Chapter 2: Strangers in the Mist

They didn't give me time to run.

The scarred one moved first. His hand closed around my arm like a steel trap, and before I could shift, before I could even think about shifting, the gray-eyed one pressed something cold against my neck.

A syringe.

"This will only hurt for a moment," he said.

The world tilted. The moon spun above me like a broken coin. I tried to fight, tried to call the wolf, but my limbs had turned to water and my mind was sinking into a deep, dark ocean.

No, I thought as darkness swallowed me. Not like this. Not when I just got free.

I woke up to the smell of iron and old blood.

My eyes opened slowly. I was lying on a cold stone floor, naked except for a rough wool blanket someone had thrown over me. The ceiling above me was vaulted, ancient, made of bricks that looked like they belonged in a Byzantine church.

But this was no church.

I sat up slowly, my head pounding. The room was large—maybe the size of a warehouse—with pillars supporting a ceiling so high I couldn't see the top. Torches burned in iron brackets on the walls, casting dancing shadows that made everything look like a nightmare.

And everywhere I looked, there were eyes.

Dozens of them. Hundreds. Glowing in the darkness between the pillars. Watching me.

"Ah, the half-blood awakens."

A voice echoed from somewhere above. I looked up and saw a balcony circling the room. On it stood a woman with silver hair and skin so pale she looked like she had been carved from ice. She was beautiful in the way a frozen lake was beautiful—stunning, but capable of killing you if you stepped wrong.

"Where am I?" My voice came out rough, barely a whisper.

"The Legacy Council," the woman said. "The place where shifters from every corner of the world come to settle their disputes. I am Vera Volkov. Acting leader of the Siberian pack."

Siberian. That explained the cold eyes.

"Why am I here?"

Vera smiled. It didn't reach her eyes. "Your father, Hasan Demir, owed a debt to the Council. A blood debt. When he died, the debt passed to you."

"I never agreed to—"

"No one asked you to agree." Her voice was sharp now. "Debts of blood are not chosen, child. They are inherited."

A door opened somewhere behind me. I turned my head and saw the scarred man from the cliff approaching. He was carrying a bundle of clothes—simple black pants, a gray tunic, leather boots.

"Get dressed," he said. "The Council is waiting."

I dressed quickly, my fingers trembling. The clothes were too big, but they covered me. That was all that mattered.

The scarred man—his name was Dimitri, I learned—led me through a maze of corridors lit by more torches. Everywhere I looked, I saw shifters. Some were obviously wolves, with the same restless energy I felt in my own bones. Others looked almost human, but I could smell them. The wildness. The hunger.

We passed a group of three women with dark skin and braided hair who spoke in a language I didn't recognize. African, maybe. Then two men with sharp cheekbones and tattoos on their necks that looked like Nordic runes.

"Where are they all from?" I asked.

"Everywhere," Dimitri said. "Germany. Alaska. Siberia. Mongolia. Brazil. The Council brings together all the great packs. Once a year, they meet to discuss territory, alliances, and… debts."

"And tonight, they're discussing me."

Dimitri glanced at me. For a moment, something almost like sympathy flickered in his cold eyes. "You're not the first half-blood to stand before them. You won't be the last."

That didn't make me feel better.

The Council chamber was enormous.

It was shaped like a half-circle, with thirteen stone thrones arranged in an arc. Most of them were empty, but four were occupied. Vera sat in the center, her ice-white hair gleaming in the torchlight. To her left sat a massive man with a beard like a lion's mane—Alaskan, I guessed, from the bone necklace he wore. To her right, a thin, sharp-featured woman with eyes the color of amber—Mongolian, maybe.

And at the very end, a man who looked like he hadn't slept in years. His face was gaunt, his clothes ragged, but his eyes… his eyes burned with a fire that made me take a step back.

"Elif Demir," Vera said. "Step forward."

I didn't move.

"Step. Forward."

My feet obeyed before my brain could stop them. I walked to the center of the half-circle and stood there, surrounded by ancient shifters who could probably kill me with a thought.

"Do you know why you're here?" Vera asked.

"Because my father owed a debt."

"Not just a debt. A secret." Vera leaned forward. "Your father was a half-blood, like you. But unlike you, he earned the respect of every pack in this room. He was a warrior. A diplomat. A man who bridged the gap between purebloods and half-bloods."

I swallowed. I had never heard anyone speak of my father that way. To me, he was just a ghost—a man I barely remembered, a man my mother refused to talk about.

"What happened to him?" I asked.

Vera's expression hardened. "He was killed. Murdered by someone who wanted the secret he was protecting."

"What secret?"

The thin-faced woman spoke for the first time. Her voice was like sandpaper. "There is an artifact. A relic of the First Wolf, the creature who created our kind. It was lost centuries ago. Your father found it. And then he died before he could tell anyone where."

"And you think I know where it is?"

"We think," Vera said slowly, "that his blood knows. And you carry his blood."

I laughed. I couldn't help it. It was a broken, hysterical sound that echoed off the stone walls.

"You dragged me across the country, drugged me, stripped me, and brought me to this… this circus… because you think my blood might know something?"

The Alaskan man rumbled something in a language I didn't understand. Vera held up her hand.

"You will participate in the Blood Call," she said. "A ritual that forces the memories of your father to surface through your veins. If the relic's location is in your blood, we will find it."

"And if I refuse?"

Vera smiled again. That cold, empty smile.

"Then you will be declared rogue. And rogues have no rights. Any shifter can kill you. Any pack can hunt you. You will spend the rest of your short, miserable life running."

I looked around the room. At the thirteen thrones. At the shifters watching me from the shadows. At the ancient stones that had witnessed centuries of bloodshed.

I had no pack. No family. No power.

I had nothing to bargain with.

"Fine," I said. "I'll do your Blood Call. But when it's over, I walk free."

Vera tilted her head. "We'll see."

The Blood Call was scheduled for dawn.

Until then, I was locked in a small room with a cot, a bucket of water, and a single torch. I sat on the cot, my back against the cold wall, and tried to remember my father's face.

I couldn't.

I remembered his hands—big, warm, calloused. I remembered his laugh, deep and rumbling like distant thunder. I remembered the way he used to lift me onto his shoulders and carry me through the forest, telling me stories about wolves who could turn into men and men who could turn into stars.

But his face was a blur.

"D*mn you," I whispered into the darkness. "D*mn you for dying. D*mn you for leaving me with her. D*mn you for this debt."

The wolf stirred inside me. Not angry this time. Just… sad.

He loved you, it said. More than anything.

"Love didn't save him."

No. But it might save you.

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. But sleep wouldn't come. All I could think about was the Blood Call—the idea of strangers reaching into my veins, pulling out memories that weren't mine, using my father's ghost for their own purposes.

And all I could feel was rage.

Dawn came too fast.

Dimitri appeared at my door with two guards. They led me back through the corridors, past the torchlit halls, to a chamber I hadn't seen before. This one was smaller than the Council room, but more intimate. A stone altar stood in the center, stained with dark marks that could have been wine or blood.

Vera was waiting. So were the Alaskan and the Mongolian. The ragged man was gone.

"Remove your tunic," Vera said.

"No."

"You will be marked. The ritual requires the blood to flow from your chest. Remove your tunic or I will have my guards remove it for you."

I glared at her. But I wasn't stupid. I pulled the tunic over my head and stood there, bare-chested, trying not to shiver.

Vera approached with a knife. The blade was black obsidian, sharp enough to cut light itself.

"This will hurt," she said.

"I figured."

She pressed the blade to my chest—right over my heart—and dragged it downward. The pain was sharp, immediate, and far worse than I expected. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

The Alaskan man began to chant. The Mongolian woman joined him. Their voices rose and fell like waves, filling the chamber with a sound that vibrated in my bones.

And then I saw him.

My father.

He was standing at the edge of the room, watching me. His face was exactly as I remembered it now—strong jaw, kind eyes, a smile that made everything feel safe.

"Baba?" I whispered.

"You're so beautiful," he said. "My little girl. All grown up."

"Where are you? Where's the relic?"

His smile faded. "Don't trust them, Elif. They don't want the relic to protect it. They want it to control it."

"Then tell me where it is. I'll find it first. I'll—"

"The Black Sea," he said. "Where the water meets the fire. Where I buried my secrets so no one could—"

The vision shattered.

I gasped and stumbled backward, clutching my chest. The wound was already healing—the mark of shifter blood—but the memory was fading, slipping through my fingers like smoke.

"What did you see?" Vera demanded. "Where is the relic?"

"I… I don't…"

"TELL ME."

"The Black Sea," I said. "That's all I saw. The Black Sea."

Vera's eyes narrowed. She looked at the Alaskan man, who shrugged. The Mongolian woman whispered something I couldn't hear.

"It's not enough," Vera said. "But it's a start. You will remain with us until you remember more."

"You promised—"

"I promised nothing."

The door behind me opened. I turned, expecting guards, expecting Dimitri, expecting anyone.

But it wasn't anyone.

It was a man.

He was tall—taller than Dimitri, taller than the Alaskan. His hair was the color of dark honey, falling across a face that looked like it had been carved by a sculptor who hated softness. His jaw was sharp. His cheekbones were sharper. And his eyes…

His eyes were the color of the sea before a storm. Gray-green. Cold. And they were locked on me like I was prey.

He walked into the chamber like he owned it. Like he owned everything. The shifters around him stepped back, their heads bowing slightly. Even Vera's expression shifted—not fear, but something close to respect.

"So," he said, his voice a low rumble with an accent I couldn't quite place. German, maybe. Or Austrian. "This is the half-blood who has caused all this trouble."

He stopped in front of me. Close enough that I could smell him—pine and smoke and something wilder, something that made the wolf inside me sit up and pay attention.

"Who are you?" I asked.

He smiled. It wasn't a kind smile.

"Niklas Vollbrecht," he said. "Leader of the Black Forest pack. And the man who will be watching your every move until this business is finished."

"I don't answer to you."

"No," he agreed. "But you'll learn to."

He reached out and touched my chin—just two fingers, just enough to tilt my face up toward his. His touch was like lightning. My skin burned where his fingers pressed.

"Tell me, half-blood," he whispered. "Are you worth all this trouble? Or should I kill you now and save everyone the effort?"

The wolf inside me snarled.

And for the first time, I snarled back.

"Try it," I said. "And find out."

Niklas's eyes widened—just a fraction, just for a second. Then he laughed. A real laugh, deep and unexpected.

"Oh," he said, stepping back. "This is going to be interesting."

He turned and walked toward the door. But at the threshold, he stopped and looked back at me over his shoulder.

"The Blood Call was just the beginning," he said. "Tomorrow, the real test begins. I hope you survive it, half-blood. For your sake."

The door closed behind him.

I stood there, shaking, my chest still wet with my own blood, and I realized something that terrified me more than the Council, more than the relic, more than anything else.

The wolf inside me wasn't afraid of Niklas Vollbrecht.

The wolf wanted him.