I stared at the smooth wood, jaw tight. Overwhelming. That was the only word that would describe the Lycan King. Tomas, if only in my mind. He was overwhelming. Not just his size or presence, but the weight of him. His sheer arrogance. He had treated me like a tool. Not a person, an actual being.
Anger bubbled under my skin, hot and sharp. I liked that better than fear. Fear made you freeze. Anger could be used. Anger could be honed, shaped, sharpened into something with teeth.
Something that bites back.
"Not that there's any practical use for it." Defeat warred with my anger. I can rage internally, but there was nothing I could do about it. Except sit in this gilded cage and do as my King commanded.
Forest man, Tomas, was the High King of Lenerum. A Lycan berserker, just like his father. I knew the stories. Everyone in Lenerum knew the stories. Even if we weren't supposed to speak them out loud.
His father had ruled with claws and fire. A monster in wolfskin. In my village, they never said his name. As if whispering it would summon him, bloody and furious, from whatever pit he'd been dragged into. There were rumors, the kind you weren't sure were warnings or bedtime stories. The old king, in an insanity-fueled rage, tore a foreign dignitary's head clean off.
My mother loved that tale. She always told it when the fire was low and the little ones were too restless to sleep. She'd paint the scene, describing how the young Lycan prince had shifted under a moonless sky and challenged his father in single combat. The berserker bloodline clashing fang to fang, fury to fury.
Every time she told it, I could feel the damp grass beneath my bare feet, stars blazing in the moonless sky, the air vibrating with growls. Like I was there, standing beside him. Fighting.
And maybe my mother had been. She had known the Lycan King well enough to threaten him should something happen to me.
The thought twisted in my gut like a blade. She'd kept so many secrets, hadn't she? I never knew who my real father was. Just some anonymous shifter until the Lord Alpha staked his claim. But my mother's past? That had been more than survival and scrubbed floors.
And now, here I sat in this lavish room. A fox with nowhere to run.
Panic swamped me, chest tight, breath caught. My mother had let this man take me. She should've just let me die in the forest. It would've been mercy at that point.
The scream caught me off guard. It broke free, tearing out of my tight chest with claws and teeth. A lifetime of frustration poured out, from my mother, from Killian and Reena, my father, and now him. A King with a plan. A really stupid flipping plan.
I buried my face in one of the ridiculous overstuffed pillows and let it out.
Everything had gone sideways since I walked into that temple. Shifting into a fox, of all creatures, hadn't been in any cards I'd thought I was holding. I was now considered a harbinger of doom, by shifter standards. Outside the bounds of the Predator and Prey dynamics that ruled our society.
Hopelessness swamped me.
My mother, Indra, Kristian…they were all gone. Serrat was barred to me. Even if I tried to go back, they'd never take me in. As a fox shifter, I was dangerous.
I was alone.
"Would it be better if I came back at another time?"
I flinched so hard I nearly fell off the bed.
A man stood in the doorway on the threshold of my, now open, door. Casually. Like he hadn't just caught me mid breakdown. His hands were tucked into the pockets of loose breeches, one shoulder leaning against the frame.
He wasn't tall, maybe a touch taller than me. But he made up for it with presence. White hair stuck out like he'd tussled with the wind, and his face was a map of sharp lines and time-worn creases. His eyes were pale and bright, like fresh snow catching sunlight.
And annoyingly amused.
I sat up fast, cheeks burning, and tossed the pillow to the side. My nightdress clung to my legs awkwardly, and I tried to smooth it out with what little dignity I had left.
"Who are you?"
The old man eased in.
"Garth of Clan Arzt." His voice was gruff. I vaguely remembered it. It was hard to recall anything through that haze of pain I had been in when I was brought there. "I'm here to check on your healing, girl."
Girl. Great. Another one.
He didn't wait for permission, just crossed the room and took my wrist. His fingers were thick and calloused, but warm. Strong in that I've-splinted-bones-with-teeth kind of way.
"Clan Arzt?" I asked, arching a brow.
He nodded. "Lycan healing clan."
No kidding. He took a moment to get the beat of my pulse, then let my wrist go and pressed his palm against my ribs. I stiffened before I could stop myself.
"Any pain here?"
I shook my head. "No."
His hand slid away. Good. One more second and I might've snapped it off out of pure reflex.
Then he grabbed my jaw.
I flinched. I couldn't help it. But I didn't pull away. He angled my face, inspecting the bruising I could still feel. "Swelling's down. That's something at least. Open your mouth."
I did.
"Clench. Any pain?"
"A little." I admitted. "Nothing like before."
"Good. Another day or so, and you'll be right."
He leaned back, finally done poking at me. His gaze lingered, curious. "Can't say I've met a fox before. Usually they're killed before a healer ever gets near."
I crossed my arms. "They tried."
His eyes flicked up.
"I escaped." I added. My shoulders curled in, instinctively defensive. "The King brought me here."
"No need to get prickly, girl. I didn't try to kill you."
I bit my tongue. Fair.
He grunted. "Backwater shifters and their damn superstitions. I'll never understand the logic."
"They're not wrong." The words scraped my throat, but I felt the need to defend my village. "There's a tale—"
"Superstition." He cut in, dismissing me with a wave.
I glared.
He waved again. "Go on then."
I shrugged. "There's a story that a fox shifter brings the Moon Goddess' wrath. Apocalypse and all that. I don't fault them. I fault me. I'm defective. Shouldn't exist."
The silence hung just long enough to sting.
Garth didn't argue. Just walked over, patted my knee like I was a particularly dumb child, then stood.
"Doesn't sound likely." He caught my eye, meeting my gaze squarely with his. "Hierarchy aside, every shifter, every person, matters. Balance needs all parts to stand."
I snorted. "Easy to say when you're a predator. Top of the chain. I'm not even prey. I'm less than that. I'm a glitch."
He shook his head.
"Keep believing that." His voice, still gruff, held a hint of steel underneath. "And it'll keep being true."
He turned to leave, making it as far as the door. He stopped, hand on the frame, and turned back to look at me.
"You're unique. In a world split by predator and prey, maybe you're not broken. Maybe you're the piece that was missing. Not destruction, girl. Balance."
Then he left.
And I sat there, swallowing a truth I didn't want.