Chapter 5

I remember everything.

Five years ago, in the final battle of the Blood Moon War, Liliana fell into the Abyss protecting him. Her fate unknown.

He went mad. Plunged alone into the Abyss to find her.

He didn't find Liliana. He nearly died.

By the time I found him, he was sprawled across a slick rock, drained of almost all his blood.

I'd grown up in a cave in the Abyss, raised by an old lone wolf. The old wolf rarely spoke and barely watched over me. Most days, it simply lay at the mouth of the cave, soaking up the rare shaft of light that filtered in. I'd lie beside it—two lonely shadows overlapping.

There was no one else in the Abyss. The old wolf was my entire world.

The day it died, it turned my hand over and carved a rune into my palm with its claw.

It said: "When the day comes that the pain is more than you can bear, clench your fist. It will answer."

I asked when the pain would be more than I could bear.

It didn't answer.

Then it closed its eyes.

After the old wolf died, I lived alone in the Abyss.

The days passed slowly. So slowly that sometimes I couldn't tell today from yesterday.

Adrian was the first outsider I'd ever seen in my life.

I carried him back to my cave. He was more than a head taller than me, and I nearly fell several times. I laid him on the stone bed where the old wolf used to sleep, packed his worst wounds with moss and wet clay, then pressed my palm against his chest.

The next instant, the savage gash across his chest began closing at visible speed—torn flesh knitting together, the flow of blood slowing to a stop.

In that same moment, my heartbeat spiked. My fingertips went numb and tingling.

I didn't understand what that was.

Growing up in the Abyss, I'd never learned what it meant to find your fated mate.

Three days later, he woke.

He stared at my face, stunned and dazed.

I waved a hand in front of his eyes. "You're awake?"

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Elaine."

He repeated the name. Then he passed out again.

As his wounds healed, he began talking to me. Telling me about the outside world, about his tribe.

He said the Silvercrown tribe had a castle, walls built from white stone quarried deep in the mountains—from a distance, it looked like a silver crown. He said that on nights of the full moon, every wolf in the tribe would shift and run together, hundreds strong, racing through the forest under the moonlight, their howls carrying for miles.

I was mesmerized.

There was nothing in the Abyss.

When he told me these things, I'd sit beside him, chin propped on my knees, watching him without blinking. When the stories were good, I'd smile. When they turned dangerous, my eyes would go wide.

He looked at my expression and gave a quiet, fleeting smile.

That was probably the first time he ever smiled at me.

One night, we drank a little.

He wasn't as distant as usual. He leaned against the stone wall, eyes half-lidded, and suddenly pulled me into his arms.

I froze.

His warmth seeped through the fabric. My heart slammed once, hard. I didn't know if I should push him away. I didn't know where to put my hands when someone was holding you.

Then he lowered his head and murmured a name against my ear.

"Liliana."

I heard it.

I thought he'd misspoken—he'd been drinking, after all, and his words were slurring. So I tilted my face up earnestly, looked into his eyes, and corrected him, word by word:

"My name is Elaine."

He blinked.

His gaze traveled from my brow to the tip of my nose, from my nose to my lips.

Then he leaned down, close to my ear, and said my name—clearly, deliberately:

"Elaine."