Chapter 4: The First Howl

Veya’s POV

The morning sky was still veiled in a thin shroud of mist as I trailed the king through the forest behind the Southern Pavilion.

The scent of damp earth and wet leaves tangled with the faint trace of cinnamon that drifted from his body, lingering in the air between us.

“I didn’t think you’d follow without a scene.” The king glanced back, his voice sharper than the thorns clawing at my gown as I passed.

I clenched my fists. “I remember my promise.”

We reached a clearing carpeted in moss, where ancient trees towered overhead. In the center, dark patches of dried blood stained the earth, perhaps the remnants of a previous hunt.

The king stopped by a massive stone, looking at me like a predator sizing up its prey. “I hear you’re nineteen and still can’t shift.”

My gaze dropped. The shame cut sharper than his words.

“Werewolf pups start shifting at ten.” He exhaled, then lounged on the stone as if my humiliation were a morning pastime. “You’re pretty, but unfortunately, you’re a defective werewolf. Weak and foolish.”

My nails dug into the silk of my gown. Darien had said the same thing on the night he rejected me.

I could speak to my wolf only in fleeting moments. Every time I did, it left me fevered for days.

“Have you been so busy cleaning the horse stables that you forgot to learn how to shift with your wolf?”

I shut my eyes, fighting back the sting in them.

“Answer me, Veya.”

“Yes,” I whispered. “My father couldn’t afford the academy. He taught me to read, count, and write himself.”

The king studied me in silence for a moment before pointing to the ground at his feet.

“Sit. Close your eyes. Think of the deepest wound you’ve ever carried.”

“Why?”

“Because that wound is what will call your wolf to the surface. I’m going to help you today, whether you want it or not.”

“And if I fail?”

“Then you die,” he said flatly.

There was no choice but to obey. I sank into the damp earth and closed my eyes.

In the dark of my mind, I clawed through old memories. Darien recoiling from me in disgust. The other werewolf children circled me with jeers. My father’s silent tears when he couldn’t send me to the werewolf academy.

Then something stirred.

In the distance, a stone cave emerged. I stepped toward it, slowly. At the mouth of its shadow stood a wolf. Her eyes were green, wounded in the same way I was.

Before I realized it, I was running, throwing my arms around her neck. She smelled of flowers and dew, her embrace a strange kind of home.

“I am Ameera,” her voice whispered directly into my mind. “Forgive me, Veya. We’ve kept each other waiting too long.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks as I buried my face in her soft brown fur.

“There was a black lycan who pulled me out of my fear.”

My breath caught. “King Rael?”

Ameera nodded. “We can’t linger. Our energy is still unstable.”

As she began to fade, cold seeped into my marrow, and then pain tore through me from the inside out.

Every bone splintered, then snapped back together in brutal succession. My skin split, letting fine fur burst from the raw openings. And my nails lengthened into black claws, slicing through the air.

My scream broke into a long, wild howl that ripped through the forest.

In seconds, I was on four legs, lungs burning, and senses blazing. The forest air roared into my nose with a clarity I’d never known.

Leaves brushed my face; the ground pressed soft and alive beneath my paws.

I ran faster than I thought. I circled the trees, howls bursting from my throat. Until in the distance, I saw another stretch of forest, brighter unlike the king’s lycan territory.

My paws slowed at the border. The grass was greener there, the air sweeter.

I stepped closer…

“Stop!” Ameera’s voice thundered in my head. I skidded, claws ripping up soil and grass. “Do you want to die?!”

“This is my chance!”

“A chance to run? You think you’d survive out there? You almost died in the palace itself!”

I lowered my head, but my heart churned restlessly. “I would rather not be a slave!” I snapped back in my mind. “I can run to somewhere better!”

“Think of your father, Veya. Defy the king, and he won’t need a reason to kill him. You owe your life to the enemy you hate.”

Hot tears burned my wolf’s eyes. My breath came ragged, Ameera’s howl echoing inside me.

Slowly, I turned back. The king stood on the stone, golden eyes cutting into me. A faint smile touched his full lips, so slight I almost doubted it was there.

I ran to him, bowing low in my wolf form. Through the mind link, I said, “Thank you for your help, Your Majesty.”

Unexpectedly, he reached for me, pulling my wolf body into one arm. Then he licked the wounds along my side. His tongue was both searing and cool at once.

“A lycan’s lick can heal,” Ameera murmured.

Warmth spread through me as my wounds sealed instantly.

The king released me, his hand sliding over my head. “Shift back.”

I obeyed, my breath hitching as my bones shrank and fur withdrew. When I opened my eyes, I screamed because I was naked before him.

He didn’t look away. Instead, he caught my ankle and yanked, sending me sprawling. His shadow swallowed me whole.

“You don’t need to run from me to stay alive.”

We were too close. My chest heaved as his breath slid over my face. From his pocket, he drew a silver chain. A small wolf pendant dangled from it.

“This means your life is mine,” he said, fastening it around my neck.

“Don’t fight him. Survival takes more than courage,” Ameera whispered.

I growled inwardly. “You’re too submissive to him.”

“I see what you can’t. Survival is the art of yielding to strength.”

My chest tightened. I hated the truth in her words. I hated my weakness.

His calloused palm slid over my throat, fingers tracing my skin beneath the pendant. I swallowed hard, my breath catching as his face inched closer. His lips almost touched mine.

“Your Majesty!”

We both turned. A soldier stood rigid, head bowed.

“The nobles have arrived in the main hall.”

The king let out a low growl, the veins in his neck and at his temples flaring. On impulse, I cupped his face, trying to soothe the storm brewing within him.

Whatever strange power I held, it eased him enough that his shoulders loosened.

He stood, stripped off his black shirt, and tossed it to me without a word.

I caught it, the faint cinnamon in its fibers calming my racing pulse.

Without glancing back, he walked away with the soldiers trailing behind him. But just before his figure vanished from sight, his voice suddenly slipped into my mind.

“Never take that necklace off.”

I knew it wasn’t a gift. It was a shackle. For now, I’d wear it. Until I was strong enough to leave.