Before I even open my eyes, a dull ache pulses through my skull, pounding behind my eyes in a steady, relentless rhythm. When I finally force them open, the dim firelight burns too bright, making me wince. I try to sit up and immediately regret it. The room tilts violently, nausea rolling through my stomach, and I grip the edge of the bed until the sensation slowly eases.

  Azrael is there.

  He is watching me, concern written plainly across his face. When he realizes I am awake, he rises slowly and moves toward me with deliberate care. He settles onto the edge of the bed beside me, close enough that I can feel his warmth.

  “You have a concussion,” he says quietly. “Try to move slowly.”

  “I…” My voice catches, my throat dry and raw.

  Without a word, he hands me a small cup filled with warm tea. I take a cautious sip. The herbs bloom across my tongue, soothing and grounding. Almost immediately, the pressure in my head begins to dull. I swallow again, then look up at him.

  “Thank you,” I manage. “For…helping me.”

  He does not answer, but gives me a small nod.

  I lift a hand to the back of my head, fingers brushing against a tender swelling. It’s been tended to. A thick salve coats my skin, its scent clinging to my fingertips. Lavender. Peppermint. And something deeper, unfamiliar.

  “You should rest,” he says softly.

  A memory sharpens in my mind.

  “The ribbon,” I say suddenly. “Why do you have it?”

  His gaze drops to the stone floor. He says nothing.

  “That ribbon is mine, isn’t it?” I press, my voice tightening. “From when I was little. How do you have it?”

  Still silence.

  Anger sparks, hot and sharp. “Did you steal it? From a child? Have you been following me since I was nine?” The thought makes my skin crawl. I knew he had been watching me, but for how long. How deep did this go. “Well?”

  He does not move.

  Moonlight slips through the cave opening, and in its glow, the markings on his skin begin to appear. Pale lines slowly darken to a shimmery gold, edged in black, etched across muscle and bone, faint but unmistakable. My irritation falters, replaced by reluctant curiosity.

  “Those markings,” I say slowly. “They’re like the carvings around the hot spring. That’s your curse, isn’t it?”

  He exhales heavily.

  “Yes.”

  I hesitate, then ask the question circling relentlessly in my mind. “Why were you cursed?”

  “I was born cursed,” he says, his voice steady, resigned.

  “How does that happen?” I press. “Curses don’t just appear out of nowhere.”

  His jaw tightens. “Curses like mine are born of blood. When someone in your ancestral line commits an act deemed unforgivable, the punishment does not always end with them. Sometimes it stains the lineage. Sometimes it waits.”

  My stomach twists.

  “So you carry someone else’s sin,” I whisper.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “I carry their consequence,” he corrects. “And the moon makes sure no one forgets.”

  I study the faint markings, the way they trace his skin like something alive. Something ancient.

  “So they only appear under moonlight?” My heart begins to race.

  He nods.

  “And you’ve had them since you were a baby?” My chest aches.

  “Yes.”

  This time he turns toward me fully, sitting beside me on the bed. “I was born with them. Born cursed. Hated. Cast out. There was no hiding them once night fell.”

  Something twists painfully in my chest.

  “But surely your pack wouldn’t cast out a child for something that wasn’t their fault,” I say. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  He looks at me then, and the expression in his eyes makes my stomach drop.

  “Yes…they would,” he says evenly. “A curse is an omen. A promise of misfortune. Anyone near me was believed to be doomed.”

  “What about your family?” I ask softly. “Your parents?”

  “Family?” he replies. “My mother died giving birth to me and my father was killed when I was very young. Murdered by those who feared what he carried. The same curse. They were outcasts too.”

  My breath catches. “So what did you do? How did you survive?”

  “A human took me in,” he says quietly. “Of all people.”

  “A human?” I gasp. “Why?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “Once I had my first shift, they exiled me.”

  “Well, at least you were grown,” I say weakly. “Old enough to survive.”

  He gives me a look that tells me I am wrong again.

  “I was twelve.”

  “Twelve.” The word barely makes it past my lips.

  “Part of the curse,” he continues, “is that nothing about me is normal. Nothing arrives when it should. Nothing happens as it should.”

  I stare at him, my anger dissolving into something raw and aching. This is not the monstrous rogue from whispered stories. This is a boy who was abandoned before he ever had a chance to be anything else.

  And somehow, that realization hurts more than it should have.

  I hesitate, wanting to ask more but unsure if I am reopening wounds that never healed. He is a wall of restraint, and it is impossible to tell what lies beneath.

  Seeing it on my face, he says quietly, “Go on. I can see you have more to ask.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he replies. “I’m sure.”

  Something warm flickers inside me. My heart aches to know the life he has lived, and yet this conversation brings an unexpected sense of comfort. Who is this man, really. This dangerous figure who took me by force and now speaks to me like this.

  “What happened after the human exiled you?” I ask.

  “I struggled,” he says simply. “Most people saw me as an inconvenience. Anyone who tried to take me in eventually learned about the curse.” His jaw tightens. “If I timed it right, I could stay nearly a month. As long as I stayed inside after nightfall.”

  “How did you manage that?”

  “I pretended I had a crippling fear of the dark.”

  A laugh slips out before I can stop it. The corners of his mouth lift in response, just slightly. The first hint of a smile I have seen from him. It transforms his face, softening something sharp and weary beneath the surface.

  “And then?”

  “The moon would force the change. I’d have to go out into the night. The markings would reveal themselves. By morning, I would be alone again.” His voice dulls. “Eventually, I stopped trying.”

  My chest tightens.

  “I decided it was easier to disappear into the wild. Live off the land. That was when I truly became a rogue.”

  “You don’t think you could have found a home?” I ask gently.

  “At some point,” he says quietly, “it’s easier to leave before someone else can leave you.”

  My heart shatters. I know I shouldn’t care. That it should feel justified considering he abducted me. But I can’t help but feel empathy for him.

  I move closer, sitting beside him. He hesitates, then lifts his gaze. When our eyes meet, I reach out and cup his cheek, my touch gentle and deliberate.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “For what you’ve been through.”

  For a moment, the world narrows. It is not just my wolf stirring now. It is me. The urge to comfort him overwhelms the fear.

  He clears his throat and steps away, breaking the connection. He returns to the wooden chair, turning slightly away as if regaining control.

  I straighten, breathing carefully.

  “I know you won’t say much about the Vale Pack,” I say. “Or what you think my role is in all this. But can you tell me why I’m here?” My voice softens. “Why me?”

  He turns back to me, disbelief flashing across his face.

  “Have they really never told you who you are?” he asks.

  My breath catches.

  “Who am I?”