Chapter 4

The guard took another step back, his eyes wide with fear.

Three more wolves emerged from the forest behind him. I recognized them all—patrol members I'd grown up with. Men who had watched me fail year after year with barely concealed disdain.

"Aria," the first guard repeated, his voice shaking now. "Your father sent us to bring you home safely."

"How thoughtful of him," I said. The thorns around my feet grew longer, sharper. "And how is dear Father tonight? Still feeling the effects of his evening wine, I imagine?"

The guards exchanged glances. They could sense something was different, but they didn't understand what.

Kieran moved to stand beside me. "Four against two," he murmured. "I like those odds."

"Four against one," I corrected. "This is my fight."

"Pup—"

"My name," I said, loud enough for the guards to hear, "is not 'pup.' It's not 'Aria' anymore either." I took a step forward. "I don't know what it is yet. But I know what it isn't."

The lead guard—Marcus, I remembered his name now—tried to regain control of the situation. "You need to come with us. Now. Before something dangerous finds you out here."

"Something dangerous already has," I said.

The thorns spread outward from my feet, growing thick and wild. The guards jumped back as the twisted vines reached for them.

"What the hell—" one of them started.

"Language," I chided. "There are ladies present."

Marcus shifted to his wolf form—a large brown male with battle scars. The others followed suit. Four wolves facing two humans. Under normal circumstances, they'd tear us apart in seconds.

But these weren't normal circumstances.

I raised my hand, and the forest responded. Vines erupted from the ground, thick as tree trunks. They wrapped around the wolves' legs, holding them fast. Marcus snarled and snapped at the restraints, but they only grew tighter.

"Now," I said conversationally, "let's talk. How long has Morgana been giving my father that special wine? The one that makes him so agreeable?"

Marcus shifted back to human, though the vines still held him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't." More vines sprouted, these ones covered in thorns. They hovered inches from his throat. "Let me ask differently. How much is she paying you to pretend you don't notice?"

His face went pale. Beside him, the other guards whimpered in their wolves.

"She's been very generous to the patrol over the years," Kieran observed. "Extra pay, better equipment, choice assignments. All for keeping certain secrets."

"What secrets?" I asked, though I was beginning to guess.

"The midnight visitors," Marcus said reluctantly. "The ones who bring her... supplies."

"What kind of supplies?"

"Herbs. Powders. Sometimes..." He swallowed hard. "Sometimes people."

Ice formed in my veins. "What people?"

"Rogues. Criminals. People no one would miss." His voice was barely a whisper. "She said they were for experiments. For the good of the pack."

"And you believed that?"

"We were paid not to ask questions."

I looked at the four men—wolves I'd known all my life. Men who had stood by and watched while children disappeared. While my mother was murdered. While I was slowly poisoned.

"How many?" I asked.

"I don't know. Twenty? Thirty? Over the years..."

The thorns grew closer to his throat. "How many children?"

"I—we—" He was crying now. "We didn't know they were children when she took them. We thought they were rogues."

"But you suspected."

"Yes."

The forest fell silent around us. Even the night insects seemed to be holding their breath.

"Where is she now?" I asked.

"At the compound. In her private chambers. She's... she's been expecting you to return."

"Has she?" I smiled, and Marcus flinched. "How kind of her to prepare for my homecoming."

I gestured, and the vines released them. All four guards collapsed to the ground, gasping.

"You're going to go back," I told them. "You're going to tell her that you searched the forest but found no trace of me. You're going to say that I probably fell prey to the shadow wolves."

"But—"

"You're going to do this because if you don't, I will hunt you down one by one and feed you to the thorns." The vines rustled ominously around us. "And unlike her, I won't need to pay you to keep your mouths shut. I'll just remove them entirely."

They scrambled to their feet and fled into the forest.

Kieran watched them go. "Think they'll do as you asked?"

"For now. Fear is a powerful motivator." I turned to face him. "But we don't have long. Morgana will know something is wrong when I don't come home weeping and broken."

"What's the plan?"

I looked at the Moon Goddess statue, still glowing faintly in the darkness. Power thrummed through my veins—my mother's legacy, finally awakening after years of suppression.

"She's been stealing power from children for years," I said. "Building herself up while keeping me weak. But she made one mistake."

"What's that?"

"She left me alive." I smiled, and flowers bloomed in my hair. "Now I'm going to show her what happens when you try to cage a storm."

The statue's light pulsed brighter, as if approving.

"But first," I said, "I need to learn exactly what I can do. And I need allies."

"I know some people," Kieran said carefully. "Others like us. The abandoned ones."

"Good. Take me to them."

"Pup, are you sure about this? Once we start down this path—"

"My name," I interrupted, "is not 'pup' anymore either." I thought for a moment. "Call me Thorn."

He smiled—the first real smile I'd seen from him. "Thorn it is."

The blood moon was setting, painting the eastern sky in shades of crimson and gold. In the distance, I could hear the morning birds beginning to sing.

Before we reached the others, Kieran caught my arm. "You're bleeding."

I looked down—my ceremonial robe was torn, and scratches from thorns crisscrossed my arms. I hadn't even felt them. "It's nothing."

"Let me." Without waiting for permission, he tore a strip from his shirt and gently cleaned the worst cut on my forearm. His touch was careful, reverent almost.

"Why are you helping me?" I asked quietly. "Really. Don't say it's because you know what abandonment feels like. There has to be more."

His fingers were extraordinarily careful as he cleaned the wound, as if I were fragile porcelain. Every time I trembled from pain, he would pause and wait for me to recover.

"Why are you being so kind to me?" I couldn't help but ask.

He stopped his movements, those mismatched eyes looking at me. "Because for fourteen years, I've been waiting for a chance to prove you deserve to be treated with kindness."

My breath caught. "What do you mean?"

But he was already standing, offering his hand again. "Come. They're waiting."