CHAPTER 44: WHAT HAD I BECOME?

Dawn’s hand was warm and firm around mine and it was the only thing grounding me in the present. I had demanded the truth about the memory-wipe, and he had given me his version: damage control. A lie to protect me from whatever happened that night.

"I want the truth," I repeated, staring at the joining of our hands. "All of it."

Dawn sighed. He let out a low, weary sound that belonged not to the ruthless Alpha but to a man carrying a burden too heavy for his broad shoulders. He pulled his hand away and ran it through his messy black hair.

"Bambi, I told you all I can about that night," he said, his voice regaining its colder, Alpha tone. "I did what I did because you were not ready for the full impact of my wolf. It was a tactical decision. A necessity to keep you compliant until you could build trust. It was for your own good, and nothing more."

What was he even saying?

He stood up and walked a few steps away, his back to me, looking out at the dimly lit room. His posture was rigid, closed off. The conversation was over, by his silent command.

"But what does that even mean?" I pressed, refusing to let the moment slip away. "’Not ready’? Ready for what? You owe me more than just ’damage control’ as an explanation. I want to know why you needed to have my memories erased."

He turned around slowly, his dark eyes fixed on me with an intensity that held both warning and something that looked suspiciously like desperation.

"You won’t like the answers, little doe," he warned, his voice low and firm. "And more importantly, you are not in a position to hear them, not yet. My world is... complicated. You’ve only ever seen the surface. The titles, the politics, the games we play in that room. But underneath all of that are things that could break you."

He took a slow step back toward the bed. "I can’t tell you everything, Bambi. Not now. If I laid out every truth I’m hiding, you would run so fast ’Ice’ would be the last thing on your mind. You would be gone. And I can’t risk that. I won’t."

He paused, letting the finality of his words of refusal sink in. "With time, the truth will reveal itself. You need to grow into the power you discovered that night. You need to learn how to wield your truth before I dump mine into your lap. You need to learn how to manage the power I left with you through that mark before I tell you the truth."

I stared at him, my mouth dry. He wasn’t simply refusing me; he was making an Alpha declaration. He was treating the truth like a dangerous weapon he refused to hand over. Frustration burned in my chest, but beneath it was the realization that he was still the Alpha, and my power, while real, had limits.

"So I’m just supposed to wait?" I asked, the words almost cracking. "Wait for the right moment to know why my memories were erased?"

"Wait for the correct timing," he corrected, a flash of something almost tender returning to his eyes. "Trust me on this one thing. Every move I make, even the ones you hate, are calculated to keep you safe in this chaotic Pack. And now that you know I respect your boundary, allow me to maintain mine for a little longer."

He didn’t give me a chance to argue further. He walked to a large mahogany dresser and pulled open a drawer. He pulled out a bundle of soft fabric and tossed it onto the bed next to me.

"Get dressed, Bambi. We’re leaving this room."

I looked at the clothing. It was a simple denim short flair gown, armless, the light blue fabric is the opposite of the dark bed sheet. It looked casual, comfortable, and utterly unlike the formal, tailored clothes I was usually forced to wear around the Pack house. I picked it up. It smelled faintly of him. Like cedar and clean linen.

I stood up, the robe slipping a little, and walked back toward the bathroom.

"Where are we going?" I asked over my shoulder.

"Back to the bar," he replied, his voice calm. "I need to have a very quick, private word with someone. You’ll wait for me outside."

I dressed quickly. The denim was soft, almost buttery against my skin. I ran a brush through my long brunette hair and stepped back out.

Dawn was waiting by the door, having put his expensive tailored jacket back on. He looked like the ruthless Alpha again, fully composed and intimidating. The small, vulnerable crack I had seen was long gone like it was never there or seem by me.

He gave me a brief, approving glance. "Good. Let’s go."

He led me back through the small, plain door. We went from the quiet, velvet-lined opulence of the suite back into the cold, concrete utility of the corridor leading to the main building. The air grew cooler, less scented immediately.

Soon, we were back at the private entrance to the bar, the source of the distant music and chatter. Dawn stopped, placing a hand on the door handle.

"Stay right here," he instructed, his tone brooking no argument. "Stand by the woods, away from the light and the noise. I won’t be long. Do not move from that spot."

"Yes, Alpha," I replied automatically. It was still the easiest thing to do.

He gave my shoulder a quick, possessive squeeze, opened the door, and slipped inside, letting it swing shut behind him, leaving me alone in the cool night air.

I did as I was told, walking to the edge of the clearing where the well-maintained lawn pathed way to the dark forest. The air here smelled of damp earth and pine needles. I stood there, hugging my bare arms, the soft denim of the dress feeling thin against the chill cold.

It was in this moment of quiet solitude that the strangest thing happened.

It began as a sudden, impossible sensation. A deep, bone-aching ache, not of injury, but of completion. My spine felt like it was thickening, my bones getting thicker, just like last time. It wasn’t painful, but intensely physical.

Then, a voice, deep but, yet as intimate as my own thoughts, sounded inside my head. It was a voice of silk and steel, utterly foreign yet completely me.

"Hello, Bambi. This is Freya, your wolf."

Tears sprang instantly to my eyes, hot and overwhelming. Freya. My wolf. The part of me I thought was dead, the part that had been silent since that night it came out. The part of me that had been suppressed by years of neglect and abuse, the one essential piece of my being I had mourned for so long. She was back.

"Freya," I whispered out loud, a choked, joyful sob escaping my throat. My legs felt weak, and I braced myself against a nearby tree trunk, weeping in silent, profound relief. She’s here. I’m whole.

The joy, however, was violently interrupted.

Snap!

A distinct, sharp sound of a twig breaking came from the edge of the woods, maybe about fifty yards away, deep in the forest and the darkness of it.

My head snapped up. Every trace of exhaustion and emotion vanished, replaced immediately by an instant surge of alarm. The shift was absolute. I felt my new, solid core of bone energy emerge, and my senses sharpened to an impossible degree. I could suddenly smell the faint, metallic scent of rogue wolf mixed with the heavier scent of pine, and something else—a dark, sickly sweet musk that wasn’t right.

Before my rational brain could even process the word ’danger,’ my body moved.

My bare feet, no longer hesitant or shaky like it used to during training, pounded against the earth. I was running, propelled by a speed I had never experienced. The trees blurred into green-black streaks. I didn’t choose the direction; my feet, guided by an instinct that was no longer just mine, taking me deep into the darkest part of the woods.

I ran toward the source of the snapping twig, my speed fast like a Luna’s or even a Beta’s speed. But, my mind was too blank to process any of it.

The sight that greeted me was not a single threat when I stopped without being out of breath as if I hadn’t ran the longest distance, but five large, male wolves. They weren’t fully shifted, standing on two legs, but their claws were extended, their eyes glowing an angry, unnatural red, and their bodies were marked with crude, black, swirling tattoos—the mark of the Marked Rogues. These were wolves who had given their life force to a leader for increased, collective power. They were ten times more dangerous than a normal rogue.

My mind went utterly blank. There was no fear, no strategic thought, only an empty, blinding white space.

"Mine. Danger. Kill them." Freya’s voice was back, no longer a soft welcome, but a primal, snarling command that resonated through my bones.

I didn’t shift. Not fully. But my physical form transformed in the most terrifying way. My fingernails extended into needle-sharp claws, ripping through the soft skin of my fingertips. My eyes glowed with a silver color I never knew it had, with an electric, predatory light. A low, inhuman growl tore from my throat.

I launched myself at the nearest rogue.

The fight started.

It wasn’t the trained, tactical fighting of a soldier; it was the wild, desperate force of a trapped animal. I didn’t dodge; I simply moved. My claws raked across throats, bellies, and faces with a horrifying efficiency. I felt like an entirely different person. I was small, but the power that surged through my limbs was immense. I felt the thick, hot blood spray against my face and the soft denim of my dress. I heard the sickening sounds of tissue tearing and bones cracking.

I didn’t stop until all five bodies lay motionless on the damp earth. The unnatural silver glow faded from their eyes.

Then, the blinding white emptiness in my mind receded. The raw, animalistic adrenaline drained away, leaving a sudden, cold exhaustion. I stumbled backward, my back hitting a rough tree trunk.

I looked down. My hands, still tipped with the sharp claws that were slowly beginning to recede, were soaked in blood. My new denim dress, once light blue, was now heavily stained, a gruesome shade of dark crimson. My face, my hair—everywhere was splattered with the blood of the people I just killed.

My stomach heaved. The smell of blood and rogue musk was overwhelming and suffocating. I had done this. I had murdered five wolves with my bare hands and teeth.

A terrified shock locked my body in place. I looked down at the mangled bodies, the brutality of the scene I had caused making the forest floor look like a slaughterhouse.

It was then that Freya’s voice returned, this time with a deep, purring satisfaction.

"Good job, Bambi. That is how it’s done. You were magnificent."

The terror was replaced by a fresh, cold horror. Magnificent? What had I become?