Partially shifting, Devon grabbed his wrist and brought her lower body upward to find purchase against his massive chest. It relieved some of the stress on her neck as her feet clawed through the soles of her boots.

She sunk her talons deeper into his arm, dug her claws into his midsection, and exerted every ounce of her remaining strength to wrench the appendage from its socket.

She realized his fingers might tear out her throat or help him break her neck.

The thick muscles in his upper arm gave way as the shoulder popped free, and she ripped off the limb. Without purchase, she plummeted to the ground, her breath whooshing from her. The giant teetered and toppled backward, hitting the ground like a felled tree. Devon cast the slack arm away from her with marked disgust. It landed against a nearby tree with a dull smack, still spurting purplish blood—just like the giant's shoulder and heart.

She fought for air, choking and gagging, without even noticing that the battle had come to a standstill. Like broken dolls, bodies lay strewn across the matted, blood-drenched foliage.

The survivors surveyed the carnage in dazed shock—they could barely believe they had persevered. But Devon fought an unseen battle. Her pain and the severity of her injuries allowed her panicked wolf to claw free when she tried to reassert her control over it. The beast escaped her hold and bounced their body to its feet. The red haze of blind rage turned allies into enemies, friends into monsters, and victory into defeat.

"No, do not do this!" she mentally yelled at it, but it did not respond.

Something forcefully slammed into them from the side, taking them down and pinning Devon to the ground.

She snarled at their attacker. The murderous frenzy of her bloodlust did not even recognize Arlene's stormy, elven gaze that stared down at them with fierce, icy eyes. She instinctively fought whatever magic the elf's grip exerted over her, bucking against the iron grip of those strong hands and thighs. Her teeth snapped shut mere inches from Arlene's face, briefly igniting a wave of dark but familiar anger in the elf.

Devon's bones snapped and popped beneath her skin as they started to realign. Her face altered, fur sprouted from her extremities, and an eerie howl echoed against the trees. The wolf had shoved her aside, and she could not fight her way back into control. Although it had saved her life, it had hurtled past reason into a storm of mindless hatred that made her feel as if she were submerged in a dark cave filled with oily water before a strong current sucked her down into the depths, and no matter how hard she resisted, she only tired herself.

If Devon shifts into the physical wolf, the only way to save the lives of our comrades would lie in killing the wolf. I will have only one chance to do so, Arlene realized. And that would be before the transformation concludes.

Lord Darren collected the discarded elven sword, which was the only proof of her heritage, and their eyes met. Like Arlene, he had watched in horror as the giant attacked Devon, but too many enemies crossed his path to allow him to reach the lycan in time.

Arlene recalled their conversation in the sickroom when they first brought Devon home and his promise to her that if the wolf was ever beyond saving, he would take care of it.

There is no way I can allow him to do it, she thought with determination. Devon should not die by his own hand. No one can predict the damage it would cause him. I don't want to harm this pup that has become so much a part of our lives. I will not allow her to harm or kill him either.

"Devon!" he commanded, but not even his voice affected the wolf.

It is too far past human reasoning, Arlene admitted.

Her hand connected with Devon's cheek, splitting her friend's lip. The act of violence wounded Arlene inside, but folding her pity into a tight ball, she repeated the motion.

It had worked once before in the cabin, when Devon's fear overwhelmed her, and perhaps it would again.

Or it might make her snap, but either way, I will not allow her to die without giving her a fighting chance. She bottled up her empathy and closed the lid on it.

Now, she understood why her father had always said that punishing her and her siblings hurt him as much as it did them.

The transformation briefly halted.

"Devon, will you allow her to kill?" Arlene whispered, exuding a reassuring calm she was far from feeling. Her stormy gray eyes bored into those of the half-turned wolf, glinting violet, and holding down the powerful creature strained the muscles in her arms and neck.

Something I would not have accomplished if Devon was less hurt, she thought, and the admission stung.

Surprisingly, the words broke through the haze of red fog and reached the woman locked inside the monster. Devon's eyes glowed a steady yellow and then turned bright cerulean.

They gleamed yellow again as the wolf surged back to the surface. Instead of lunging, the lycan relaxed, allowing Arlene to soften her grip.

Devon's gaze only turns yellow instead of glowing blue when she is at odds with her wolf, Arlene noted.

Devon mercilessly pounded the creature back into its dark corner for what it nearly made her do—until she realized it did not resist.

It understands what it did and thinks it deserves my furious hatred, Devon realized. Both of us are suffering and experience pain and shock while sickened by the thought of what might have happened.

She stopped what she was doing, and a shudder ran through her.

My wolf does not deserve this punishment. She reacts as her disposition dictates without Danya to guide its raw nature. She shivered, and every part of her body ached from that partial shift, but she also pushed past this perceived weakness. Her gaze sought out Lord Darren, and she noticed the elven sword in his hand.

Was he preparing to kill me to save Arlene and the others? Her heart broke at the decision her inability to control her wolf drove him to make.

Unable to bear the sight, she turned back to the elf.

Arlene got hurt during our struggle but requires no help. She is already recovering slowly but steadily. She avoided the elf's steady gaze.

A sharp intake of breath drew her attention to Meghan, who nursed her bloody left forearm. Although the vampire could barely stand, she would recover.

Lord Calder looks worse for wear but better than expected, Devon continued her inventory of the others to distract herself. Four other vampires suffered damage but are still with us. The fifth will soon die.

None of that mattered to her as much as her sense of loss.

It was inevitable that her focus would return to Lord Darren as if drawn by a magnet. Blood flowed freely from him, but the wounds were already healing, and the fear in her chest eased.

She briefly took stock of the fae leader lying motionless some distance away. Lord Darren's bites marked Armagon's face, neck, and arms, but he had died from having his throat ripped out.

The last tension flowed from her frame. My master is safe.

It was all that mattered to her at that moment.

And this bond is more powerful than I would ever have suspected. Her throat tightened, and moisture filled her eyes as she admitted that this man who evoked such powerful emotions in her had almost killed her. She allowed herself to take in every inch of him, from his crown to his boots.

Lord Darren, the Conquering Hero, was quite a sight. But Lord Darren, the Almost Executioner, was a thought she could not bear.

The wolf surged forward again, concerned but no longer aggressive. Devon allowed it, and the beast grappled with the compassion she extended after what it almost did. She faced Arlene and those dark, old emotions played in the stormy depths of the elf's troubled and understandably wary gaze.

Now that I know the cause, I hate that she witnessed Wolfgang's legacy in me, Devon lamented.

"We are sorry," she apologized with a gravelly voice, ignoring the discomfort of her painfully bruised throat.

"Dear girl, I know how it feels to lose control and have friends stare at you as if you were a stranger, except my dark side didn't have an overprotective wolf to blame," Arlene said, shifting off her.

The idea of this composed elf giving in to her baser nature seemed wrong, yet the shadows in those gray eyes spoke volumes.

Is the elf really confessing to killing without restraint? Why can't I envision her as dangerous and out of control?

"She is a part of me . . . and I am part of her," Devon admitted the one thing she never wanted to acknowledge to herself.

"Yes, you are." Arlene sighed. "There was a time when I painted the world red with the blood of my enemies or anyone that crossed me."

The elf's frank confession shook Devon; she was too weary even to attempt to rise to her feet.

"What happened?" she asked, curious despite herself.

The elf did not often speak of her past, and even at that moment, she seemed loathe to open old wounds.

Arlene hesitated, took a sip of water from her buckskin waterskin, and offered it to Devon.

She carefully drank the tepid water, still finding it difficult to swallow, and grimaced.

"One day, I rode into the village where I lived, and the people ran from me," Arlene began. "That moment brought me up short. The villagers had witnessed what I did to my enemies, and even though I brought them the spoils of war that would see them through another cruel winter in the mountains, they feared me. Somewhere between being the hunted and becoming the hunter, I had become a monster." Moisture gathered in her eyes and silently spilled onto her cheeks. "I watched them flee."

Arlene paused briefly, her mind in the past as her jaws worked and her face became stern.

"This battle rage washed over me in a red haze, almost making me spur my horse to chase them down and kill every last ungrateful bastard," the elf admitted.

This glimpse into Arlene's mind altered her perception of the elf.

Arlene took the wineskin back when Devon had enough. She toyed with it and, when she realized what she was doing, emptied it in one long gulp—almost as if she wanted to buy herself some time.

"I left everything there, including the life I had made for myself, and rode off with a sense of betrayal that turned to anger." Arlene wiped her cheeks with her sleeve. "After months alone on back roads and forgotten paths, I realized that I had gone too far. My vengeance had consumed me."

The elf's haunted expression and overwhelming guilt echoed in Devon as Arlene hesitated and shook her head at the memory.

"And you conquered your darker nature?" she asked hopefully.

"It took a while to accept what I became," Arlene admitted, meeting her eyes. "Every time I picked up a sword, the memory of that day flashed through my mind. For a while, I was crippled by the dread of again becoming that person." She replaced the stopper in the empty vessel and stared into space. "I put my sword away and chose a simpler life as a healer, but we can't avoid our destiny."

Devon shifted to a more comfortable position, and the sudden movement made the elf stiffen and watch her warily. What had happened earlier was still too near both their memories, and she did not blame Arlene.

"A friend asked for my help, and my hesitance in battle almost cost both of our lives. She taught me that the way of the warrior requires a choice—one cannot follow two diverging paths nor obey two masters."

Even as Devon considered this truth, she glanced at Lord Darren, who still carefully watched them. She appreciated his courtesy for allowing Arlene to speak with her, but her lack of control had changed everything.

I permitted him to see the raging beast hiding beneath my skin. She briefly closed her eyes. Regret devoured her whole, yet a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The truth has been exposed, and I no longer have to live with the lie.

The realization chased away the shadows that had pressed in on her since she woke at Berring Castle.

"Do you really assume that I won't understand, little wolf?"

Lord Darren's voice startled her. Submerged in her misery, she had lost track of him.

How did he hear my thoughts? she wondered, then she realized her knee touched Arlene's elbow.

The elf had picked up on her train of thought and wanted Lord Darren to know her frame of mind. As much as she understood the reason for this, it still stung like betrayal. It also reminded her that as close as she and Arlene had become, the elf's loyalty belonged to their master.