Chapter 11: The Siberian's Game

The light didn't return. I lay in Niklas's bed for hours, pressing my hand to my stomach, waiting for the warmth to return. But there was nothing. Just silence. Just darkness. Just the memory of something glowing beneath my skin.

The First Wolf is waking up.

Whose voice had that been? Milos? My father? The wolf inside me? I didn't know. And that scared me more than anything.

Dawn found me in my own cell, wearing a new dress that Dimitri had left outside my door. Gray. Simple. Less expensive than the black silk. I was tying my hair back when someone knocked.

"Come in."

Anastasia stepped through the door. She was dressed differently today—less formal, more practical. Leather pants. A fur-lined jacket. Boots that looked like they had seen miles of snow.

"We need to talk," she said.

"About what?"

"About your father's bones." She closed the door behind her. "I have them. You want them. Let's make a deal."

I crossed my arms. "What kind of deal?"

"Leave Niklas. Join my pack. Come to Siberia with me." She held up her hand before I could speak. "I'm not asking you to mate with me. I'm not asking for your blood or your power. I'm offering you a home."

"A home."

"A real one. With people who won't use you or cage you or pretend to love you for your bloodline."

"And Niklas?"

"Niklas is using you. Maybe he doesn't know it. Maybe he's convinced himself that he loves you. But he's a pureblood, Elif. A Vollbrecht. His family has been manipulating shifters for centuries."

"You don't know him."

"I know his father." Her voice hardened. "I knew what his father did to half-bloods. To women. And I know that blood tells."

"My father was a half-blood."

"Your father was a descendant. There's a difference." She stepped closer. "The First Wolf's blood doesn't make you special, Elif. It makes you targeted. Everyone in this stronghold wants something from you. Everyone except me."

"Why should I trust you?"

"Because I have nothing to gain from lying." She pulled something from her pocket. A small leather pouch. "This is a lock of your father's hair. I took it from his bones before the ceremony. Smell it."

I took the pouch. Opened it.

The scent hit me like a wave.

Pine. Smoke. And something else—something that smelled like home.

My eyes burned.

"He smelled like that," I whispered. "When I was little. He always smelled like that."

"Then you know I'm telling the truth about the bones." Anastasia took the pouch back. "Join me, and they're yours. All of them. You can bury him properly. Give him peace."

"And if I say no?"

"Then I find someone else to deal with." She walked to the door. "But don't take too long to decide. Milos is getting impatient. And impatient men do stupid things."

She left.

I stood there, staring at the door, and wondered if anyone in this place was capable of telling the whole truth.

I found Niklas in the training yard. He was sparring with two of his Germans—a man and a woman, both bigger than him, both faster. But he was better. He dodged their attacks, landed his own, moved like water around stone.

When he saw me, he stopped.

"Leave us," he told his sparring partners.

They left.

We stood facing each other across the yard. The morning sun was behind him, casting his face in shadow.

"You look tired," he said.

"I didn't sleep."

"Neither did I."

We were both lying. I had seen him come back to his room after I left. He had stood in the doorway, looking at the bed where I had lain, and he hadn't moved for an hour.

"Anastasia came to see me," I said.

His jaw tightened. "What did she want?"

"She wants me to leave you. Join her pack. Go to Siberia."

"And?"

"And she offered me my father's bones."

Niklas's hands curled into fists. "She's manipulating you."

"Everyone is manipulating me. You. Her. The Council. Milos." I stepped closer. "The only person who isn't manipulating me is dead."

"Your father."

"He died because of me. Because I was born. Because my blood woke something that should have stayed asleep."

Niklas grabbed my arms. "That's not true."

"Isn't it? Milos said—"

"Milos is a liar and a killer. He murdered your father. He'll say anything to get to you."

"Then prove it."

"How?"

"Help me get my father's bones back. Not with politics or proxy marriages or games. Help me take them."

Niklas was quiet for a long moment.

"That would mean war with the Siberians."

"Then let there be war."

He stared at me. And then, slowly, he smiled.

"You're terrifying," he said.

"Good."

We spent the afternoon planning. Niklas knew the stronghold better than anyone. He knew the guard rotations, the weak points in the walls, the secret passages that the Council thought were forgotten.

"The bones are in Anastasia's quarters," he said, pointing to a spot on the map. "She keeps them in a chest at the foot of her bed. Locked. Warded."

"Can you break the wards?"

"Not alone." He looked at me. "But you can."

"Me?"

"The First Wolf's blood. Wards are old magic. Your blood is older." He pulled a small knife from his belt. "A few drops on the lock. The wards will fall."

"And then?"

"And then we run."

"Where?"

"Anywhere. Everywhere." He took my hand. "I told you before. I've been looking for you for ten years. I'm not going to let a few wards stop me from keeping you."

I squeezed his fingers.

"Tonight," I said. "After the evening meal. The guards will be changing shifts."

"Tonight," he agreed.

The evening meal was tense. I sat next to Niklas at the head of the German table, trying to eat, trying to pretend that my heart wasn't pounding out of my chest. Around us, shifters laughed and talked and watched.

Anastasia sat across the hall, at the Siberian table. Her eyes kept finding mine.

She knows, I thought. She knows something.

But she didn't move. Didn't speak. Just watched.

When the meal ended, I stood up.

"Where are you going?" Niklas asked.

"For a walk. I need air."

"I'll come with you."

"No." I put my hand on his chest. "Stay. Eat. I'll be back soon."

His eyes searched mine. "Be careful."

"Always."

The forest was dark. I walked along the edge of the training yard, past the torches, into the shadows of the trees. The moon was hidden behind clouds. The air was cold and damp.

I was supposed to meet Niklas at midnight. But I needed to think. Needed to clear my head. Needed to figure out what I was going to do when the wards fell and the bones were in my hands.

Bury him, I thought. Give him peace.

And then what? Run with Niklas? Hide from the Council for the rest of my life? Let Milos hunt me across the world?

A twig snapped behind me.

I turned.

And my blood ran cold.

Milos stood at the edge of the clearing. Behind him, at least a dozen men—shifters, all of them, their eyes glowing in the darkness.

"Good evening, Elif Demir," Milos said. "Or should I say, granddaughter of the First Wolf?"

I stepped back. "Stay away from me."

"Can't do that." He walked toward me, slow and deliberate. "We have unfinished business, you and I."

"What business?"

"Your father." He stopped a few feet away. "He owed me a debt. A blood debt. And when he died, that debt passed to you."

"I don't owe you anything."

"Oh, but you do." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small wooden box. "Do you know what this is?"

"No."

"This is a piece of your father's spine. I took it before the Council got his body." He opened the box. Inside, on a bed of velvet, lay a small white bone. "He screamed when I pulled it out. Begged for mercy."

"You're lying."

"I never lie about my work." He closed the box. "Your father was protecting you. That's why he died. He knew what you were. What you would become. And he was willing to give his life to keep you safe."

"Then why are you telling me this?"

"Because I want you to understand." He stepped closer. "Your birth killed your father. Your blood will kill everyone you love. And the only way to stop it is to give yourself to me."

"Never."

"Then you'll die." He nodded to his men. "Like father, like daughter."

They moved.

I shifted.

Not fully—not yet—but enough. My hands became claws. My teeth became fangs. My eyes became the eyes of a wolf.

The first man lunged. I tore his throat out. The second man grabbed my arm. I broke his wrist. The third man tried to circle behind me. I kicked his knee out from under him.

But there were too many.

A blow to my back sent me sprawling. Hands grabbed my arms, my legs, my hair. I fought. I screamed. I bit.

But they were stronger.

Milos knelt in front of me. His black eyes were empty. Soulless.

"Your father's death was because of your birth," he said. "And now, your death will be because of your stubbornness."

He reached out and touched my face.

"Don't worry," he whispered. "I'll make sure Niklas finds the body. So he knows what happens to people who cross me."

He stood up.

"Take her."