Saphyra's POV
"He stopped the rite."
The words scrape out of mouth thin and brittle, like they might snap apart if I breathe too hard.
My body is still cold. Not from the air, but from inside, the kind that sinks into bone and refuses to leave. My fingers tremble where they clutch the blanket, skin pulled tight, numb.
I feel detached from myself, as though part of me is still standing before him, waiting for the moment everything goes dark.
"Saphyra," Astra whispers.
The smell of iron and burned herbs, sharp enough to sting the back of my throat, reminds me I'm trapped. Sold out for a price.
Astra's hands close around mine.
She stares at me as though she's seeing a ghost. Her fingers tighten, not painfully, but form and grounding as though to confirm I won't disappear into thin air.
"He stopped," she repeats quietly.
I nod.
Her hands leave mine. They move with purpose now, sliding down my arms, turning my wrists, inspecting my shoulders, my collarbone. Her gaze drops to my neck. She brushes my hair aside and exhales slowly when she finds no marks except for the old ones that are slowly healing.
She grips my chin and tilts my face toward the light. Her thumb presses gently beneath my lower eyelid.
"Look at me."
I do.
Her stare is sharp, clinical. She is searching for signs of blood loss, for the faint silver glaze that comes when the curse reacts. She finds none.
Only then does her posture shift.
"Are you in pain?" she asks.
I open my mouth, then close it.
"I don't know."
It's the truth.
"He was meant to pierce your throat," she says. Her voice is steady, but there is tension beneath it. "The curse reacts to the blood. It feeds. If he had begun, you wouldn't be sitting here."
She glances at my neck again.
"But he didn't."
"No."
A thick and uneasy silence stretches between us.
"Why?" I ask.
Her lips part. Then close.
"I don't know," she says again.
But the way she avoids my eyes tells me she is lying. Or at least, withholding.
Even after he ordered the gammas to return me to this room, I still feel him. The weight of his attention lingers, heavy as a hand pressed between my shoulder blades.
His eyes had been everywhere. On my throat. My pulse. My mouth.
If his fangs never touched me, his gaze did.
Astra cups my face suddenly and pulls me against her chest. Her scent surrounds me, dried leaves and smoke.
"You'll live," she murmurs. "For now."
"For now," I repeat.
My chest tightens.
"I should be dead," I say. "I was ready. I knew what was going to happen."
"You're alive," she says. "That matters."
"Does it?" My voice cracks. "Another full moon will come. Another night. He will try again."
She eases me back onto the bed and presses a hand to my shoulder, firm enough to keep me still.
"Rest."
I laugh, sharp but humorless.
"Rest?" I whisper. "After being dragged here like an animal? After waiting to be drained so he can survive?"
Her jaw tightens.
"Sleep," she says, more firmly now. "Your body is already fraying."
I shake my head. My breath comes too fast. My skin feels tight, stretched too thin.
"I can feel it," I say. "It's starting again."
"What is?"
"My magic… and wolf colliding…."
My vision wavers. Dull and pulsing pressure builds behind my eyes. My hands clench against the sheets, fingers digging into the fabric.
Astra's palms slide up my arms and frame my face. "Breathe."
"I can't."
My chest seizes. The air refuses to fill my lungs properly, like the pressure is pressing inward, squeezing.
"Look at me," she orders.
I try.
The room tilts.
Images crash into me without warning.
Stone floors slick with blood.
My parents sprawled at my feet, throats torn open, eyes glassy. Their bodies are misaligned, twisted, like they were dropped instead of laid down. Blood pools beneath them, soaking into the cracks in the stone.
Their mouths move.
They are calling my name.
My wrists burn.
I gasp and look down.
My fingers have altered.
Not fully, never completely.
My nails stretch into curved, jagged points. When my hands clench, they drag across my wrists, splitting skin and drawing blood.
"Saphyra!" Astra shouts.
I barely hear her.
The pressure inside me surges. My wolf claws at the surface, snarling, pushing for control. My magic surges in response, forcing it back down.
The strain rips through me like my body is being pulled in two opposite directions.
My body shakes.
Astra pins me down. I feel a sharp sting in my arm.
The cold spreads fast.
The noise in my head dulls. The images fracture, then fade. My muscles slacken, breath slowing despite my panic.
Darkness swallows the room.
***
"Saphyra."
The word drags me upward.
My eyes open slowly. Light filters in, softer this time. My limbs feel heavy, sluggish, like they belong to someone else.
Astra sits beside me, fingers threading through my hair with slow, deliberate strokes.
"What happened?"
"You lost control," she says. "I sedated you before you tore yourself apart."
I push myself upright, wincing as dizziness swells behind my eyes.
My wrists ache.
Bandages wrap both hands.
I stare at them.
"You cut yourself," Astra says.
"I didn't mean to."
"Your claws partially emerged," she replies. "You were fighting yourself."
I flex my fingers. They feel off, weakened in a way that unsettles me.
"It happens," I mutter.
Her hand stills in my hair.
"How often?"
"Whenever my magic and wolf push at the same time."
She studies me. I can't define her expression.
"You're tearing yourself open to keep balance," she says quietly.
I meet her gaze. "Does that frighten you?"
Her lips press into a thin line.
"No," she says. "It worries me."
Silence settles again.
"Hades," I say.
Her shoulders tense.
"When will he try again?"
She doesn't answer.
"It's fair I know," I continue. "I deserve that."
She exhales slowly.
"Hades wouldn't have stopped unless something interfered," she says. "And whatever it was… it unsettled him."
I think of his face. The way his jaw clenched. The shadows crawling beneath his skin as he fought the curse back.
"He was afraid," I whisper.
"Of you?"
"No." I swallow. "Of himself."
She looks away.
"He will return," she says finally.
My stomach twists.
"Then I won't survive," I reply. "Not twice."
"It isn't fixed," she says. "There are variables."
"Like what?"
She hesitates.
"There is a chance," she says carefully. "Small, but real."
I laugh softly.
"That's not comfort."
Her hand drifts to the necklace at my throat. Her fingers hover, and her lips curve slightly. "Your mother's."
I stiffen.
"You keep saying that," I reply. "Do you know her?"
Her gaze lifts to mine.
"You don't remember me."
"No."
Her throat tightens.
"I'm your aunt."
The words land hard.
I pull away, pressing myself back against the headboard.
"No," I say. "You're lying."
"I'm not."
"This is too convenient," I snap. "You work for him."
"I only found you with the gammas," she explains. "I positioned myself to protect you as much as I can."
"From him?"
"From everyone."
My chest aches.
"I don't believe you."
"That's fair," she replies calmly. "But your blood recognizes mine. That's why you feel safe with me."
I shake my head. "I don't."
I don't know if that's a lie. Or not.
"Your magic wiped off your memory… leaving you with just the death of your parents."
She moves toward the door, but stops midway.
"He is coming." My voice cracks.
"I don't want to see him."
"He decides that."
The door closes behind her.
The room feels smaller.
Darker.
My skin prickles.
The air shifts.
The door opens.
Hades stands there,
unmoving, his presence pressing into the room like a weight. The shadows around him writhe, barely contained. His eyes settle on me with deliberate focus.
"Saphyra."
The sound of my name tightens my chest.
I grip the sheets, forcing myself not to react, not to answer whatever he's awakened inside me.