A hybrid of half-wolf and a wolf hunter stand alone in the same room, less than a meter apart. The tension makes every hair on Elira's body stand on end.
As Kael steps forward—calculated, precise—Elira spins around, flings open her drawer, and pulls out her dagger. She points it at him, both hands trembling.
Every possibility races through her mind.
She's trained in swordsmanship, but she's never fought for her life. And Kael? He's a war hero. Years of blood and battlefield have honed his instincts. This wouldn't be his first encounter with a werewolf.
She doesn't stand a chance in a real fight. But maybe—just maybe—she can escape. Somehow. Barely.
"I would never harm you, Elira. You're my wife."
His voice is steady. Calm. Even with a dagger pressed inches from his throat.
And his gaze—it pleads silently. Believe me.
And Elira?
She wants to believe she's safe.
But... 
"Lie" whispered the wolf inside her. "He is fire. We are kindling."
Then she recall the way he called her.
My wife.
Why did he say it like that?
Was it a reminder of their contract?
A warning?
Or something else entirely?
Her mind reels, trying to make sense of it.
Then—something stirs inside her.
That burning sensation.
She flinches, one hand clutching her chest as pain tightens through her ribs.
Kael moves, reaching into his inner coat. Elira stiffens.
"The awakening might feel overwhelming," he says, drawing out a small vial.
It glints in the dim light. A familiar tonic.
The one her father always forced her to drink.
"It suppresses the wolf inside you."
Her breath catches.
All this time... she's been drinking poison to cage herself?
"It's not like your father's brew—this won't kill you. Just... quiet the pain. I've seen what happens to hybrids who fight the moon raw" he insisted, but the wolf inside her growled.
She remembers the taste—the fire down her throat, the dull emptiness that followed.
And then: fury.
She swats his hand aside, sending the vial flying. It clatters across the floor, rolling into a shadowed corner.
Kael says nothing for a long moment.
Then, slowly, he straightens, jaw tightening.
"I don't know why I even bothered bringing it. Maybe I thought you'd trust me—even just once," he says quietly.
Elira senses it deep in her bones—his pained voice, the heavy thump of his heart, the agony in his gaze. But why should she care? Kael had just tried to force poison on her. Poison to kill the beast inside her.
She knows it well—he, like her father, hates the werewolf in her.
And that hatred makes her blood boil with rage.
He looks toward the window, as if retreating is the only mercy he can offer her now.
"It seems... my presence isn't needed anyway."
His voice is calm, but something in it has thinned—fragile, stretched. Pain.
He walks to retrieve the vial. Dust clings to the glass, but he brushes it away and sets it gently on the table near the door.
He turns, halfway, to meet her eyes again.
"You're strong, Elira," he says. Soft. Almost as if trying to convince himself.
"But this won't be easy."
A beat. Then another.
He doesn't approach her. Doesn't touch her. But the look in his eyes—restrained. Protective. Almost... sorrowful.
"Don't worry," he adds quietly.
"There's no one else here but the two of us. You can howl if you want."
His fingers close around the door handle.
"I'll stay close," he murmurs,
"...in case you need me."
A pause.
"No wolf can enter or escape this mansion," he adds without turning.
"But you'll be safe here... as long as you don't try to run."
And then—he's gone.
Almost.
Until her voice stops him.
"Why did you agree to this marriage, Kael?"
A beat. Her breath shakes.
"No—why did you insist on marrying me?"
The words escape her, raw and aching. Curiosity outweighs fear.
"What is your plan, Kael?"
He stands in the doorway, unmoving.
Then he gives a faint smile—but it doesn't reach his eyes. He doesn't turn back to look at her.
Only his back faces her.
"I don't know why I insisted on marrying you..."
"And I don't know why I didn't kill you the moment I found out what you were."
Then he disappears.
Leaving her alone, heart pounding, chest burning, mind spinning.
That night, Elira battles herself.
The wolf is trapped inside her claws, waiting to be released.
At first, it's a gradual burn, a deep agony in her bones. But as the hours pass, it becomes sharper. Hotter. Unbearable.
Her pupils dilate and glow gold in the mirror.
She lets out a loud growl before she can choke it back.
Her fingernails deepen and lengthen, curving into claws.
Her breath stutters, her skin itches.  Her spine rippled, vertebrae sliding like beads on a string. Skin split silently where claws erupted—not blood, but moonlight spilled from the tears.
The shift occurs in waves—violent and unrelenting. The fire in her chest threatens to devour her whole.
And through it all—
The loneliness.
The longing.
A yearning for warmth, for understanding. For someone to hold her and say You're not a monster.
But there's no one.
So she fights it.
Alone.
Biting down on screams. Clutching the floor. Curling into herself as if that could contain the wolf within.
And he can feel it. Beyond the silver gates, Thane doubled over, fingers digging into soil as Elira's howl tore through him—mate's anguish becoming his own.
"Hold on, Elira," he snarled.
In the room beside hers, Kael never sleeps.
He hears everything.
Every muffled scream she tries not to let escape.
Every sharp gasp.
Every whispered curse torn from her lips.
He doesn't knock. Doesn't enter.
But he sits awake all night. Listening. His palm pressed across the wall, as if it can feel the desperation behind it all.
His fists clenched. His jaw locked tight. His back pressed against the cold wall separating them.