Chapter 13
806words
I wait in Kayden’s quarters, examining the knife. The markings seem less foreign each time I look at them, as if some part of me recognizes them.
Could my mother truly have been part werewolf? It would explain her grace, her strength, her silent movements through the forest.
And what would it mean for me? If I carry her blood, am I truly human at all?
The door opens, and Kayden returns. His expression is tense, but it softens slightly when he sees me.
"What did your father want?" I ask.
"To remind me of my responsibilities." He removes his formal jacket, draping it over a chair. "He's concerned about my public challenge of Lucas. Says it shows division within the family."
"Is he right?"
"Perhaps." Kayden sits across from me. "But Lucas crossed a line. My father understands that, even if he won't admit it."
Silence falls between us. I can feel his eyes on me, waiting.
"I've been thinking about your offer," I finally say. "To test my blood."
"And?"
I meet his gaze. "I want to know the truth. Whatever it is."
He nods, moving to sit beside me on the small couch. "It will only take a moment. Your wrist would be easiest."
With trembling fingers, I push up my sleeve, exposing the pale skin of my inner wrist. The blue veins visible beneath the surface seem suddenly vulnerable.
"Will it hurt?" I ask, hating how small my voice sounds.
"Only for an instant." His voice is gentle. "I'll be careful."
I extend my arm to him. "Do it."
Kayden takes my wrist in his warm hands, his touch surprisingly gentle. He brings it to his mouth, eyes meeting mine one last time as if seeking final permission. I nod slightly.
His teeth break my skin with surgical precision. The pain is sharp but brief—a pinprick more than a bite. I watch, fascinated despite myself, as he tastes my blood.
His expression shifts suddenly. His eyes darken, grip tightening on my wrist. Something primal flashes across his face as he takes another taste.
A strange heat spreads up my arm from the point of contact. Not pain, exactly, but an intense sensation that makes my breath catch.
"Kayden," I whisper, uncertain.
He doesn't respond, lost in whatever he's experiencing. His eyes have closed, his breathing quickened.
"Kayden," I say more firmly, alarm rising as his grip tightens further. "You're hurting me."
My words seem to break through whatever trance has claimed him. He releases me abruptly, turning away. I press my hand to the small wound, which has already nearly stopped bleeding.
"I'm sorry," he says, his voice rough. "I didn't mean to—" He stops, taking a deep breath before facing me again. "I apologize. That was... unexpected."
"What happened?"
He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I'm beginning to recognize as a sign of his discomfort. "Your blood. It's... potent."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I was right. You carry werewolf blood." His eyes meet mine, their amber color intensifying. "Strong werewolf blood, despite the dilution."
I absorb this quietly. A strange calm settles over me, though underneath, disbelief churns.
"So I'm not human," I say flatly.
"You're both human and werewolf. Neither fully one nor the other." He hesitates. "But there's more."
"Your blood has an unusual effect. I felt it immediately." He chooses his words carefully. "You've inherited more from your mother than just mixed heritage."
"Power," he says simply. "You may possess abilities beyond what's typical for someone with your blood ratio."
I stare at him. "You think I could become like you?"
"Not exactly like me. But with training, you might access abilities you never knew you had." He leans forward. "Including, potentially, some form of transformation."
The idea sends a chill down my spine—both terrifying and strangely exhilarating.
"You need training. To control the werewolf part of yourself that's been suppressed." His expression grows serious. "It won't be easy. But necessary."
I look down at my wrist, where the small puncture marks are already fading. My fingers trace the wound absently as I process his words. Everything I believed about myself—a lie. Yet somehow, it feels like a missing piece falling into place.
"What kind of training?" I finally ask.
"Physical conditioning. Sensory exercises. Learning to access your instincts." He pauses. "It would require trust between us. Complete trust."
I meet his gaze, searching for deception. Is this about helping me, or controlling me?
"We begin tomorrow. At dawn." He stands, extending his hand to me. "Do you trust me enough to try?"
look at his outstretched hand. What choice do I have? He saved my life once.
And if I truly carry werewolf blood, remaining ignorant only keeps me vulnerable. Knowledge, even dangerous knowledge, is power.
I take his hand. "I’ll try."
