Chapter 12

Aeliana's POV

Three days.

Three days since that moment on the porch when Caelan looked at me like I was something precious he'd lost and found again. Three days of stolen glances across the dinner table, of conversations that start and stop before they really begin, of this impossible tension that makes my skin feel too tight.

And now Marcus wants me to train.

"It'll come back to you," he says, adjusting the protective padding on his forearms. We're in what used to be a barn, now converted into some kind of training facility. Mats cover the floor, weapons line the walls, and everything smells like sweat and leather and something distinctly... wild.

"I don't remember learning to fight in the first place," I point out, eyeing the practice swords with skepticism. "What if I hurt you?"

Marcus laughs, the sound echoing off the high ceiling. "Trust me, you're not going to hurt me. I has always been able to withstand the attacks coming from you. I mean even when we fight in wolf form. Maybe there might be minor injuries but it's nothing we can't handle, one thing to know and remember is that we heal faster than humans. Today's training is all about basic defensive moves, some rudimentary shifting control." He shrugs. "Nothing you can't handle."

Right. This is something I should know of course.

"Besides," Marcus continues, "Caelan specifically asked me to work with you. Said it might help with protecting yourself and recovering your memory."

My heart does this stupid little flutter at the mention of his name. "He said that?"

"Among other things." Marcus gives me a knowing look. "He's worried about you. We all are."

The admission catches me off guard. These people I barely know are worried about me, my safety? Liora still watches me like I might steal the silverware, but even she's been... not friendly, exactly, but less openly hostile.

"Okay," I say, surprising myself. "Where do we start?"

Marcus grins. "Defense. Always start with not getting killed."

The next hour is a blur of basic stances, footwork, and learning how to fall without breaking my neck. My muscles seem to remember some of it, which is both encouraging and deeply unsettling. How can my body know things my mind doesn't?

"Good," Marcus says as I successfully block his latest attack. "You're faster than before. Stronger too."

I am faster. I noticed it earlier this week but dismissed it as imagination. Now, watching Marcus move in what should be a blur to me but somehow isn't, I can't deny it anymore.

"Is that normal? The increased speed?"

"For someone whose wolf is close to the surface? Absolutely." Marcus steps back, wiping sweat from his forehead. "She's been dormant for two years, but the curse is breaking down. She's waking up."

She's waking up? that should be good?.

"What does that mean, exactly? When she 'wakes up'?"

Marcus considers this carefully. "First shift is different for everyone. Some people have control right from the start. Others..." He shrugs. "Let's just say there's usually some property damage involved, but your case should be different and more mild".

I rolled my eyes mentally.

Great. Just what I wanted to hear

"Maybe we should stop."

"Nonsense. You're doing fine. Let's try some speed work."

What follows is a series of exercises that seem designed to push me to my absolute limits. Dodging attacks that come faster and faster, moving between obstacles, while praying I don't come to harm or cause one

And I'm keeping up. More than keeping up, actually. I'm excelling.

Marcus increases the intensity. His strikes come harder now, more aggressive. Real combat, not just training exercises.

"Come on," he calls out, breathing hard. "You're holding back. Stop thinking so much."

Stop thinking. Right. Because thinking is the only thing keeping me tethered to sanity.

But his next attack is faster than anything he's thrown at me yet, and instinct takes over.

I move without conscious thought, my body flowing around his strike like water. My hand shoots out to counter, and something's wrong, something's different...

The sound my palm makes when it connects with his chest isn't normal. It's too sharp, too violent. Marcus staggers backward, eyes wide, looking down at his shirt where four parallel tears have appeared in the fabric.

Four tears that match exactly the spacing of my fingers.

"Aeliana." Marcus's voice sounds far away, even though he's standing right in front of me. "Look at your hands."

I don't want to look. I can feel them changing, feel something sharp emerging from my fingertips, feel strength flooding through muscles the kind of power that is fuelled by anger and the need to kill.

But I look anyway.

Claws. Actual claws where my fingernails should be, curved and razor-sharp. My hands look longer somehow, more graceful but infinitely more dangerous.

"What..." The word comes out as a growl, rough and unfamiliar. "What's happening to me?"

"Your wolf," Marcus says carefully, like he's approaching a dangerous animal. "She's surfacing. She felt threatened."

Threatened? By training? By Marcus, who's been nothing but patient and kind?

But even as my rational mind protests, something else inside me snarls in agreement. The strikes were getting harder. More aggressive. He was pushing, testing, challenging...

Attacking, something whispers in the back of my mind. The voice is mine, but not mine, familiar yet completely alien.

Dominance challenge. Protect. Fight back. it kept saying

"I wasn't challenging you," Marcus says quickly, as if he can hear my thoughts. "Just training, Luna. Just helping you protect yourself."

Luna, Protect. The word sends a spike of something through me... not memory, exactly, but recognition. Like looking in a mirror after years and finally seeing your own face.

This is who I am. Who I've always been, underneath the human facade.

The thought should terrify me. Instead, it feels like coming home.

My vision sharpens until I can see every individual eyelash on Marcus's face, every drop of sweat, every micro-expression that screams his nervousness. His scent carries information I could interpret... his concern, his readiness to subdue me if necessary, the coffee he had with extra cream this morning.

How do I know that?

"Your eyes," Marcus says quietly. "They've changed."

I catch my reflection in the mirrored wall, and my breath stops completely.

Silver. My eyes are silver, bright as moonlight, bright as a starfire. The eyes of a Predator, hoping to catch or kill her prey.

"No." The word tears out of my throat, but it doesn't sound like my voice. Rougher. Deeper. More. "No, this isn't... I can't..."

"Aeliana, stay calm." Marcus has his hands raised, palms visible, like he's trying to show he's not a threat. "This is normal. You're not in danger. I'm not going to hurt you."

Hurt me? The idea is almost laughable. I could tear him apart without breaking a sweat. The knowledge sits in my mind like it's always been there, as natural as breathing.

Where did that come from?

Always been there, my wolf purrs, satisfied that she's finally awake from her slumber.

"I need..." I take a step backward, "I need air. I need to get out of here."

"Aeliana, wait."

But I'm already moving, faster than should be possible, my enhanced reflexes carrying me toward the barn door before Marcus can react.

The sunlight hits me like a physical blow. Everything is too bright, too sharp, too much. I can hear conversations from the main house a quarter mile away. I can smell Elena's perfume, Meredith's baking bread, David's happy voice, and underneath it all...

Caelan.

His scent hits me like lightning, rich and warm and absolutely perfect. My wolf practically purrs at the recognition, flooding me with emotions that aren't entirely my own.

Mate, she whispers, our mate. Want. Need. Claim.

The intensity of it nearly brings me to my knees. This isn't just attraction or affection. It's a biological response, deep recognition, the kind of bond that could drive someone insane if they fought it too long.

Is this what he's been feeling? This overwhelming, consuming need?

How has he survived it?

Movement catches my peripheral vision. Caelan, emerging from the house, moving with that predatory grace that suddenly makes perfect sense. He's already looking in my direction, probably alerted by Marcus's distress or the sound of my heart trying to beat out of my chest.

Our eyes meet across the distance, and the world stops.

He sees immediately what's happened. I watch his nostrils flare as he scents my partial shift, watch his pupils dilate as he takes in my silver eyes and transformed hands.

And then he's moving toward me, and every instinct I didn't know I had screams at me to run.

And that I did, I Ran with all the speed I could muster.