Chapter 9

The first animal that trusted me was a half-starved dog with a torn ear, and by the end of the morning, even Mara Quinn had begun watching me as though I were a problem she had not learned how to diagnose.

I found the dog curled beneath a wooden bench outside the examination room, its ribs visible beneath a dirty coat. When I approached, it bared its teeth and retreated until its injured side pressed against the wall.

I stopped several feet away, lowered myself onto my heels, and waited, because I knew what it meant to be cornered by someone larger than yourself, so I had no intention of forcing the frightened animal to accept my help.

“Easy,” I murmured. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

The dog watched me suspiciously, but after several minutes, its growling faded. I offered my hand slowly, allowing it to sniff my fingers before I touched the matted fur around its ear. It did not flinch when I examined the wound, and when Mara came out carrying a tray of medical supplies, she stopped in the doorway.

“That dog tried to bite me yesterday,” she said.

“Maybe it was frightened.”

“It was frightened enough to take a piece of my glove with it.” Mara set the tray down beside me and studied the animal, which had begun leaning against my knee. “I've treated strays for years, Elena. Fear doesn't usually disappear that quickly.”

I shrugged, concentrating on keeping the dog still while Mara cleaned its wound. “Perhaps it knows I won't hurt it.”

“Perhaps.” Her gaze remained on me for another moment before she reached for the bandages. “Let's see whether you're as persuasive with the cat that tried to remove my fingers.”

By lunchtime, the ginger cat had allowed me to refill its water bowl without a struggle, and a nervous terrier that had spent two days barking at everyone had settled beside my chair.

I attributed the changes to patience and quiet handling, but Mara's expression suggested she was considering explanations I had no desire to hear. I had spent twenty years being told that there was something wrong with me because I had no wolf. The last thing I needed was for another person to decide that my existence was some kind of mystery.

The work kept my thoughts occupied. I cleaned the kennels, organized supplies, and helped Mara prepare food for the animals. She paid attention to my movements without hovering, correcting me when I made mistakes but allowing me to learn from them. For the first time in years, I was doing something useful without someone reminding me that I should be grateful for the privilege.

Still, my body had begun to feel strangely heavy. A dull ache settled behind my eyes, and by late afternoon, the warmth I had experienced in the forest returned beneath my skin. This time it spread through my chest and down my back, leaving me flushed and unsteady. I blamed the poor sleep, the long journey, and the stress of everything that had happened since leaving Blood Moon.

Mara noticed me gripping the examination table when I stood too quickly.

“You're pale,” she said. “When did you last eat properly?”

“This morning.”

“And how much water have you had?”

I glanced at the half-empty bottle beside me. “Not enough, probably.”

She pressed the back of her hand against my forehead, and her expression tightened. “You're running a fever. Go upstairs and lie down. I'll bring you something to drink, and if it gets worse, we'll have to find you proper medical attention.”

“I can't leave you with all this work.”

“You can, and you will. The animals survived before you arrived, and they'll survive for another hour without your supervision.”

I wanted to argue, but the room tilted when I straightened. Rather than risk collapsing in front of her, I followed her instructions and climbed the narrow staircase to the small room above the clinic.

I drank the water she brought, swallowed the simple medicine she offered, and lay beneath the blankets, hoping sleep would quiet the strange sensations moving through me.

Instead, I dreamed of fire.

I stood in the middle of a forest beneath a blood-red sky. Flames climbed the trunks of ancient trees, sending sparks into the darkness, yet the heat never touched my skin. The air smelled of smoke and something metallic, and beneath my feet, the ground trembled as though something enormous were moving beneath the earth.

A woman stood between the burning trees.

At first, I could see only her silhouette, outlined by the flames. Then she stepped forward, and my breath caught in my throat. She had my face, my dark hair, and the same small scar near her left eyebrow. Even the way she held her shoulders seemed familiar, although I had never seen anyone stand quite like that.

“Who are you?” I asked.

The woman looked at me with an expression that held grief and fury in equal measure. “You have spent too long believing what they told you.”

I tried to approach her, but the ground shifted beneath my feet. “I don't understand.”

“Then listen carefully.” Her voice carried through the burning forest without effort. “Never trust anyone who calls you weak.”

The words struck something deep inside me. I thought of Garrick's contempt, Rosalie's laughter, and the faces of the pack members who had watched Adrian reject me. I remembered every time I had lowered my head because resistance only made the punishment worse.

The woman reached toward me, but before her fingers could touch mine, a silver crown appeared above the flames. It hung in the air, turning slowly, its delicate points reflecting light that seemed brighter than the fire surrounding it. I stared at it, unable to understand why the sight filled me with a grief so powerful that my chest hurt.

Then the crown fell.

It struck the burning ground, and the flames swallowed it whole. The woman looked at me one last time, her face suddenly urgent.

“Remember who you are.”

I woke with a gasp, my body damp with sweat and my heart racing so violently that I had to sit upright and press both hands against the mattress. For several seconds, I could still smell smoke, although the room was cool and quiet. I stared at the closed door, waiting for the dream to dissolve completely, but the woman's face remained clear in my mind.

It had been my face.

I rubbed my eyes and tried to make sense of what I had seen. Fever could produce vivid dreams, and stress could turn old fears into strange images. There was no reason to believe the woman had been real, much less that her warning meant anything beyond what I already knew. I had endured enough suffering to recognize that people who called others weak often wanted them to remain powerless.

Yet the silver crown troubled me most. I had never owned anything resembling a crown, and I could not remember seeing one in a book or picture that might have planted the image in my mind. I pushed the thought away, unwilling to let a fever dream become another mystery I could not solve.

Downstairs, Mara called my name, and I answered that I was awake. My voice sounded rough, but the fever seemed to have eased slightly. I got out of bed, washed my face, and returned to the clinic, determined to continue working rather than sit alone with questions that had no answers.

Far from the borderlands, Mira discovered that someone had entered her healing room at Blood Moon.

The drawers beneath her worktable had been opened, and several old records were missing from a cabinet she kept locked. They concerned Evelyn Blackwood, Elena's dead mother, and had been preserved separately from the pack's ordinary medical files. Mira had never considered them valuable to anyone outside her own work, but their absence left her with a cold certainty that the intrusion had not been random.

Before she could decide whether to approach Adrian or report the theft to the pack authorities, an unfamiliar messenger arrived at her door. He carried no visible pack insignia and gave no name, but his manner suggested that he expected to be heard.

“You should be careful about what you report,” he told her. “Someone in the ruling council has begun asking questions about the missing Blackwood daughter.”

Mira's expression hardened. “Who is asking?”

The messenger shook his head. “I was told to deliver the warning, not answer questions.”

Then he left, taking his identity and whatever else he knew with him.

Back at the clinic, I had no knowledge of the stolen records or the council's growing interest in my disappearance. I spent the remainder of the evening helping Mara settle the animals, trying to convince myself that the dream was nothing more than the fever working through my mind. When she asked whether I felt better, I assured her I did, although I could not completely shake the feeling that the woman in the burning forest had been trying to reach me.

As I climbed the stairs that night, I remembered her final words and paused with my hand on the railing.

Remember who you are.

I still had no idea what they meant, but somewhere beyond the clinic walls, people were searching through my mother's past, and the name I had tried to leave behind was beginning to draw the attention of people who would not be satisfied until they understood why I had disappeared.