Coming back to awareness equaled rushing over the edge of a cliff in absolute darkness and plummeting downward until Devon's body reacted to the unexpected shock of falling. Fear struck tendrils of ice into her veins, and her heart sped into overdrive. She braced herself for an impact that would shatter her bones, rupture her blood vessels, and liquefy her intestines but never expected to descend into a thicker blackness.

As she struggled, something grabbed hold of her. She screamed, but instead of choking on water while being dragged into the unseen depths, she found herself expelled into a searing pool of light that burned her eyes.

She shielded her face and cringed away from the brightness. She recoiled from the hands intending to restrain her again, even though they were no more than moving shadows through the glare.

How am I still alive? she wondered.

An urgent sense of danger drove her to regain control of herself, but with consciousness came the echoing screams of the dead and the phantom stench of remembered death.

Her muscles tensed when she attempted to ward off the images battering her unguarded mind, and an indistinct keening sound escaped between her clenched teeth.

I expected consciousness to torment the lycan, but not like this, Arlene thought with a sigh as she watched Devon struggle to wake.

She stretched forward, and with the gentlest brush of her fingers to the woman's forehead, the werewolf drifted back into oblivion.

The pup does not yet have the strength to withstand the intense agony of both body and soul. In her current state, she is too near her nature, and reasoning with the wolf will be unwise. Sleep will allow her time to heal.

Arlene refused to admit her compassion for her patient.

If my creature surfaces, I cannot trust myself with her. I understand that Lord Darren tried to hide the truth from me to spare my feelings, but this is Devon Creed—the daughter of Wolfgang Creed. Despite his pretense of not knowing who I am and what happened to my family, I know he knows.

She closed her eyes, and flashes of the past reminded her of what the werewolf ruler had done to her kin.

Without Marcus' overwhelming, spicy male scent diluting Devon's, Arlene discerned Wolfgang's taint. If she allowed it, it had the power to transport her mentally right back to that fateful day.

Even though I understand why my master kept this secret, it hurts my feelings that he lied to me and manipulated me. Although I suspect he had some idea of what he would discover at the monument, I wager that he didn't expect to find Wolfgang's daughter or count on her effect on him. Arlene stared at Devon's peaceful face. When she is so vulnerable, I find it challenging to remind myself of the monster hidden inside her.

Once they had arrived from the strip, Arlene washed the filth away before she could see to Devon's wounds, and it exposed the extent of the princess' suffering.

Only a beast will not experience compassion at the sight of something so heartbreaking. I expended so much of my knowledge and elven magic to tear this woman from death's grimy grip that it created an unbreakable bond between us. I can no longer ignore our strange connection, and I've never fought so hard to save anyone. It's almost as if I believed that her survival might give me back something of what I lost.

Too much of Lord Darren's blood flows through Devon, and that would not be advisable if it were not for her impossible birth. Having Elizabeth Dragonov for a mother might not show on the outside, but it does on the inside.

Our combined blood and my magic restored the lycan to a greater degree than I dared to hope. Although many scars remain, most will fade away with time. Devon Creed will not be handicapped, blind, or something so horrific that humans will hide their children from it. The injuries on the outside will heal, but the ones on the inside concern me.

Arlene once had many scars that faded away with time, gone from all but her mind. And as horrifying as her past was, what Devon experienced gave her the chills.

King Wolfgang crippled both of us in a way most people will not understand.

Lord Darren strode into the room, and she sensed his worry as he halted beside her. She made Devon more comfortable and once again covered her with a soft blanket, not noticing how gentle her actions or diligent her care was.

Devon's core temperature remains low, even for a wolf with vampire blood. Arlene tried to ignore her persistent disquiet.

"The pup woke for a few moments, but her mind still wanders the hallways of her pain," she reported.

Her master's knowing eyes searched her face even though she avoided looking at him.

Lord Darren always sees far too much.

He toyed with his daylight ring, a telling gesture that betrayed his disquiet to her.

"She is Devon Elizabeth Creed," she said, having decided to grab the vampire by the fangs. "That much I learned from the birthmark on her side. The howling wolf marks her as a Creed as surely as if King Wolfgang's name was tattooed on her skin."

His muscles stiffened, and she almost grinned.

Lord Darren wasn't mentally prepared for me to confront him about his lie.

"She has the bluest eyes I've ever seen, and if the pain, horror, and pronounced guilt haven't driven her insane, she should recover within weeks," Arlene said, glancing at him.

He nodded, avoiding her eyes.

But he doesn't regret rescuing the wolf. If I am honest, neither do I. Fighting for the pup's life—when Devon's father took so much from me—cleansed something inside me. I am not like Wolfgang and will never be. Despite everything I did and the anger I carried with me for so long, it didn't break me as the lycan ruler's rage destroyed him.

"You did well. I never thought she'd be whole again, and I apologize for underestimating her and you," Lord Darren admitted. He brushed the pup's cheek with his knuckles.

"She did most of the work. Never have I encountered a will as strong as hers." Grudging admiration laced Arlene's voice.

I never thought I'd hear her say something like that about a Creed or imagined she would speak of one with something akin to fondness, Lord Darren thought.

"I struggle to believe this is the same broken creature we saved," he murmured.

How can the firm lines of Devon's face and its elegant structure fit together with such comfort? Even though the swelling had not settled all the way, he noticed her beauty, and the reasons for her failed execution perplexed him more. Royal females are a rare breed. If they commit great crimes, the wolves never resort to killing an asset like her. Even a traitor has the potential to produce powerful puppies, and this woman used to be the second most influential person in her kingdom.

"For now, I will keep her sedated," Arlene shared her decision. "It would be wise to allow her to rest. The pup's memories are too violent and near the surface. Devon's beast is operating on instinct, and she is not in control of herself."

"Allow her body to heal. We are in no hurry." Lord Darren forced himself to stop caressing the young woman's face.

Why does the contact spark right to my soul? Although he pitied Arlene for having to suffer the mix of emotions that seemed to make it impossible for her to hate Devon, he was intrigued by the notion. Something about them seems similar, but what is it? What is this strange connection?

"What action do you propose if her spirit has fled?" Arlene asked, and he had noticed how she had hesitated before phrasing the words with such bluntness.

His profile grew stern as he took in the sleeping princess.

Why am I so resistant to the idea that she might be beyond saving? It is typical of Arlene to ask the one question I avoided even considering.

"Then I will take care of it," he said through clenched teeth. He almost reached the door when he spoke again: "Thomas sent word. He returns before the first snow."

A slight, secretive smile touched Arlene's lips at hearing the man's name, and Lord Darren hid his smirk.

For years, he had watched the commander of his army and his closest friend pretend they were not head-over-heels in love.

Knowing her past, I understand why she refuses to surrender to her feelings for a lycan—her soul sees it as a betrayal of her bloodline. He glanced at Devon. Maybe the elf's link to this wolf will help her admit her feelings for Thomas.

"Good for him," Arlene managed with a tone of almost believable boredom, but anticipation glistened in her eyes.

Lord Darren's grin faded as he stalked down the hallway. Both the elf and werewolf disappeared from his thoughts as he remembered the troubling news from the east.

Mischief brews in the kingdoms—intangible, vague, and unsettling. The scouts often return with strange, perplexing bits of information, which the other men of influence ignore.

He was not as complacent. The last great war had taught him to trust his instincts more than his ears.

Something sinister stirs under the surface of our placid lives, which started before the night at the monoliths. Tiny ripples disturb the calm waters. Slight disturbances agitate the surface, but there are too many to discount.

Sometimes, I can almost divine the intangible connection, but I cannot shake the feeling that someone stands behind all this.