The throb of a pulse came to her first, shrinking the overwhelming darkness. Giving it shape, giving it a sense of time. Her pulse, she realized. Her heartbeat. Then her lungs convulsed, choking on gritty ash.

She fought for air, lashing out until her claws scraped against brick and then a plush carpet. With a convulsive lurch, she pulled herself away from the cold cinders and panted in deep breaths. Her fur bristled as smells pressed in, sharp and revealing.

The chill of underground stone layered with traces of countless visitors—most faint with age, but a few raw and fresh. The rot of a body that had never made it out of the room. Old sweat souring on bedsheets. And most strongly, dried blood revealing the agony of its owner—herself. Alice.

That's who I am. Alice.

The thought cut through her confusion, and she began moving with purpose, sniffing through the darkness until she picked out used candle wax, each hardened trail brimming with the different scents of the original beehives. The nearby matches were easy to find, caustic with sulphur. She changed form without thinking, needing several tries to light the candles. Her fingers continued to shake as their warm glow illuminated the room.

She saw the body first. Bloated, savaged, unknown to her beyond the lingering sting of magic. A biting smell, much worse than that of rotting flesh because of what it made her remember: the witches circling her while the hag king loomed above. The blade of a knife gleaming close to her face. And then...

Her scream shattered the air as the rest all rushed back into her mind. Then she screamed again. Not out of helplessness or panic—no, her heart burned so hotly that the rest of her body felt ready to ignite. Her rage consumed the sullen traces of the hag king and the glee from his witches as she turned away from the corpse, baring her teeth at the stained bed.

The movement brought her close enough to the empty hearth to catch a scent she could never forget. Colton. Her next breath came out as a gasp. She clutched the mantelpiece, fingers matching the traces of scent left behind by his. Then the nuances grew clear; a fury hotter than any fire, a savage mindlessness that smelled unbreakable.

She didn't realize she was crying until wetness stung her cheeks. As she slowly sank to her knees by the fireplace, she looked at the scattered cinders and then at the ash smearing her skin. She could smell her own death, and knew he would have as well. Worst of all, she could smell his wracking guilt that he hadn't found her in time.

"You did," she said, even though she was alone in the room. "I heard you calling."

Just then, she heard a whisper of noise. The lightest of footsteps. Yet it was the new scent that sent her upright, a scent that was more like a presence with its vast age and sharp teeth. A vargr, one she didn't know.

Slipping back into the nearest corner and its shadows, she willed herself to change. In her rush to reach the protection of fang and fur, she didn't even notice the smoothness of her shift. The stranger reached the doorway, in human form and already cautious.

When he stepped through, she lunged, jaws finding an arm thrown out to protect his throat. She bit until she tasted blood and then ducked away, circling to face him as he swore. Her snarl warned him that she was ready to rip him apart.

In response, he flicked on the lights and examined his savaged arm with a grimace. He looked lean and sharp in his suit, but he was also unshaven and missing his tie, and watched her with more wariness than she would have expected as he said, "You bite hard for a female. No wonder Edric sniveled."

Her growl deepened at the sound of the name.

He quickly added, "Look, I'm here to help. I partner with the coven on other things, but I was against this fucking idea from the beginning. Do you know what happened to you?"

After a hesitation, she returned to the shadows, keeping the bed between them. Then she shifted back into her skin. "I died. I refused him and they killed me. I didn't see you in this room, but I can smell your presence everywhere."

He nodded, flexing his arm and wiping off the blood with a nearby drape. "This is my club. I didn't find out what happened until it was too late."

She eyed him, taking in his disheveled state. He looked like he'd spent hours traveling. "And once you did, you fled."

"Well, you were fucking charcoal. I didn't think there was any way of fixing their stupidity."

"You're not very nice," she said, and then pulled the nearest sheet free and wrapped it around herself. Some part of her hated that it brought the hag king's scent close to her skin, but she was also shivering and feeling more miserable by the minute as memories of what had happened pressed in.

The vargr laughed. "You'd rip into me again if I tried to be. I can smell it. You don't trust 'nice,' but that's obvious, considering who you picked for a lover."

Urgency swept aside all caution. "Do you know Colton? Do you know where he is?"

Each question sent him back a step. "No offense, but don't get too close. I don't want him ripping my head off because our scents mingled. I can give you everything you need to get to him."

"Why should I believe that? You could be tricking me. You could still be working with the coven."

"You tell me. You can smell lies."

She'd already sensed his age, but now the frustration that stemmed from it reached her. He fully understood how history repeated itself, locked to human behavior and the hunting patterns of those who preyed on it. "You're terrified. You saw all this coming and no one listened."

"Gold star for you," he muttered, already on his phone.

She brushed aside his sarcasm, too intent on what was important. "Colton. Is he all right? Did they hurt him?"

He laughed without looking up. "He's butchered all the covens from Amsterdam down into fucking Rome. They can't do shit to him."

"I need to find him."

"Five minutes and I can have everything set up."

"No." She moved for the door, not wanting to waste any more time.

He slid away, keeping a wide berth between them, but followed her out in the hall. "No?"

"Just because I think you're being sincere doesn't mean I'm going take whatever you offer." The hallway stretched ahead into the darkness, but hints of fresh air already reached her.

"What do you want?" he said, sounding resigned. A grim note had joined his scent—the expectation of her turning out like all the other witches he'd known, demanding more. Just because of what she meant to Colton, she had him by the balls. He knew it, and he expected her to know it and use it.

She stopped to look at him. "I don't care about any of that," she said, knowing he'd understand what she referred to. "If I did, I would have accepted the hag king's offer."

For the first time, the sardonic glint left his eyes. "You really are different. Maybe that's why you were able to change."

When she only stared, he added, "What do you think you are? You said it yourself: you died. What's the only thing that comes back from its grave?"

It made it real, saying the words out loud. "A vargr."

Then she shuddered, only now beginning to understand how her life had changed. "They didn't do this to me. The coven. They wouldn't know how. I just remember... spitting his blood into his face and feeling like I was doing more. That whatever they did to me wouldn't stick. I don't know. I never learned anything about being a witch."

"They take. But you've figured that out already."

The sourness to his voice made her glance up again. She had his scent but still didn't quite understand him. "Why do you want to help me?"

"I was being a little... glib earlier. He's unstoppable right now. No one's going to hurt him. But he's gone mad. Probably can't even speak at this point."

Her heart clenched even as she remembered the distinctive mindlessness in Colton's scent by the fireplace. "How are you so sure?"

"I've seen it before. Not with him. It was another vargr, maybe one you've met. The miserable bastard in the peat bog."

"Ambrose," she murmured.

The other vargr nodded. "I met him after he lost his girl and went on a rampage, killing all the Druids he could find. He didn't recognize anyone or anything. Completely mindless. He hasn't been right in the head since."

Her voice cracked. "Where's Colton?"

"He's butchering the Serrano coven in Naples. Their den looks like an abandoned church in the slums. Just follow your nose. Or the screams." Then he carefully moved past her and unlocked one of the many red doors stretching down the hallway. It revealed what looked like a billiards room, but she could smell the grimy paper of money.

She remained in the doorway while he circled the pool table, opening secret compartments in it and withdrawing a stack of Euro banknotes. A passport and credit card quickly followed. Without looking up, he said, "He knows you died in my club, and you're the only one who can possibly snap him out of his bloodrage. Believe me, helping you is entirely selfish on my part."

"All right. I still don't trust you enough to let you book any flights or trains for me, but I'll take those and some clothes."

"All I have is extra uniforms for the staff." Then he took a pool cue and pushed the pile over to the end of the table closest to her. "Tell him I helped you and I had nothing to do with taking and killing you. The name is Adair."

She nodded.

"Adair," he insisted. "It's A-D-A—"

"I'll remember it." She felt almost calm now, all her focus on finding Colton as soon as possible.

The inner quiet lasted longer than expected, disappearing into the rawness of her heart only when she began searching for Colton's scent. Fearless despite the unfamiliar streets. Intent despite the crowds of people muddying her sight and sense of smell.

Adair's description proved true. The old church looked in absolute disrepair. She found her way inside through a broken window. The reek of blood overwhelmed the rotten wood of the pews and the mold and droppings from bird nests in the rafters. Screaming could be heard somewhere below.

It didn't take long to find a door in the ground that opened to stone stairs set in a dank tunnel. She smelled the warlock and his witches, their desperation as withered as their magic. Then she caught Colton's scent, searing and blood-filled, and hurried down.

The stairs opened to a massive stone room decorated with marble statues and tapestries. There were also empty pedestals, and crumpled suits of armor that tugged at her memory. Her attention then jumped to a long, wooden table offering a terrible feast. Opened skulls and gnawed rib bones waited among grapes and cheese. Crystal glasses held both blood and wine. Several chairs were knocked over, their ivory upholstery splattered red.

Then she looked down to the far end of the room and felt her heart jump in her chest. A gaping maw of a hearth breathed flames, reducing the black wolf to a silhouette as he ripped at the twitching hands of a body. He was so covered in blood that it dripped from his fur.

At her gasp, he looked at her, falling still.

Her breath turned shallow, but not because she was frightened. "Colton."

When she started to approach, he growled—a violent, mindless sound. His emptiness smelled absolute.

"It's me," she said, stopping again. "It's not some trick of theirs."

He just snarled, teeth flashing.

"Colton..." She swallowed hard, wondering how much of him had been lost with her. From his scent, he had willed himself into complete hollowness, filled only with rage.

When she spoke again, her voice shook. "I'm not scared of you. I never was. The first time I saw you, it was through the window of a rundown cabin. It was night, and I was scared of lying there alone and wishing I was someone else while the hours crawled by. Then you appeared. I thought you were just a wolf coming out of the woods, but when you looked at me, I forgot what it felt like to be afraid."

The black wolf had fallen silent, moving closer with the slow, stiff movements of a predator uncertain what to do.

She didn't flinch back, even with all the savaged bodies surrounding her. "You didn't scare me when you killed Magdalene, either. Do you remember the first time we went somewhere together after her death? It was to grocery store. We were out of food. You told me to pick my favorite type of coffee because you liked anything, and I stood there for ten minutes, not knowing what to do. I'd never had the chance to find out what I liked, much less drink it.

"And I remember being so scared because I realized I didn't know how to have my own life. I'd spent too many years under someone else's control. How could I be a functioning person if I cried while trying to choose coffee? You came back ten minutes later and found me panicking because I still hadn't picked one. Do you remember what you said? You were so calm about it. Everything about living suddenly seemed so terrifying. Everything except you."

Something flickered in those feral eyes, but before she could recognize it, one of the bodies off to her left suddenly cracked some of its bones back into place, its armor gleaming as it reached for a nearby knife.

The black wolf was on it before the blade could do more than point at her. She kept very still as he changed form to wrench the head off. Then he took the dagger from the body's quivering hand and stabbed it into a crack between the armor, snapping it off at the hilt.

In the dim, erratic lighting, she couldn't see his face when he approached, empty-handed but still with that careful hunter's step. Blood dripped down his jaw and chest as she looked at him, feeling her eyes burn. "Colton. Please, come back to me."

He still showed no reaction to his name as he leaned in close, taking in her scent, but she kept facing him, kept her throat exposed to those dangerous teeth. "I heard you howling for me. The coven tried everything they could to make me forget you, but I still heard your call. Do you think I could have resisted the hag king if you hadn't shown me how to use my teeth? Do you think you don't save me every day just by being in my life?"

At last, the tears came, and she roughly wiped at her face before looking up at him again, leaving her mouth inches from his. "I used to be so afraid of disappearing like my mother, of being called away to somewhere where I'd never be found. But then I realized nothing could keep me from finding my way back to you. Now I'm here, and I don't know how this happened or what it's done to me, and I'm terrified. But you don't scare me. I will never be scared of you."

Then her eyes blurred over too much to see. Her heart was in worse agony than when the hag king's antlers had pierced it through, and her next breath came out as a raw, ugly cry, all words spent.

Thumbs brushed the tears from her raw cheeks. Then his deep voice pressed against her lips, hoarse yet steady. "Alice."

She clung to him, crying into his bloodied neck while he held her tightly, as if she were a phantom that might yet fade. He was covered in gore; she, in the lingering ashes of her grave. It didn't matter. He touched her with exquisite tenderness, as if memorizing every inch of her body. As if he would never be complete again without feeling her against him.

She touched him with equal care, finding his new scars and unshaven jaw. It left her fingers bloody, but he licked them clean, gaze still on her face. She shivered, ready to replace the ache of tears with the sting of his teeth. Her yelp of protest filled the room when he pulled back with a shake of his head. "Not here. We'll go somewhere safe."

"To rest?" she said, realizing he probably hadn't stopped his rampage from the moment she was taken.

At that, he pulled her close again, fingers brushing the hair by her cheek. "No. So I can fuck you for hours."

Some of the usual flatness had returned to his voice, but the look in his eyes was still raw, as if he wouldn't quite believe she was there until he had tasted every part of her.

She nodded, feeling exhausted, and grimy, and beautifully alive.