I wake with a new vigor, energy stirring inside me like a spark that refuses to die.

  A new day.

  A fresh start.

  For the first time since my shift, I don’t open my eyes with dread sitting on my chest like stone. I open them with something else.

  Resolve.

  I’m ready.

  Ready to begin this journey of control. Ready to learn who I am beneath the fear, beneath the chaos, beneath the wolf that has been clawing at the edges of my skin like she’s been waiting her entire life for permission to breathe.

  When I roll out of bed, I realize the cave is empty.

  Azrael is gone.

  I check the back chamber, half expecting to find him there, but there’s nothing except steam-thick silence and stone that holds heat like memory.

  Then I look down.

  The shackle is gone from my ankle.

  My breath catches.

  Whether that was intentional or not, I don’t know.

  But my mind only gives me a single heartbeat to consider it.

  Because the moment I shift my weight towards the entrance to leave, my wolf lunges.

  Not gently. Not curiously.

  Violently.

  Pain spears up my spine, sharp enough to steal the air from my lungs. My knees buckle and I hit the stone floor hard, palms slapping against cold rock as I arch with the force of her.

  She claws and rips at me from the inside, not asking.

  Demanding.

  To be let out.

  To take control.

  To take over.

  And in doing so, erase me.

  I don’t know where I would go if she succeeded. Only that I wouldn’t come back. That whatever is left behind would still wear my skin, still breathe my breath, still move with my bones.

  But it wouldn’t be me.

  “Okay,” I blurt, voice breaking on the word. “I hear you. I understand. I’m sorry. Forgive me.”

  The pain eases, inch by inch, as if she’s weighing the sound of my voice. Testing it. Deciding whether it’s truth or another attempt at control.

  Then, slowly, she retreats.

  Stretching.

  Settling.

  Coiling deeper into my ribs until the pressure becomes bearable again.

  My muscles tremble. Sweat slicks my skin. My breath comes too fast.

  But I don’t collapse.

  I push myself up, shaking, jaw clenched.

  “That was too close,” I mutter.

  Maybe Azrael is right.

  Maybe I do need to be here.

  No matter how many times I tell myself that, my chest still aches with what I miss. My family. My pack. Kellan. The life that was supposed to be mine.

  I stand and stretch, forcing my limbs to remember how to be human. Working the tension out of my shoulders, my neck, my hands.

  The moment my spine straightens, a shadow crosses the cave mouth.

  Azrael steps inside.

  Surprise flashes across his face, quick and unguarded.

  Was he surprised I was still here?

  “I see you’re in good spirits,” he says lightly.

  If only he knew the truth.

  “I’m ready,” I say, and I don’t hesitate. Not even for breath.

  His brow furrows. “Ready?”

  “For my training,” I say. “You are going to train me, right?”

  He tilts his head slightly, studying me like he’s trying to decide if I’m sincere or just playing a joke.

  “Are you saying you want me to train you?”

  “Well, isn’t that why I’m here?” Frustration sharpens my words before I can soften them. “So you can teach me how to not be dangerous.”

  “Yes,” he says carefully. “But I wasn’t sure if you wanted that.”

  I stare at him, disbelief flaring hot. “You weren’t sure if I wanted to find a way not to harm everyone I love?”

  Sarcasm bites at the edges of my voice. “Of course I do. Please.”

  A slow smirk pulls at his mouth. “Alright. No need to beg.”

  A low, irritated sound rumbles in my throat before I can stop it.

  His eyes flick to my mouth, then away.

  “Come,” he says simply.

  We return to the stream we found the other night on our run.

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  The forest is brighter now, sun filtering through leaves in shifting patterns that dapple the ground. Moss cushions the earth beneath us, cool and damp, while the water murmurs over stone like it’s speaking a language older than packs and promises.

  Azrael sits cross-legged on the grass.

  I mirror him, close enough to feel his presence, far enough to pretend it doesn’t matter.

  “Feel your breath move into your lungs,” he says. “Through your body. Feel it enter your wolf’s lungs as she breathes through you.”

  I close my eyes.

  My wolf is quiet. Sleeping.

  Of course she is.

  But deep in the stillness of my mind, I can hear it. The slow, steady rhythm of her breath. Untroubled. Peaceful.

  At ease here.

  Close to him.

  “Now exhale as she does,” Azrael continues, voice low and steady. “Hear her. Feel her. Sense her. She is your strength, your power, your survival. She is you. You are her.”

  I inhale slowly.

  Exhale.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  I let her set the pace.

  And then curiosity flickers.

  I quicken my breathing, just to test it.

  In, out. In, out. Faster. Shorter.

  She follows instantly, mirroring me.

  “Lirian.” His voice turns firm. Not harsh. Anchoring. “Focus.”

  I slow again, chastened, and feel her settle with me.

  “Now,” he whispers, “place your hand on your heart. Feel it beat. Hear it in your ears. The thumping in your veins. Yes?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “Now listen to her heartbeat.”

  I frown. “I can’t hear her heart.”

  “Try. Focus. Listen.”

  I shut out everything.

  The rush of water. The rustle of leaves. The birds overhead.

  Even my own pulse.

  The world narrows until there is nothing left but the space inside my ribs.

  Then I hear it.

  A soft bump bump. Bump bump.

  Her heartbeat.

  Steady. Slow. Certain.

  Not unlike Azrael’s, I realize.

  No wonder she is drawn to him.

  “I hear it,” I breathe.

  “Good,” he says. “Now try to match your heartbeat to hers.”

  “How would I even do that?”

  “Just focus on the beating.”

  I listen.

  Beat by beat.

  I breathe with her.

  I search for her and find her waiting, patient, like she has all the time in the world and I am the only one running.

  Warmth blooms through my body, raising goosebumps along my skin.

  And then it happens.

  My heartbeat shifts, slamming into place with hers.

  A rush of euphoria floods me so fast I gasp.

  I feel strong.

  Powerful.

  Alive.

  Wild. Free. Grounded.

  This is what he meant.

  “I…” My voice falters. “This…”

  “I know,” Azrael says softly. “This is unity. Two minds. One vessel. United.”

  His hand settles on my knee.

  Warm.

  Steady.

  Grounding.

  “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he murmurs.

  It feels like everything.

  My wolf’s energy flows through me, and mine through her. Like a current. Like a river finally allowed to run its proper course.

  Azrael’s warmth radiates beside me, anchoring me further.

  My wolf stirs at his touch.

  A soft purr vibrates through my bones.

  Her desire blooms, raw and immediate, and for the first time…

  I understand it.

  I feel what she feels.

  Sense what she senses.

  The sounds. The scents. The emotions.

  Azrael.

  Refined. Reserved. Controlled.

  And beneath it all…

  Pressure.

  Like a gate held shut by force alone.

  Desire. Longing. A tension that brushes the edges of my thoughts, tempting me to lean into it.

  She feels it.

  And now, so do I.

  Delight flickers through me. Pleasure. Hunger. And even desire.

  Is this what others feel when they awaken fully?

  It is beautiful.

  Complete.

  “What do you feel?” he asks.

  “Everything,” I breathe. “Every sound. Every smell. Every emotion. It feels like the whole world is vibrating at my fingertips, and I only have to reach out and touch it.”

  “Good. Now let it all go.”

  I hear him rise.

  “Come back to yourself. Your breath. Your heart. Lesson done for the day.”

  My eyes fly open. “What? No. No, I’m not done.”

  “That may be so,” he says calmly, “but we don’t need to push any further today.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You should feel proud,” he says. “You did well. You connected. You united with your wolf.”

  “But I don’t want to stop,” I say, and my voice shakes. “This feeling. It’s amazing. I feel so… powerful.”

  I stand, running my hands over my arms, marveling at sensation like it’s new. Like I’ve never truly inhabited my own skin before.

  “I don’t want this to end,” I whisper. “I want to stay here forever.”

  “Lirian.” His voice softens. “That is your wolf talking.”

  I freeze.

  “You are connected to her right now,” he continues gently, “so you feel what she feels. But you need to let go.”

  “No,” I shout, the word ripping out of me like instinct. “Never.”

  “Lirian,” he whispers. “Listen to me. This is not you. You are letting her have control. Find the balance.”

  But his voice begins to blur at the edges.

  Distant.

  Tempting.

  The world tilts toward sensation.

  Toward need.

  Toward him.

  “Azrael,” I breathe.

  I surge forward and wrap myself around him.

  My wolf hums with satisfaction as I press into his chest, resting my head there like it’s the only place in the world that makes sense.

  For a moment, it feels as if we are one.

  “Lirian,” he snaps, voice sharp with urgency. “Come back to me. Remember. Two minds. One body. You need to regain control.”

  My hands trace the strength beneath his skin, the solid heat of him.

  His scent fills me.

  Cedar and earth and something sharper beneath it, something that tastes like restraint stretched thin.

  It ignites a burning need to surrender.

  To give myself fully.

  “Lirian, please,” he strains, and that word does something to me. “I can’t restrain myself much longer. Please.”

  It isn’t his words that stop me.

  It’s the fear I smell on him.

  Real.

  Sudden.

  And for the first time, I understand.

  He isn’t afraid of me.

  He’s afraid of what happens if he stops fighting, even for a second.

  I stumble back, breath ragged, forcing air into my lungs.

  In.

  Out.

  In.

  Out.

  I shake my head hard, like I can throw the haze from my skull.

  “What the hell just happened?” I whisper.

  “You bonded with your wolf,” he says quietly. “But you let her desires become yours. She was deciding your actions.”

  I stare at him, stunned.

  “Holy shit,” I blurt. “She has it bad for you. I couldn’t want anything else. Not food. Not water. Not even oxygen. I would have suffocated just to be near you.”

  My laugh is sharp and disbelieving, a sound with no humor in it. “That’s insane.”

  “Yes,” he says evenly. “And now you know what it feels like.”

  He meets my eyes.

  Steady.

  Certain.

  “Next time,” he says, voice low, “we train on how to keep you at the helm.”