I whirled. He looked different in the sunlight. Sheer shadows framed the outlines of his face, his sharp jawline and perfect brows demanding attention of the eye. Dark strands sucked up every inch of light, and not even the searing Californian sun managed to lay a glint on his head. Where his face lacked light his eyes made up for in leagues, the blues brimming with that unnatural glow. He was the perfect picture of ethereal, of power and grace. A being not to be crossed.

I was too upset to care.

"The hell would you know about any of this?" I hissed, unable to hide the cracks in my voice. I knew I shouldn't be rude to someone so powerful, and I could almost hear my mother's scalding words at the back of my head, but I didn't have it in me to stop.

He didn't respond. For a long moment, he just stared at me with a slight tilt of the head, as though I were an interesting specimen in a lab. The thought boiled my blood, but then a fleeting thought crossed my mind. Experiment.

"You... you did this to me," I stammered, pointing a shaky finger at him. "You bit me last night!"

That gleam of curiosity turned to one of pity. "I believe you're mistaken, dear," he assured, voice far too calm for my liking. "I was not the one who bit you. That would have been a different Alpha."

What did he mean by 'Alpha'? And why did his words seem so genuine? It didn't matter, I decided. I waved my hands, as though to shoo him away. A small part of me believed that, maybe, if I could get him to leave, perhaps all my problems would leave along with him. Another part of me knew that was absurd, for nothing ever just resolved itself in my life, but I was too hysterical to care. "Just go. Please!"

He didn't move. I staggered to my feet, fighting the sting of tears. "Go!" I repeated, hating the cracks in my voice. I turned my back and broke into a run, hoping he wouldn't follow. I wasn't sure what to do. Find Alia? What if she didn't remember me? What would I do then?

I pushed the thought out of my mind, charging ahead. I had to run. If not to get away from him, then for the sake of moving. If I stopped, I wasn't sure I would ever find the strength to move again.

My back straightened as I felt Azriel's dark presence settle in stride beside me. It unnerved me how I hadn't heard his approach, how easily he'd caught up despite my break-neck speed. Then again, I shouldn't have turned my back on a werewolf in the first place. "Darling, please listen," he reasoned.

"No," I ground out, eyes brimming with tears. I slowed to a walk, my muscles reeling in agony. "I need to find my friend."

"She won't remember you," the male said softly.

I stopped, whirling to face him. I didn't care how ugly I must've looked, with dishevelled hair and blood-shot eyes, with fat tears carving rivers down my cheeks. "She has to remember me," I whispered, voice cracking with every syllable. "If she doesn't, then I... I don't know what I'll do."

My words tapered into a whisper, and I forced my eyes to the ground, trembling. Lost. I was so lost, more so than I'd ever been in my life. My parents didn't remember me. No one did. So how could I possibly think that my best friend might?

Yesterday, I was a person who existed, someone with a place in the world, even if that place was insignificant. Now, I was a nobody, and the only person who knew of my existence was the Stygian man before me.

I glanced up, staring at an unfixed point on the male's forehead. His pale skin was almost translucent in the sunlight, almost other-worldly. Even now, standing before him, I could sense that power thrumming within his body, as though it were a living thing waiting to strike. As I finally mustered the courage to meet his cerulean gaze, fear cooled my bones.

Ancient. Despite his young features and supple body, this man was old. Powerful. A beast in his own right. At any moment, he could lash out and kill me where I stood. He could shatter the air and toss me across the street. He could do many, many things to me, and I would have no way to defend myself, because I was just a measly human.

My knees began to tremble.

"Dear?" he quizzed, taking a stride forward. I retreated a step, eyes searching for an exit. Alone. I was wholly alone, just like that night with the wolf. Alone, with no way to defend myself. In a world where I no longer existed, no one could protect me. But out there in that forest, there were hundreds, maybe even thousands of wolves. Beasts that were now aware of my existence.

My knees buckled. There was nothing left for me now. I was forgotten, and if I died right here, right now, no one would know. No one would ever know. So as Azriel lunged forward as I careened to the side, a scream of upmost fear rose to meet my lips. A scream that couldn't make it past the knot in my throat.

I closed my eyes. I could almost imagine the claws retracting from his nail beds, ready to shred me to ribbons. I could almost feel the sickening sensation of his fangs sinking into my skin, hot mirth flowing in its wake.

But the burn of marred flesh never came. Instead, steady hands braced my underarms. Shock and horror alike warred within as he swept me into a bridal-carry, as easily and flawlessly as one would breathe air. I could do nothing other than tremble as he strode over to a lone tree.

Carefully, he propped me up against the lichen-riddled base. I remained as still as a deer in the headlights, tracking him in my peripheral as he settled down next to me. Slowly, he pushed out a long breath.

"What is your name, dear?"

I blinked. Despite my rattling fear, one which seemed to weaken my very bones, when his piercing blue eyes locked mine, I felt compelled to answer. "Kyra Aetos."

The male nodded slowly, as though taking time to absorb this new information. "Kyra Aetos." He tested the words on his tongue, and a strange thrill ran through me at the sound of my name from his lips. "Kyra. I have a question for you. What is it you know of werewolves?"

I stared at him, his unearthly features reminding me again of what he was. I tried to keep the tremors from my voice. "Werewolves are... are you."

"And what am I?"

I swallowed. "I... I don't know how to answer that, sir."

His gaze was unwavering. "It's an easy question, dear. In your eyes, what am I to you?"

Beast. Monster. The words came so fast, I was barely able to bite my lip in time to stop myself from blurting them. I blinked again, sifting through my head for an answer.

"You... you're human, but you're also not. If you're anything like your subjects, then you can turn into something that resembles a wolf." I paused. "A werewolf."

I cringed at my own words, as though afraid they may somehow spell out my death sentence, but Azriel, to my great surprise, looked pleased. "That is quite true, my dear. That ability is one I cherish with my whole heart. Now, how do you think we are made?"

"I am not sure what you mean," I said, hoping my tone was neutral, when in fact I was shaking all over. Azriel locked my gaze, giving me a soft smile.

"Tell me what you know, dear. How are werewolves made?"

I stared at him, wondering if there was more to this. Maybe this was a riddle. Maybe this was a trick. Maybe he was testing to see if I was worth keeping alive."

I shoved the thought away. "Werewolves are made by one biting another, I think..."

His eyes twinkled. "Not quite, dear. This is where our lore in the human world becomes fogged. You see, werewolves are not made by biting. It is passed down only by kin."

My brows knitted together. But then...

"Except," Azriel continued, giving me something close to an amused look, "When they do."

I blinked at him, dumbfounded. He spoke in riddles, tongue-twisters that had my mind reeling for an answer. It only made me more afraid.

"What do you mean?"

The male smirked. "In the usual scenario, a human would not survive the bite. They would succumb to immense fever, long before they could undergo any sort of transformation. And the ones that do undergo transformation... don't survive that." He looked at me, then, and something in his eyes shifted. "That's what makes you so special, Kyra Aetos. You are a human-turned-werewolf. You are a one-in-a-million."

Before, I may have laughed at his claim. I wasn't a one-in-a-million. I was just boring, bland Kyra, with a mundane life that consisted of nothing more than endless study and the occasional run. I was no gem. I didn't stand out from the crowd, and when I did, it was never in a good way. I wasn't special.

But when Azriel looked at me, his eyes glittering with awe, I did feel special. With the way he looked at me, I felt like an unearthed ruby, glowing and bright and ready to command riches. I felt like someone with meaning, someone important to have gained Azriel's attention like this. And as these emotions came with great intensity, an intensity to match the cerulean gaze piercing mine, I realized it. Everything I had experienced – from the bite to the shift – was real. Every horrible, dreadful little thing was real, as real as the man before me.

But as the feeling of realization passed, a feeling similar to one that comes with solving an impossible puzzle, reality hit me. If this was true, then werewolves did exist. If this was true, then my parents really had forgotten me. And, if the agonizing shift from last night had been any indication, then I was a werewolf. I was one of them.

I pushed my palms into my eyes. "It's all true, isn't it?" I mumbled, hearing the dejection in my own voice. "Everything you said, about me being a werewolf. It really is true, isn't it?"

I didn't see his reaction, but his silence told me enough. In a spark of anger, I tore my hands from my face, whirling to face him.

"Why me? Why was I bitten? And why am I still alive if I was?"

Azriel grimaced, taking me in. "I am not sure I have the answer to that, Kyra. You see, the kind of werewolf you have become is not like the rest. The power you hold now is great, one that is coveted by many. While some bite humans for a sick thrill," – I flinched at the way he spat those words – "others do it in hopes of creating an Epsilon. You see, Kyra, you are an Epsilon, and with that title comes great power. Devastating power."

I lifted my head. Many of those words made no sense to me, piecing together in odd ways in my mind that made no sense. But one fact did.

"Then how do I know it wasn't you that bit me? How do I know you're not lying?"

I didn't bother to hide my distrust. After all, who was this man? Where had he come from, other than some mythical court in a magical forest? And why did he radiate such power?

I think he read it all in my gaze, for he blew out a tight breath. "Kyra, dear, can you recall the attacker's appearance? I can assure you he would look nothing like me."

I frowned, my brain struggling to find anything amidst the fog that had been yesterday night. In a way, it felt like a lifetime had passed. "His fur was grey, and his eyes were red. Blood red, I mean. It's like nothing I've ever seen before, animal or not."

Azriel's smile was soft. "I believe that description does not fit me, my darling. My eyes are of deepest blue, even in wolf form." His brows furrowed. "However, that description does match someone I know, but I am sure you would not care for the details as of now."

My fists shook. He was right. I didn't want the details. I didn't want to know who'd attacked me just yet, so long as it wasn't the male standing before me.

"So what now?" I muttered, casting my eyes to my lap. Cold air bit the tips of my ears and nose, and I wondered what had happened to the springtime warmth.

"As I said before, my dear. You are now one of kin. You are welcome to live in the Southern Court, if you wish."

My gaze slid to his, to the eyes that glimmered like gemstones. Southern Court. It didn't occur to me before, in my storm of panic, but now it made sense. He was referring to the palace. It was his home, his kingdom, and judging by the sincere look on his face, he wanted me to be part of it.

I returned my gaze to the nails of my hands, bitten to the quicks. "They hate me, though. I know you might not resent me, but I heard what the others said. I can only imagine what the rest of the court will think."

He sighed. "There's a reason for that, dear. One that may be too big to discuss as of now. At this time, let us just put it down to the stigma of being human–"

"You just said I wasn't human," I corrected. The male stared at me, wide-eyed, before covering his face with his hands. If I hadn't just had my life torn to shreds, I may have giggled at his fluster.

"Apologies. There I go again."

For a fleeting moment, the knots in my stomach loosened. With hands covering his face and shoulders hunched forward, Azriel looked human, or at least as human as someone like him could ever look. But when he removed his hands, it hit me again. His eyes held a subtle, unnatural glow, brimming with a power beyond my comprehension. His features were far too chiselled to be considered natural by any means, and any human flaws that even the most perfect of people holstered weren't present on him.

And that's because he wasn't human. But neither was I, apparently. Now, I was just like him, even if I didn't have his beastly grace or perfect features. Like him, I was a monster, a beast that could grow claws and fangs and fur. I was no longer a nobody.

I started to shake again.

Azriel's eyes widened, and before he could think better of it, he reached for my shaking hand. I jumped up in an instant, staggering back as though he'd tried to stab me. Sore regret flushed through me as genuine hurt flashed in his eyes. But as he stood up after me, his movements so fluid it was almost mesmerizing, I remembered what he was. How did I know those were genuine emotions? It could all be an act to trick me, a ruse to fool a meek little amateur.

The cogs turned behind those glassy eyes, and something like shock registered on his face. Slowly, he lowered his hand. "You don't think I'll hurt you, Kyra, do you?

I didn't answer. I couldn't answer. But it seemed my silence was answer enough.

Azriel scrunched his brows, and my stomach dropped as I realized he might have finally realized I was a waste of his time. Perhaps now he would put me down, to keep the secrets of his world alive. I braced myself, preparing to feel canines at my neck any moment now. What I didn't anticipate was for him to reach around and pull out a glinting dagger.

My skin crawled as he bought the dagger before him, and my legs ached with the urge to run. But I couldn't. I knew I couldn't. This was it. He was going to gut me with that pretty, silver dagger and be done with me. My life, along with this slightly crazier new one, would end–

"I want you to have this, dear."

I blinked at him, gaping. I wasn't sure I heard him correctly until he grasped the bladed end and held the green-padded hilt towards me. A gesture of offering.

For a moment, I stood there, stunned. Then, as though compelled by some otherworldly force, I walked forward. I kept my gaze locked on his as I approached, half-expecting him to turn the blade on me at the last moment. He never did. In a careful action, I grabbed the hilt, my hand shaking as I slowly removed it from his grasp.

"This blade is made of pure silver," he declared. I watched as he held up his hand, a red band forming on his palm. "Silver is detrimental to werewolves. Like a poison, but not of the deadly type; unless, of course, it is made into a blade."

He nodded towards the dagger, and in a moment of pure desire, I risked a glance.

I had never seen anything like it. Flashing from afar, it resembled any other dagger, but up close, I could see the final details. Engravings adorned the blade's edge, containing symbols of a language I could not decipher and images of warring wolves. The hilt's forest-green velvet felt impossibly soft in my palm, like a cat brushing up against my leg.

But that wasn't what stole the air from my lungs. The blade itself virtually glowed. It seemed to hum with a muted silver, as though the essence of the moon itself had been used to craft this blade.

"So," Azriel continued, snaring my attention again. So enamoured by the blade, I'd almost forgotten the powerful being that lingered just a few feet away. I chastised my moment of distraction. "I give you this dagger, Silvershade, as a symbol of trust." He pointed to his heart. "If you think I will attack you – though I can assure you I never will – use that dagger to stab one of my vitals and put me to an end."

His finger grazed along his chest towards the pulse of his throat, smiling as though he weren't casually pointing out where all his vitals were.

"Why?" I whispered, stunned. It didn't make sense. Why would he give someone like me – someone who had been a measly human not twenty-four hours ago – a tool that could potentially kill him? Did he have so much faith in that I would do nothing?

Azriel grinned. "Because, Kyra dear, I want you to know that I am genuine. It would also put me at great ease to know that you feel safe, even if it means carrying Silvershade around. But, please, try not to stab me or my court? Only use it if you really need to, my dear."

I gawked towards the dagger, shaking my head. I couldn't believe it. He'd given me something valuable. He'd given me defence, defence against the creatures that had instilled fear in my bones.

But as I returned my gaze, my eyes searching his, I realized I could believe it. There was no mistaking the sincerity on his face. This man, this stranger, this beast, wanted me to feel safe. He wanted me to feel as though I could trust someone in this new world of strangers, even if I would never fully trust him entirely.

Just slightly, I allowed my guard to relax. My knuckles were still white around the hilt, clutching the dagger as though it were my lifeline, but the knots in my stomach had loosened. Just a little.

"Thank you, sir– Azriel. But what now?"

Azriel took a step towards me. I bit down the urge to take a step back. "Well, I myself do not enjoy the presence of the mortal world. It would cure my worries if we headed back to the court."

I was about to tell him I still didn't want to go back to the court when a word caught my attention.

Cure.

"Wait," I whispered, turning to him. I could feel the cogs turning in my brain, the mechanisms rusted but moving towards the same conclusion, a conclusion that sparked an abnormal amount of hope. "Is there a cure... for this?"

It took Azriel a few moments to register what I was asking. When he did, his face fell. "I believe not, my dear. As far as I am aware, there is no reversal of the werewolf."

I tried not to feel the sting of disappointment. Instead, I groped for another way out. "But, hypothetically, if there were a cure, what could it be? Where could I possibly find it?"

I half-expected him to deny me outright, to scold my mortal insolence. Instead, he shook his head in muted amusement, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"To your credit, you are persistent." His gaze levelled with mine, and I found myself standing straighter. "As for your question. If there ever were one, it would likely reside in the forest. Like us, that forest teems with magic, and there are many wicked and wonderful things to discover – if you know where to