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The door slammed behind her and the lock clicked. Ivy spun around. No handle on this side. Just smooth steel and that smell rolling up from the stairwell below—wet fur, old blood, something that made her spine go cold. She pressed her palm flat against the door. It didn't budge.
"Shit."
She was in.
The stairs went down into blue-lit concrete. Bare bulbs every ten feet. The air got colder with every step. She could hear the hum of refrigeration units, the drip of something wet. Her fingers stayed on the railing. The smell got thicker. Fur and copper and something sharp underneath, like burnt hair. She knew this smell. She'd smelled it once before, crammed into a kitchen cabinet with her hands over her mouth, listening to her father scream in the next room.
Ten years ago.
She hit the bottom step and stopped. The basement stretched out in front of her—long and white and full of steel tables. Glass cabinets lined the left wall, packed with vials and syringes. A centrifuge. A fridge with a biohazard sticker. On the far side of the room, a steel exam chair with restraints hanging open. Blood spatter on the floor beside it. Not a lot. Just enough to make her stomach twist.
She turned back to the stairs. No good. The door was locked.
She heard footsteps behind her.
"You shouldn't be down here."
Leon's voice. Flat. Tired.
She turned around slowly. He was standing by the exam chair, one hand on the armrest. His jacket was off. Sleeves rolled up. There was a bandage on his forearm, half-soaked through. His eyes were still gray, but the edges were starting to go gold. Just a ring around the iris. Thin. Bright.
"You locked the door," she said.
He didn't answer. Just looked at her. His jaw was tight. His knuckles were white on the armrest.
"Leon."
"Don't." His voice cracked. "Don't say my name right now."
She took a step back. Her hip hit the edge of a steel table. A tray of instruments rattled. Scalpels. Needles. A syringe with something pale yellow inside.
"What is this place?" she asked.
He let go of the chair and walked toward the glass cabinets. Slow. Controlled. Like he was counting his steps. "Research," he said. "Private. Off the books."
"Research on what?"
He opened one of the cabinets and pulled out a vial. Clear liquid. He held it up to the light. His hand was shaking. "On how to kill the thing inside me before it kills someone else."
Ivy's throat closed up. She watched him set the vial down on the counter. Watched him brace both hands on the edge. His shoulders were heaving. She could see the muscle in his neck jumping.
"Full moon's tomorrow," he said. His voice was rough. Low. "I can feel it already. Pulling. I've been taking suppressants for six years. They used to work. Now they just slow it down."
She didn't move. Didn't breathe. The smell was everywhere now. Fur and sweat and something wild.
"You're a wolf," she said.
"Yeah."
"You knew. When you hired me."
He turned around. His eyes were more gold than gray now. Bright enough to catch the light. "I knew you were lying. I didn't know why. I thought I'd figure it out before the next full moon." He laughed. It sounded bad. "Guess I ran out of time."
Her hands were clenched at her sides. She could feel her pulse in her fingertips. "Let me out."
"Can't."
"Leon—"
"I said don't." He slammed his hand down on the counter. The vials rattled. One of them tipped over and rolled onto the floor. It didn't break. Just spun in a lazy circle and stopped. "You smell like them, Ivy. You smell like the people who killed my family."
Her stomach dropped. She couldn't speak. Couldn't swallow.
He stepped closer. Not fast. Just steady. His eyes locked on hers. "You've got hunter blood. I can smell it on you. In your sweat. In your hair. I could smell it the second you walked into my office, but I thought maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was just coincidence. But it's not, is it?"
She shook her head. Her voice came out quiet. "I'm not a hunter."
"Then why do you smell like one?"
"Because my father was."
That stopped him. He stared at her. Gold eyes wide. His chest was rising and falling too fast.
"Was," she said again. "Past tense. He's dead. They all are. The ones who came after your family. They're gone."
He didn't say anything. Just stood there. The gold in his eyes was flickering. Bright, then dim, then bright again. She could see his teeth. Sharper than they should be.
"I didn't know," she said. Her voice cracked. "I didn't know you were—"
"A wolf." He smiled. It wasn't a good smile. "Yeah. Surprise."
She took another step back. Her spine hit the wall. Nowhere left to go.
He moved closer. Close enough that she could feel the heat coming off him. Close enough to see the sweat on his neck. He leaned in. Breathed in deep. His eyes fluttered shut. "God," he whispered. "You smell like home. Like pack. Like mine."
Her heart was hammering. She pressed herself flat against the wall. "I'm not yours."
His eyes snapped open. Gold all the way through now. "I know. But my wolf doesn't care."
He turned away fast. Walked back to the counter. Grabbed the syringe with the yellow liquid. His hands were shaking so hard he almost dropped it. He jabbed the needle into his forearm. Right through the bandage. Pressed the plunger down. His whole body went rigid. He sucked in a breath through his teeth. The syringe clattered onto the counter.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then he sagged forward. Caught himself on the edge of the counter. His head hung down. His breathing slowed. When he looked up again, his eyes were gray. Just gray. No gold.
He looked at her. Looked away. "Sorry," he said. His voice was hoarse. "I didn't mean to—"
"What was that?"
"Suppression serum. I've been testing it for two years. It works for about an hour. Then it stops working."
She was still pressed against the wall. Her legs felt weak. "You're trying to kill your wolf."
"I'm trying not to become my father." He picked up the empty syringe. Set it down. Picked it up again. He wasn't looking at her. "He was the wolf king. He lost control during a treaty meeting. Killed three hunters. Started a war. I was fifteen. I watched him die."
Ivy's throat was tight. She remembered that night. Remembered her father coming home covered in blood. Remembered him locking her in the closet and telling her not to come out no matter what she heard.
"I'm sorry," she said.
He laughed. It was a bitter sound. "You're sorry. Your people killed mine. My wolf wants to rip your throat out. And we're stuck down here until the moon sets tomorrow night because if I let you go, I'll follow you. I won't be able to stop myself."
She stared at him. "You're keeping me here?"
"I'm keeping us both here. There's food in the fridge. A cot in the back. The restraints on that chair are for me. If I start to turn, you strap me in. You don't get close. You don't touch me. You wait it out."
"And if you break free?"
He didn't answer. Just looked at her. His eyes were gray and tired and empty.
She understood.
He turned back to the counter. Started cleaning up the broken vials. His hands were steadier now, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. The way he kept his distance.
She watched him. Watched the line of his spine. The bandage on his arm. The blood seeping through.
"Why did you hire me?" she asked.
He paused. Didn't turn around. "Because you looked like you were running. And I thought if you were running from them, maybe you'd understand why I'm trying to kill the thing they hate most."
Before she could answer, the intercom crackled. A sharp burst of static. Then a woman's voice, smooth and cold.
"Your Highness. The hunters found your new girl."
Ivy's heart stopped. Leon's head snapped up. He stared at the intercom on the wall. His whole body went rigid.
The voice kept going. "They're at the north gate. Three of them. They want her back. Should I let them in?"