Saphyra's POV
Bright light burns behind my eyes.
My chest rises too fast, breath scraping out of me like I've just been dragged through the storm, the memory of the werewolves' arms still holding me down.
A strong smell of herbs and drugs floods my nostrils, almost choking me out. I sneeze, my eyes squeeze open.
Where am I?
"Saphyra."
A woman's voice cuts through the fog. She comes closer, but my eyes fill up with tears, blurring her out.
"You're awake," she says.
I scramble backward on instinct, dragging my knees to my chest.
Her hand reaches toward me.
"Don't!" I scream.
She freezes, then slowly steps away, watching me.
Panic spikes sharp and feral inside me, my wolf clawing at my skin, desperate to shift—
Nothing happens.
The magic in my blood presses down instead, smothering the change before it can begin.
It's the same feeling from hours or days ago, just before those werewolf shifters dragged me out of the house I thought was home.
And that look on Blaine's face—it's still fresh in my mind, cutting deeper than the claws that dragged me here.
He'd said he loved me. Said he'd protect me.
Or maybe it has all been a pretense I didn't see through.
"Please stay calm," the woman says.
I try to sit up, but my muscles are too weak, still trembling from the struggle with the wolves. This room makes it even worse. It's wide, but the walls feel closer, as if the room itself is closing in.
"Don't be too hard on yourself," she says, coming closer to sit at the side of the bed.
"Blaine," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "He… he sold me out."
She nods, but her expression doesn't change, her eyes still fixed on me, studying me.
"Your wounds haven't healed yet."
I notice the bruises on my arms. Shock had buried the pain until now. They are healing much slower than the way a full-breed's wounds heal. My magic always slows it down.
She comes closer again.
"Don't come close!" My arms wrap around my stomach.
I'm shaking. My throat feels too tight.
I half expect her to pounce on me with claws, treat me the same way other werewolves would. Just the same way Blaine did after all the pretense.
She raised her palms up, her arms spread out. "Don't see me as an enemy."
"Everyone is!" I force the sound off my throat, tears filling up my eyes again. "Everyone takes a hybrid as an enemy… including my lover… you're one of them."
"I work for them," she says quietly. "But I'm not exactly like them."
Her eyes flick briefly toward the door before returning to me.
I don't believe her.
I start looking around me, taking in the view of the room.
"Where's this place?"
"Ashfang pack." I echo.
My heart sinks even more. This is the same pack I'd always heard of, the pack responsible for the numerous killing of werewolf shifters and witches alike.
Part of me wonders if resisting only delays the inevitable.
Hybrids were least on this chain. If full breeds can barely survive, then my chance of survival is too low.
That's if I even have a chance.
"My name is Astra," she says. "I'm asked to watch, you can see me as your keeper."
Keeper.
I don't understand what that means, but it chills me.
Her gaze drifts to the necklace at my throat. She stills.
A near-smile flickers across her lips, then disappears.
I clutch it. "Don't. It's mine."
She nods, withdrawing her fingers. "You've kept it safe… all this time."
"All this time… how?"
She doesn't answer. Instead, she pours a black substance from the jug placed on the table beside the bed into a small cup, and offers it.
I shake my head.
"Saphyra…" She brings the cup closer to my mouth. "I don't know when they'll start the rite," she says softly. "And when they do… you won't get a choice. This is only to increase your chances."
A cold chill crawls up my spine. "What's that about?"
Her eyes empty out as though the lights behind them have shut off. I see a tiny bit of tear at the corner of her left eye. No… I'm not sure of that.
But her expression softens in a way that almost makes me trust her.
Now she smiles, that kind of smile that doesn't express joy, but rather sadness?
"Just drink," she tells me.
My hands are unsteady, so she gently places the cup to my lips. I sipped because I don't know what else to do. I don't even know what the rite is all about.
Heat blooms under my skin, my witch instinct. Another moment of danger.
"You have something to tell me?"
Her smile is faint. "If you're able to survive long enough… maybe we could have long talks."
Her fingers reach for my hair.
I hold still because every moment feels like falling apart.
"It's hard being a hybrid among werewolf shifters," she mutters.
The door creaks open.
A man steps inside.
Astra drops to her knees.
"Alpha."
His gaze flicks from Astra to land on me. I stiffen. The room seems to shrink around us.
"The hybrid?" He asks.
My blood goes cold.
He's watching me, and his amber eyes feel like fingertips tracing over my skin, impossible to ignore.
"Yes," Astra says. "Saphyra."
He steps closer. My skin prickles.
My instincts react to him before my mind can. Is it just about the way he stares at me or the tone of his voice?
I'm not sure. Or maybe it's both.
His voice is like a familiar tone I shouldn't have forgotten, but can't remember.
"Saphyra?"
My name is different from his voice.
But he's a stranger. I'm not supposed to feel this way.
He comes closer for his knee to touch the bedframe, and his scent floods my nostrils. It's like smoke sweetened with warmth. It claws at my memory, but I can't name what it's about.
It brings memories about my late parents, but I can't find a connection.
His face twitches. Something flicks in his eyes. Recognition? Confusion? I can't tell.
"Saphyra," he calls again, lower this time.
All at once…
He looks at me like he already knows me.
Like meeting him was never a choice I could have escaped.