Dean's hands trembled, and her insides clenched, but she and Dana forced the monster to retreat.

Carla glowered at Thomas.

He stood just inside the tent, his somber eyes betraying nothing of his thoughts.

A familiar metallic scent thickened the air.

Dean's stomach growled audibly in response as her vampire and werewolf instincts fused into a singular, overwhelming need.

"Get it," Dana urged from the recesses of Dean's mind.

The return of her wolf grounded her, offering her comfort even as its darker nature threatened to unravel her restraint.

"Werewolves were never meant to drink vampire blood," Thomas teased.

His tone edged with slight unease.

"What is with the sudden change in attitude?" Dana growled.

Dean was torn between being grateful for his thoughtfulness yet suspicious of his motives.

Thomas regarded Dean with an expression she could not quite decipher.

"As if he's still deciding what to make of us," Dana grumbled.

"He belongs to Lord Darren, as do we," Dean reminded Dana. "That is reason enough for him to concern himself with us."

"Where is Lord Darren?" Dean asked.

Her concern outweighed even her discomfort.

"Lord Darren and King Duncan are fine, although still a little weak," Thomas said. "Even so, they have kingdom business to attend to this morning."

Dean stared him down.

He speaks the truth, she decided.

"He would be here if not for the king's business," he assured her.

His voice was laced with something akin to pity.

Having almost died—and then nearly killed Lord Darren—she wanted to see him.

Needed to see him.

But the king came first.

Dana whined gently.

"None of that; I miss him too," Dean said sternly.

"But..."

"No, we are not pups."

Dana's attachment to Duncan was not new.

It had been there when her shadow wolf had shown itself to him and had not been aggressive toward him.

Was it really the shadow wolf, or had it been pieces of Dana returning from wherever she had gone? she wondered.

"I don't know," Dana answered in a tiny voice.

Dana didn't like to talk about what happened when she became the monster.

Dean respected that.

Now more than ever.

Carla handed her the carcass, and all other thoughts fled her mind.

Dean forced herself to move slowly, though her hands trembled with the effort at restraint.

Dana surged forward.

Dean tore into the animal with her talons, stripping back the hide before sinking her teeth into its flesh.

The taste of it flooded her senses—rich and metallic, intoxicating.

She growled low in her throat, and it was an involuntary sound of satisfaction.

Carla misinterpreted it.

She jerked her hand away, wary of getting too close.

Dean growled again, this time in warning, focusing entirely on her meal.

"Mine!" Dana whimpered when Dean fended her off.

"Ours," Dean corrected, staking her claim, but she allowed the wolf to merge with her without shifting.

The harmony between them was a stark contrast to the chaos they had once shared.

Dean no longer feared losing control, and Dana no longer clawed for dominance.

They were one.

This was not the feral creature that her father and Marcus, the dark prince, had forged through cruelty.

"Disgusting," Carla muttered. Yet she made no move to leave or take the food away.

Not that it would have been wise of her to try.

"See, that is a wolf," Thomas said.

He sidestepped past Shae, carrying a similar bundle to the other room.

"She is a vampire too," Shae countered, backing away as if he carried an armload of snakes.

"A man cannot serve two masters," he quoted from the Book of Creation.

"Well, she is not a man," Carla called after him.

"And as far as I can tell, she manages her three natures just fine," Shae added, masking her discomfort. "Women are good at juggling."

Thomas chuckled. "Until they are not."

Dean's awareness of the world around her faded as she consumed the meat.

She barely chewed the tough venison before swallowing chunks of it.

The revulsion she might have once felt—born from the memory of eating raw horse meat during her imprisonment and the horrors Marcus forced her to perpetrate—no longer afflicted her.

All that mattered was filling the hollow ache within her.

It took a while before she became vaguely aware of Carla watching her, horrified fascination flickering in her eyes.

Dean smirked.

In the other room, Lee stirred.

The emptiness inside her echoed the desperation she sensed from Dean through their shared bond.

Relief washed over her at the sound of her sister's voice.

It left her light-headed, almost giddy.

From the moment she had woken, the hunger had been there—vast, overwhelming, consuming.

It pressed down on her as heavily as her worry for Dean.

She had never known hunger like this and found her desperate need repulsive.

Not even their banter lifted her mood.

Thomas handed her the buck, and she barely looked at him.

She didn't even thank him.

Lee sank her teeth into the meat without finesse or control.

The pang in her heart at seeing the man she loved—and knowing he was lost to her, believing her dead—barely registered against the aching void consuming her from within.

"Well, thank you, Thomas," Thomas grouched.

Lee snarled at him.

He chuckled.

Despite everything, the sadness in his laughter struck something deep within her.

It sparked a heartache she could not ignore, a reminder of all she had lost. And yet she welcomed it.

If nothing else, it meant she still felt something even if it was a fragile tether to her, for lack of a better word, humanity.

"I will fetch water so they can clean themselves off after they have finished eating," Shae said, her tone edged with disapproval.

She grabbed a bucket and disappeared through the doorway.

Thomas lingered, his frown deepening. He said nothing.

Lee felt his gaze weighing her, searching for something. Yet the discomfort roiling in her chest could not slow her.

Through Dean's memories, Lee knew her sister had suffered hunger like this during her imprisonment but never with such unbearable intensity.

Living those moments through Dean's eyes left Lee shaken.

Lee had once judged Dean harshly for being a werewolf, despite loving Thomas. But living through Dean's memories changed her.

King Wolfgang's massacre of her family had left a wound that never fully healed, yet she had been unable to hate Dean for her father's sins.

Perhaps Thomas had been the reason all along.

Perhaps it was something deeper.

From the moment she and Lord Darren had pulled the half-dead werewolf from the Circle of Justice, something in Lee had recognized her as more than just a Creed.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

A tiny whine sounded in her mind at the interruption, and it became more insistent when she resisted the wolf.

Unlike Dana—Dean's wolf—hers was not yet fully formed, but with each passing day, it grew stronger.

Lee was not yet ready to give it a name.

The elven part of her had always been her, just another facet of her being. But the wolf was something else.

It had a will of its own, its wants and needs often running counter to hers.

She now understood Dean's struggle in a way she never had before and why Devon had feared the strength of her own wolf.

Lee, too, worried what would happen once it fully formed.

Would I be able to control it?

Unlike Devon, she had an advantage—Dean's memories.

It was a battle she would face when the time came.

For now, they had worries enough.

"Enjoy," Thomas said and left as quickly as he came.

Her thoughts snapped back to the present as she watched him walk away.

For a moment, she nearly called him back but stopped herself just in time.

Her fangs were out, and she barely chewed before swallowing.

Lee picked up on the muted conversation from the other room and shamelessly eavesdropped.

"So, what does your elf think of all this?" Carla asked Dean.

Carla had never given much thought to this side of werewolves.

She certainly did not expect Dean to stop devouring her feast and answer.

"She is on the verge of being ill, but seeing as she has a slight vampire blood addiction, she should probably remain silent," Dean said.

Her voice was lower, edged with the wolf's huskiness.

Carla raised a brow, curiosity momentarily overriding her aversion.

She could not have known that her teasing question offered Dean a much-needed distraction from the darker thoughts clawing at the edges of her mind.

That it was easier to consider her elf's reaction to raw meat than allow her mind to drift to the past. To the time before Lord Darren and Arlene had come into her life.

When she had been lost and alone.

Caught in a trap, she had never seen coming.

Sentenced to face her end in the desert like a rogue or a criminal.

Tied down, beaten, and humiliated.

Left for dead.

Dana whined again, and Dean made an effort to pull herself together.

Now was not the time to get lost in the past.

Not when she had no idea how King Duncan would react to her and Lee almost getting Lord Duncan killed.

Even if it was not intentional.

"We are not in jail," Dana grumbled.

"Good point."

"And Lord Darren sent Thomas to look after us," the wolf reminded.

"And King Duncan allowed it," Dean said, easing the tension in her midsection.

She mentally reached out to Lee, but she was still too weak for their mind-link to work.

"More chewing and less thinking," Dana complained.

That was good advice, too. There was no point in worrying—it never solved anything.

After everything she had endured, the only thing she feared now was the mage hunting them and what Artemis might do to those she loved.