign heat was still pulsing.
"Alina?" He stepped closer. "What did she say?"
"That I'm finished if I don't learn to hide." I looked up at him. "Liam, your pupils... do you feel it too?"
He recoiled as if I'd struck him. His pupils narrowed into thin slits, mirroring my fright exactly.
"Not here. Let's go."
We returned in silence. But this silence wasn't empty now. It hummed. Inside me, somewhere deep beneath my ribs, something heavy and sluggish was stirring. Not a wolf. Not the timid omega I had been all these years. It was an ancient, cold sense of recognition.
"Your quarters," Liam muttered, stopping at the turn to the women's wing. "Hide yourself. And don't take the bandage off until sunset."
"Liam, wait..."
"Go, Alina!" He nearly growled, and I saw the muscles in his jaw ripple beneath his skin.
I backed away, wrapping myself in the scraps of my shawl. Fear made my heart hammer against my ribs, but it was a different kind of fear. Not of beatings. But of what I was becoming.
At the very door to my cubbyhole, I froze. A shadow at the end of the corridor detached itself from the wall. A tall, slouching figure.
"Garret," I exhaled, pressing into the cold stone.
He didn't move, just stood there in the gloom, watching me. His heavy, greasy scent filled the space. He knew I hadn't been where I was supposed to be.
"Out for a stroll, little mouse?" His voice sounded like the crunch of dry bones. "And your scent... it's strange. Wormwood?"
"I was... in the kitchen."
"Lies." He began to walk slowly toward me. "Cale doesn't like it when his things smell of someone else's herbs."
I dove into the room and slammed the door, leaning against it with my whole body. My heart was pounding in my throat.
If Isabelle is right, if my blood is truly awakening... Cale will never let me go. He didn't just lock me up. He will drink this power drop by drop until nothing but an empty shell remains. And the brighter this light inside grows, the shorter my life will be.
I looked at my hands. They were shaking. In the gloom of the cubbyhole, it seemed to me that the veins on my wrists flared with a dull gold for a fleeting moment.
My curse had only just begun.