When Danika opened her eyes, she was pressed into a massive male chest. One thick arm rested around her waist while the other was tucked under his head like a pillow. As he promised before they went to bed, he was still wearing his t-shirt and sweats. He didn't fight her on it. He even gave her the bulky sweater she was currently wearing when the blankets weren't enough to keep her from shivering.

She curled closer to him and breathed in, taking in his scent and committing it to memory. He smelled faintly of pine trees and moss. Like the mountain trails just west of her home city. Why did he have to feel like home? Not the home she knew, but the home she always wanted. Damnit. Damn him.

Aarón shifted and started to run his thumb up and down her back in a subconscious movement. "How'd you sleep?" he muttered.

She didn't answer. They both knew how poorly she'd slept. "Can I ask you something?" she asked softly.

"Of course."

"Why are you uniting the packs?"

"I already told you. We just want-"

"Stop."

Going quiet, he finally opened his eyes and met her gaze. For a minute, they didn't say anything. Then, slowly, Danika sat up and scrubbed her face with her hands.

"I already know the line you tell the other lycans. I want to know why you are uniting the packs."

He sighed and sat up with her, crossing his legs and folding his arms into his chest. "I'd rather you just know that story," he scowled, his eyes narrowing at a spot on the bed. "My story is neither happy nor noble."

"Aarón, I was raised by the shittiest side of a church that is made up entirely of shitty sides. I have made it this far with nothing more than dumb luck and a strong sense of self-preservation. Forget noble or happy. I just want the truth."

He tilted his head to give her a calculating look. "Alright," he shifted to face her. "I'll tell you my story... all of it. In return, I want you to give me a demonstration. Show me what the Templars taught you."

She couldn't stop the smile tugging at her face. "Can I get my knives back?"

"Are you going to stab me with them?"

"You don't have to worry about the iron one."

"What about the silver?"

"Don't worry, mon loup," she purred. "I'll be gentle."

Heat flared in his eyes, and he raised a hand to stroke her cheek. "I'd rather you didn't, mi reina," he growled. "Show me what you've got."

He kissed her, surprisingly soft despite his growling. She was ready to be repulsed and for her stomach to churn violently. She wasn't prepared for her heart to flutter and to crave more of him. She certainly wasn't expecting him to be so gentle or pull away before she was ready. "You first, then." She sucked in a calming breath.

He let out a long, disgruntled sigh and rolled his shoulders. "It's fairly simple, really. It's what I was raised for. I've spent all fifty of my years' training for nothing else. Combat and strategy from my home pack in Colombia. Political sciences and history at São Paulo. I even spent a few years studying Ancient anthropology in Florida. All in preparation of reigniting a twenty-thousand-year-old family feud."

"Wait... family feud?"

"That's essentially what it comes down to. The family of the first wolves and the family of the king's hand. We've been at odds with each other since the beginning of our species."

"The king's hand... as in... Nolan Wes?"

Everything was slowly starting to click in place. Why Lord Wes seemed to already know everything about Aarón. Why he was so carefully insistent that she continue to spy on him. Why he was willing to give in to her retirement if it meant her going back. He had been so willing to sacrifice her limbs, her life, her safety.

"That's the name he publicly goes by," Aarón grunted and scratched his chin through his beard. "Though he has other names from other breeds. The Counsel calls him Constantine's babysitter behind the king's back. I've heard members of the vampiric military call him the shadow king or the king without a crown. Even the dragons have a name for him. Yfeerie of the sun. Then... there's what we call him. Supay. The embodiment of death."

"I'm sorry," Danika burrowed deeper into the sweater. "I don't think I'm smart enough to catch onto what you're trying to say. Can you use small words, please? Why you? Why your family?"

"My family are descendants of the first lycanthrope. A long, long time ago, there was a war between the vampires and the werewolves. Between my ancestor and Nolan Wes." Seeing the confusion in her face, he sighed. "The blood the first lycan runs in my veins, as well as Evelyn's and Darius's. The connection to our ancestor gives us abilities that other lycans don't."

"Like shifting whenever you want?"

"Exactly. Darius has lost that ability with his age. He is forced to shift on the full moon like all the others, but he has all our other advantages. Our true forms are bigger, stronger, and we keep our senses. So we can control the rest of the pack when they are forced to shift. It's how we keep casualties to a minimum during the full moon.

"During the war, my bloodline was essential to keeping up with the constant assault of vampires. You've turned. You know how it is. Vampires turn quickly, and the effects are immediate. Your strength is consistent throughout the month. The more you feed, the stronger you get, and it's easier for you to feed without killing.

"When a lycan shares their blood with a human, it can take up to a month for the change to take full effect. They may not even shift on their first full moon. When they do shift the first time, they require a lot of food to maintain their strength. And there are no substitutions for that first shift. There is no ratio of swine to human that would allow us to stretch rations. The new wolf would need at least two kilograms of fresh human liver every night during that first full moon.

"Between the feeding requirements and the charisma of the damn vampire king, it was glamorous to be a vampire. Whereas becoming a werewolf was seen as barbaric and a curse. It still is. In times of war, the requirements to be turned into a vampire loosen significantly. The lycanthrope do not yield on such things. At least... we're not supposed to."

"Even during war, the vampire requirements are nothing to sneeze at." Danika felt a slight smile tug at her lips. She had used those loosened requirements to her advantage. It all felt so long ago.

Aarón chuckled. He reached for her hand and was relieved when she didn't pull away. She was still jumpy at every touch, but this was progress. He had assumptions about what happened in their short time apart, but he promised he would not push the issue. All he could do was make her feel safe around him.

However, if he ever found the one who put their hands on her, he would rip out their tongues and tear off their arms. Then, he would present them as a prize to his vampire so that she could get her revenge.

No one would ever lay a finger on his queen again.

"How old were you when applied to the vampiric consulate?" he asked softly, temporarily shaking those murderous thoughts from his mind.

"Sixteen. As soon as I could without requiring a parent signature."

"And when were you turned?"

"Eighteen. I was given approval a month before my birthday. Still, they won't turn anyone before they're legally an adult except in extreme circumstances."

"What kind of extreme circumstances?"

She narrowed her eyes in thought. "The only one I know of was when the applicant was terminally ill. There wasn't a guarantee that they would survive to their eighteenth birthday. But, if I remember right, they had political and financial connections worldwide, both human and ancient. It's uncommon enough to turn someone right at eighteen. Most applicants aren't even considered before they're twenty, at least. It was the one good thing the Order did for me. They might as well have turned me themselves."

He didn't smile at that. Instead, Aarón stared at her palms. Hands that were accustomed to hard work. A lifetime of combat training. They really weren't so different from his. Only she didn't believe in everything her people had worked for. He couldn't imagine how difficult it must have been for her.

He was determined to change that. His family would be hers as well. The spearhead pack had accepted her the second he asked them to find her. Evelyn was thrilled that he'd chosen someone other than the brainwashed omegas. They didn't care that she was a vampire. He didn't either.

"Had you come to my pack at sixteen and asked to be turned into a lycanthrope," he finally said softly. "Even with the best intentions and your training as a Templar, it is unlikely we would have allowed your transition until you were at least twenty-five."

She whistled. "Why so long?"

"The simple answer is that the transition is hard on the body. Many don't survive, even with rigorous training. More applicants die than survive."

"Gods... why turn people at all, then?"

"According to the elders, during the time of the first lycan, we didn't. Or it was incredibly rare. There's more to it, though. We call ourselves wolves for more than our canine appearance and the symbolism between the animal and the moon.

"We are a community. A family. Had you come to us at sixteen, we would have taken your request seriously, but we would have asked you to make radical changes for it. You would not have been able to return to your human life. You would have had to move to our village and live as we live.

"During the full moons, you would join the other non-lycans in the communal halls. Not just for your safety, but because it is our tradition. At the end of each lunar cycle, you would join our feasts, sing our songs, dance our dances, hear our stories, and tell stories of your own. Yes, you would have needed further training for endurance and speed over raw power, but the decision has very little to do with your physical body at all. It has everything to do with this," he tapped her chest directly over her heart.

"Applicants who cannot, or will not, give their all to the pack have no purpose being one of us. The singular mindset of the vampires does not belong in our society. It is that singular mindset that is holding us back currently.

"The Parisian packs are the perfect example of the damage it has already done. Had you gone to them, they would have turned you at your request, whether you were ready for it or not. If you survived the transition, they would have used you as a breeder. You wouldn't have gotten the freedom you crave. If you gave them a daughter that could breed as well, then you would be given little to no respite before you found yourself pregnant again and again. Male pups are labeled as betas, deltas, and gammas the day they are born, and all it does is keep them from believing they can stand against the alphas.

"I want to rip that system apart and unite us all once again. I really do. It's not just a line I tell the wolves outside the spearhead. It's been a slow process here because the packs are so old. The La Chapelle's have been in power before Paris was even established. Jean isn't the worst of them, but the fact that he sees himself as my elder and that it was his beta that tried to have me killed has hurt his pride.

"All of this to say that there are many reasons to unite the packs. But... you're right. There is both a lot more and a lot less to the situation. I have spent my entire life preparing to bring as many lycanthrope under my command as possible to build an army. All for one thing. Revenge.

"The Wes and Guerrero families have been at war since the beginning of our breeds. Five thousand years ago, during a particularly violent outbreak of the war, Nolan Wes slaughtered my family one by one until only two remained. They managed to escape, but only barely. Wes was the one who established the Alpha-Omega dynamic within the packs, ripping power away from my ancestor and throwing our entire society into this mess."

"Wait, wait, wait," Danika gaped at him. "Five thousand years ago? There's no way... Wes is..."

"Nolan Wes has had the support of the dragons his entire life," Aarón's voice had gone dark. "The dragons are as old as magic itself. They do not adhere to the same laws that we do and don't even keep to their own. Despite their claims that they are above such things, they have broken their own laws to show the vampires' favoritism.

"Wes broke every rule of engagement set out by the Counsel for wartime. He had no regard for non-combatants. Male, female, soldier, civilian... he didn't care. He killed pups. Children who had no way of defending themselves and no knowledge of the conflict.

"My ancestor tried to appeal to the Counsel. Nolan Wes is old and powerful, but he is not a dragon. Yet, they didn't even try to hold him accountable for his actions against my people. She just wanted her family to be left in peace. And for it, she was executed."

Horror filled her expression, and her hands clutched his. "They killed her?"

"They did. The magical consequences nearly destroyed our entire species." Aarón let out another heavy sigh. "My ancestor was the first werewolf. Her blood and magic linked us all together, and without that link... Every werewolf that was made before her death died with her. Instead of the typical fifty-fifty split of male to female, the number of females born dropped to one in five. Of that one in five, very few were able to reproduce themselves."

"Kate said something like on in fifty are omegas."

"That's probably accurate. In Colombia, we maintained my ancestor's way of ruling the packs, so we don't treat our females any differently until they are pregnant. From what I understand with the packs here, however, is that the first thing after a female pup is born, she is tested for her fertility. Omegas are heavily sheltered and protected from the outside world. They are raised carefully, taught to believe that their only purpose in life is to breed with either an alpha or a high-ranking beta. The only reason we're able to keep up our numbers otherwise is to turn human females."

Silence filled the room. Danika stared down at their joined hands. Everything she thought she knew about the relationship between vampires and werewolves was upside down and inside out. She wanted to believe that the military she dedicated the last two years of her life to would never do something so despicable.

But... why? What had they ever done to deserve that loyalty from her? She had given them everything, and the second they could, they turned on her.

"But why you?" she insisted, her voice quivering. "Why wait so long?"

"I was born the same day Nolan Wes left the military. His mate was dead. His faith in his king was frayed. The world was in turmoil after the second world war. My people believed it was a sign. Like I was some chosen one." he let out a nervous, embarrassed chuckle. "So my destiny was laid out before me. I will return the lycanthrope to their full glory."

"What about Raphaël? Why join forces with him?"

"Mutually assured alliances. He helps me kill Nolan Wes, and I help him dethrone Constantine. Then, when it's all over, the vampire that takes the throne will give one of the Counsel seats to us so we can establish our full independence from the shifters."

"Wouldn't Raphaël be the next king?"

"That's the idea. But he is ready to die for his cause and has prepared for that outcome."

"What about you?" Her brow furrowed. "Are you prepared to die for your cause?"

"I was," he sighed again. "I was raised not to fear death. Evelyn could always take the throne as queen if I died. The rightful ruler of the lycans should be a female anyway. She was named after our ancestor, and I believe it is what the elders always wanted."

Goosebumps washed over her skin, and her stomach twisted. "But... what about what you want?" she pulled her knees into the sweater and rocked into herself. "If you spend your whole life doing what people want and expect... who are when it's over?"

"I have no intentions in dying. Not as long as you are here."

Her heart started to pound against her chest, and her throat felt thick. "As long as I'm here," she repeated hoarsely. "And... what if I weren't here?"

"I'm not going to let you die. I will protect you."

Danika slid out of the bed to widen the space between them, wrapping her arms around herself. "You and Evelyn are the only two left in your family, right? The last of your bloodline?"

"As far as we know. There's a chance there might be others, but not likely."

How could she do this to him? To herself? She tried to wall up her emotions, but they came barrelling through anyway. "Then why me?" her voice trembled. "Why are you wasting your time with me? I can't be what you need. I can't give you what you need!"

Aarón tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think that?" there was a hint of his amusement in the question.

"I'm a vampire!" she backed further away. "I'm not a werewolf. I'm not one of the pack!"

"You might not be lycan, Danika, but you are still our family."

"What do you want from me?" Her back hit the wall, and panic lanced through her.

Aarón stayed where he was, but his hands curled into fists. He wanted so badly to touch her. Reassure her. But he wasn't sure if physical affection would make this better. He didn't even know where this was coming from.

"I want you, Danika," he said softly, hoping his tone would soothe her.

"How could you know that? I don't even know who I am!"

The utter despair and loss in her voice bypassed his control. In slow, careful movements, he slid from the bed and walked towards her. Not wanting her to feel cornered, he approached her from the side, leaning his shoulder against the wall until she was within reach. He took her hand in his and lifted it to press flat against his chest. It was long past the time to tell her. "All I know," he said gently. "All I need to know is that you're my soulmate, Danika."

She suddenly went very still, and her eyes widened up at him. "What did you just say?" she asked, her voice barely perceptible. He knew?

"Soulmates," he repeated, his fingers reflexively tightening around hers. "I... I didn't want to say anything. Not the way things are right now."

"But you did..." How did he know?

"You can't tell me you don't feel it," his voice lowered as well. He lifted his other hand and brushed the wayward strands of hair from her face. "The first time I saw you on that dancefloor. That moment our eyes met. It was like... like..."

"Seeing color for the first time." her eyes glistened with tears.

"Yeah," his mouth stretched into a huge smile. "Exactly. The other night when we made love and bit each other... do you have any idea how close we came to bonding? That doesn't just happen to two people having a good time. They have to mean something to each other. You feel something for me. I know you do. And I-"

Her heart seized. "Don't say it!" she gasped.

"Don't say what?" His gaze was intense yet soft. "Don't say that I'm in love with you?"

Her lip trembled, even as heat washed through her shivering body. "You can't be in love with me."

"You are the only woman I can love. I will make you my queen, Danika."

"A queen that isn't even of the same breed? A queen that can't give you an heir?"

"I don't need pups. I just need you."

"But I... I do want kids!"

For the first time, he hesitated. His heart picked up a rapid pace, and the gears in his head ground together. "Okay," he said slowly. "Then we'll get a surrogate. Family doesn't always mean blood. I can make this work. I will make this work."

Danika blinked and stared up at him. "You," the shaking and despair were suddenly gone, replaced with genuine shock. "You would do that?"

"I would do anything for you," he inched closer. "You only need to ask. You only need to tell me what you want."

There was that question again. What do I want? She still didn't know.

She only knew what she didn't want. She didn't want to go back to the military. She would do anything to never go back. It had been made clear to her that she was nothing but a tool to them. It was the same as when she lived with the Templars. But, most of all, she didn't want to be the one to put Aarón's head on the chopping block.

"I want to stay," she took a shuddering breath. "And I want to help."

Large warm hands cupped her cheeks and dragged her eyes up to his. "No," he said sternly. "This isn't your fight."

Aarón didn't know how wrong he was. Everything that had gone wrong in the last few months all extended from an enemy they shared. Nolan Wes. All of it was his fault. They didn't start this war, but she would help him finish it. "You're my soulmate," her head started to clear with the decision forming in her mind. "Your fight is my fight."

An unwitting smile broke across his face, and he pulled her into his embrace. Warmth spread throughout her body. His scent surrounded her. For the first time in her life, she felt welcome. She was home. Broken and scarred... but home.

~