Since I had not eaten any breakfast or lunch, my first visit was to a small tavern on the edge of the city where I purchased a venison broth and ate it huddled in a corner, my cloak pulled up around my armour to hide what I was wearing. As much as it pained me to pretend I was a humble maiden and not an Agem, I did not want to have to beat up any hot-headed warriors over blatant sexism and so kept myself to myself. 

Thankfully, the venison was good and, if my wolf were still around, I am sure she would have licked her lips in approval. I could tell the innkeeper's son had hunted it from the surrounding forests only this morning from the scent of its blood still in his shaggy hair and the proud look on his face for bringing down a whole deer, which almost brought a smile to my lips. 

Until his father embraced him in a hug and I was forced to look away otherwise I would have hurled every last drop of the broth I had just eaten on the floor.

Soon, I left the tavern and wandered around the edge of the city, walking down the border between the city and the surrounding forest area. At one point, I passed through the harbour and stood watching the ships arriving, unloading, loading and leaving as I calculated how easy it would be to take a ship back to Santorini. Although Marcella had only told me to scout the city so I could calm down, I could not help myself but do my job. And so, I delved into the heart of the city, walking routes from the road which lead up to the palace down through the city to the harbour and to the forest.

Every building in the city seemed to be constructed from wood and clay, staining the air with its rich, overpowering scent. Streets were not paved, instead, being pathways of mud and grass which were imprinted with footprints, hoofprints, cart tracks and pawprints which had churned up mud on the more popular roads, causing me to change my route several times to prevent my boots from being completely soaked in mud. 

Not only that but there was a growing headache that rose and fell like waves in the ocean, embellishing my eyesight with spots as it grew into an agonising throbbing before disappearing.

Turning off a street and into a market square, I remembered Marcella's request for a souvenir and headed over to a stall in the corner of the square covered in random objects. The man who stood behind the table was a wizened old wolf who eyed me suspiciously as I approached, giving me a grin that exposed his yellow, rotting canines. 

"Geia, sou koritsáki," he rasped, running his hand through his greasy hair.

"I'm just looking," I answered firmly but quickly realised he did not speak Tierrian after he started muttering about tourists in Lykan. So I switched to that language and repeated myself. "Aplá koitázo."

He nodded and started to gesture grandly at the array of objects in front of him. I only paid him half of my attention as my fingers traced a cheap necklace with fake rubies, a rusted dagger and a cracked wooden box.

A leather-bound book hidden beneath a pile of chains and a lamp caught my attention and I carefully unearthed it, ignoring the glares the stallkeeper was giving me as I lifted it up to the light.

The History of the Twelve Packs

I am not sure why I decided to buy it, but it seemed like the perfect gift. Marcella was a werewolf like me but had never belonged to a pack, not even one of the small, weak ones scattered across Santorini. I thought she might like to learn about Lycaon culture.

Handing over almost a hundred Drachma to pay for the overpriced book, I gave the old man one more scowl before tucking the book underneath my arm and walking away. Already, the sky was beginning to gain a yellowish hue from the slowly setting sun and it was time I went to the palace and back to the princess' side. 

Thankfully, I had missed the official greeting from the Alpha King which was bound to have been long and dull, but I would not be so lucky tomorrow. The next few weeks promised to be mind-numbingly dull and so I savoured my last moments of actual freedom.

Artemis

The hoarse voice sent shivers down my spine and I spun around, scanning my surroundings for the source. There was a man pushing a cart walking past and several tradesmen beginning to pack up their stalls, but the voice was female. Female and unnervingly familiar to me.

Let me out

"Faex!" I swore, bending over and rubbing my temple with my free hand whilst clutching tightly onto the book with my other hand. The headache which had only just begun to subside had returned with a fresh wave of agony. It felt like claws were tearing at my mind and I could not bear it. Stumbling backwards I pressed myself against a wooden wall as I slid down onto my knees, bending so far over that my face was almost pressed into the earth. 

"Filius canis," I continued to mutter profanities as I tried to breathe in and out calmly. It wasn't that I had not experienced pain before. I was very familiar with both physical and mental trauma. But this was something else. This was pain that was everywhere and nowhere at once, filling my body with dread and my mind with terror. 

Let me run

It was those begging words that finally allowed me to think straight and I realised what this was. Philomela, my beautiful wolf who had refused to speak or shift for twenty-seven years, was trying to force a shift on me. Forgetting where I was heading or what I was supposed to be doing, I called for her, trying to stop myself from fighting and pushing her back inside.

Philomela, shift, I begged. Shift, please. Come back to me.

Her presence was weak in my mind, yet it had never been stronger. I felt her power coursing through my veins, I felt her magic in my bones. I even felt her anxious pacing in my mind as she pushed and pulled at my memories and consciousness, causing another burst of pain to consume my brain.

Then it was gone. A soft whimper was all that was left as her presence receded until she was no longer there at all. And I was left alone, crying in the corner of a street and clutching that book as though my life depended on it. 

My wolf was not coming out, I already knew that. I had known it for twenty-seven years. Yet, I was still hit hard by that truth and sent reeling as I tried to push away those emotions of loneliness and abandonment. Philomela was lost the day our mother died. If my mother could not be brought back from the dead, then neither could she.

Slowly I rose to my feet, brushing off the mud from my fur cloak with shaking hands and wiping the tears from my cheeks. I could hear hushed voices from people in the streets and I avoided their gaze as I started walking down the street which led to the palace gates. I could not mourn the loss of my wolf again; there was no point.

By the time I reached the palace, I was practically too tired to deal with the trouble the guards at the gate were bound to give me and so I turned off the road and headed around the walls of the palace to an entrance at the back which was used by soldiers to enter the forests for hunts and training. Here, the security was disappointingly poor and it was easy to slip past the distracted warriors and across the training fields to the palace. I met no resistance as I took a servant's door into the palace.

From there it was easy to find a staircase, travelling up two floors and down several corridors to reach the Princess' chambers. As preparation for our visit, Marcella and I had been required to memorise blueprints of the palace in case something went wrong and so no guidance was required.

It took only five minutes to reach the princess' room and I pushed open the door next to hers which led to the room Marcella and I would be sharing for the next few weeks. I was yawning by the time I made it to the bed and I fumbled with the buckles on my armour to take it off so I could shut my eyes for a few moments. Dropping the sword, book and armour to the floor with a loud thud, I flopped on the narrow bed and lay back.

For once, I did not care that it was now sunset and I was meant to be returning to Marcella and Princess Octavia's side. My mind was tired, strained and confused by the almost return of my wolf, and I needed sleep. 

I fell into my dreams before I could even think about sleeping.

----

Salve, my wonderful readers. That is Santorinian for hello, so go ahead and annoy your friends and families with it. Oh and for you smart people, yes it is actually Latin and Lykan is actually greek. Did you really think I would make up whole new languages for my vampires and wolves? 

Hope you enjoyed Artemis' swearing. Those are genuine Latin (Santorinian in this world) swears - 'Faex' means sh*t and 'Filius Canis' means son of a b*tch. So try those out as well if you have strict parents who will not let you swear in the house (I know I will).