Unsettled by the constant push and pull of everything in my life, I pace the length of the cave.

  Am I dangerous, or am I not?

  Am I in control, or barely holding on?

  Do I want Azrael, or do I only think I do?

  Does he want me, or is that just another lie my wolf is telling me?

  The questions chase each other in circles until my head feels too full and my chest too tight. My wolf mirrors the chaos, pacing beneath my skin, restless and keyed too high. She keeps pressing forward like she is searching for a door that will not open.

  “I need air,” I blurt. “Can we go outside or something?”

  Azrael looks up at once, concern sharpening his features. He studies me like he is measuring how close I am to the edge.

  “Oh, come on,” I add quickly, already moving toward the entrance. “It’s not like there’s anyone around for miles.”

  I cup my hands around my mouth and call out, “Hello?”

  My voice echoes uselessly through the trees.

  “See?” I glance back at him, forcing brightness I do not feel.

  He exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Alright,” he says sharply, then again, softer, like he is talking himself into it. “Alright. We can go for a walk. But we stay in human form.”

  Relief bursts through me so suddenly a small, traitorous squeal slips from my lips.

  He tries to hide it, but a flicker of a smile crosses his face. “Briefly,” he adds.

  I nod at once, already slipping my feet into the sandals he brought me.

  The moment I step outside, my ankle jerks hard, yanked backward.

  I swear under my breath as I stumble, stopped short by the chain still fastened around my leg.

  I glare down at it like it personally offended me.

  Azrael crouches immediately, key already in his hand. He hesitates just long enough for me to notice before unlocking the shackle and letting it fall away.

  I do not wait.

  “Goodbye.” I say as I bolt forward, laughing as the morning air rushes over my skin, dew cool beneath my feet. After a few reckless strides, I spin around.

  “Just teasing,” I call, breathless.

  Azrael stands frozen where I left him, his face drained of color. When he finally moves to join me, he rolls his eyes, though the tension in his shoulders gives him away.

  “I do love to run,” I say as we start walking, glancing sideways at him. “There’s just this feeling. Like you’re weightless. Like when your feet barely touch the ground. You know what I mean?”

  His expression softens. “Yes,” he says quietly. “Almost like flying.”

  “Exactly.” I grin, then my smile fades. “I know I should feel miserable being here. And part of me does.”

  A flicker of pain crosses his face before he masks it.

  “But if what you’ve said is true,” I continue, voice lowering, “and that’s a big if, then maybe it’s a good thing I’m here.”

  “Indeed,” he murmurs.

  “At least this way, my family doesn’t have to see me go through these…growing pains.” I say, trying to convince myself.

  We move beneath moss-draped trees, the forest alive with birdsong and the quiet rustle of unseen creatures. A sudden gust of wind sweeps through, and I lift my arms, spinning, as though I have wings. The world tilts. I laugh as I nearly lose my balance.

  Azrael lunges instinctively, reaching for me, but I steady myself before he can catch me.

  “You know,” I tease, “I’m not going to shatter like porcelain if I fall. I’m sturdier than that.”

  “I know,” he replies. “I just want to be sure.”

  Something about the way he says it warms my chest in a way I do not want to examine too closely.

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  I hesitate, then force myself to speak before I lose the nerve.

  “What you said the other day,” I begin, my voice quieter now. “About the pack reacting differently to me.” I swallow. “I don’t really understand it.”

  He does not respond right away.

  We walk a few more steps, the forest breathing around us. Leaves whisper overhead. Somewhere, something small scurries through the underbrush. The delay tightens my throat.

  “You don’t have to soften it,” I say quietly. “I can feel when you’re choosing your words.”

  His gaze stays forward. “I know.”

  He slows, then stops beside a fallen log. Not blocking me. Not herding me. Just stopping, as if he wants the truth to land cleanly instead of chasing it while we walk.

  “Wolves respond to scent,” he says finally. “But not all scents mean the same thing.”

  I frown. “Everyone has a scent.”

  “Yes. And most of them say simple things.” He glances at me. “Strength. Fear. Rank. Familiarity.”

  “And mine?” I ask.

  His jaw tightens, just a fraction.

  “Yours doesn’t say just one thing,” he replies. “It says too many.”

  A cold ripple slides along my spine. “Too many how?”

  “Command,” he says. “Need. Warning. Belonging. Fear. Anxiety. Doubt.” A pause, like the next word tastes sharp. “And sometimes a threat.”

  My steps falter. “Threat to who?”

  He watches me carefully now, as if gauging whether I’ll bolt or shut down. “To wolves who rely on instinct more than restraint.”

  A memory stirs, sudden and sharp.

  The training yard. I must have been fourteen, maybe fifteen. I remember stepping into the circle and the chatter dying too quickly. The way older wolves stiffened when the wind shifted. One of the younger males snarled at nothing at all, his father jerking him back hard enough to bruise.

  At the time, they said he was ill-tempered. Unstable.

  My stomach turns.

  “There were times,” I say slowly, “when others reacted to me, even when I was younger.” I shake my head. “I thought I imagined it. Or that I was did something wrong.”

  “You weren’t,” Azrael says immediately.

  I stop walking. “Then why did Luna Marienne always insist I stand beside her during gatherings? Like she was keeping me away from trouble.”

  He exhales through his nose. “Because proximity matters. Some wolves calm when the source is close and acknowledged. They feel like they can contain the threat.”

  My pulse quickens. “And others?”

  “Feel challenged,” he answers. “Sometimes even compelled.”

  The word drops into my chest like a stone.

  “Kellan,” I say before I can stop myself.

  Azrael does not look surprised.

  “Was he,” I continue, voice unsteady, “compelled to love me?”

  “I don’t know,” Azrael says quietly.

  There is truth in his words but the uncertainty seems to wound him a little.

  “He was acting so strange the last day I was there,” I press. “So possessive. Needy. Afraid like I might crumble at any moment. I told myself it was nothing.”

  He meets my eyes. “That’s what they were hoping you’d believe.”

  Anger flares, sharp and hot, cutting through the cold in my bones.

  “So they knew all along that something wasn’t right and they continued to lie to me about it. Right to my face.”

  “Yes.”

  “How long have they known?”

  “Longer than you,” he says. “Not as long as they should have.”

  I laugh once, brittle. “That’s not an answer.”

  “It’s the only one I have for now.”

  I turn away, heart pounding. More memories rise unbidden.

  Alpha Kennan stepping between me and a visiting pack leader.

  My mother’s hand tightening on my wrist whenever unfamiliar wolves lingered too close.

  The way conversations stopped when I entered rooms.

  They weren’t protecting me from the world.

  They were protecting the world from me.

  “Say it,” I whisper. “I need you to tell me they never thought I was normal to them.”

  Azrael does not hesitate. “You have never been ordinary.”

  The words land heavy, but not cruel. Not accusatory. Just true.

  “And you?” I ask, forcing the next question out before fear can swallow it. “I still don’t understand why it doesn’t affect you. I know you gave me some fake explanation about how you’re in control, but what is it really that keeps you so composed, when even my parents faltered around me?”

  A corner of his mouth lifts faintly. “Because I learned early what unchecked instinct does to a pack.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know.” His gaze sharpens, then softens again. “And because your scent doesn’t demand anything from me.”

  My breath catches. “It doesn’t?”

  “No,” he says. “It asks.”

  The distinction hits with quiet force, slipping under my ribs and settling there.

  We stand in the dappled light, the forest watching us back. I hug my arms around myself, suddenly aware of how exposed I feel without stone walls and fire between us.

  “So what happens now?” I ask.

  He considers me for a long moment.

  “Now,” he says, “you learn when to let the world feel what you want them to feel.”

  “And when not to.” I say.

  His eyes darken. “That,” he says, “is what having real control is.”

  The wind shifts, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine.

  Somewhere deep in the woods, a low animal call sounds.

  My wolf stirs, alert and curious, not afraid.

  And for the first time, I wonder how many times the pack felt this pull before I ever did.

  How many times they stood too close.

  How many times they tightened their grip.

  How many times they told themselves it was love.

  And how many times they tried to hide it from me. Lying to me in the process.