Elena awoke to the sharp scent of pine smoke and the faint crackle of fire. For a moment, she was suspended between dream and waking, the lingering memory of glowing eyes and howling wind blurring with the flickering shadows around her.
She sat up slowly, the soft rustle of thick fur brushing her skin. The bed beneath her was made of wood and layered with pelts, warm and surprisingly soft. Her head ached, her limbs heavy and sore as if she'd been dragged through the forest.
She looked down. Her clothes were different—coarse wool, leather, laced at the wrists and waist. Stained. Worn. *Not hers.*
The stone walls surrounding her were lit by a single fire burning in a hearth carved with ornate wolf symbols. The air held the scent of moss, ash, and something faintly metallic. Her satchel was nowhere in sight.
But the pendant—still there. Hanging against her chest. Glowing softly.
"Elena Carter," she whispered aloud, trying to ground herself in the sound of her own name.
"You shouldn't be here," came a deep voice from across the room.
She turned sharply.
A man stood by the fire, tall and broad-shouldered, his silhouette sharp against the flames. His hair was dark as midnight, falling in waves around his shoulders, and his skin was sun-kissed and scarred. But it was his eyes that rooted her in place—piercing amber, almost gold, and unmistakably inhuman.
The same eyes that had watched her in the forest.
"You wear *her* pendant," he said, his tone unreadable. He didn't approach—yet—but there was a coiled power in the way he held himself, like a predator deciding if the thing in front of him was prey or threat.
Elena swallowed, her throat dry. "Who are you?"
He stepped closer, boots heavy against the stone floor. "I am King Lucien Draven. Ruler of the Carpathian Lycans."
She blinked, the words not quite making sense. "That's not possible."
"And yet..." He studied her like one might examine a blade pulled from ancient stone. "Here you are. Time-tossed. Moonborn. Unless..." His head tilted, and something flickered behind his eyes. "You're a witch."
"I'm just a historian," she whispered, the words automatic—useless.
Lucien's mouth curved, just barely. "Then history has a cruel sense of humor."
She didn't know whether to be afraid or angry. "I don't understand. I touched the pendant during the eclipse and then... the forest... the wolf..."
"You crossed through," Lucien said simply. "The moon opens doors for those it favors. Or curses."
"You're saying... this is real?" Her voice cracked. "This is 1812?"
Lucien gave a short nod. "Carpathian territory. And you're wearing the pendant of the Lycan Queen—a relic not worn for over a century. That makes you a very dangerous mystery."
Before she could speak, the door opened behind him. A group of men entered—armed, weathered, their clothes similar to Lucien's, and their expressions uncertain.
"She woke," Lucien said without turning.
"She was alone when we found her, my king," one of them said. "No sign of a village girl. She collapsed near the southern border. Pendant was glowing like wildfire."
Elena's breath caught.
Lucien finally turned fully to face her, and in that moment, she saw something more than suspicion in his eyes—recognition.
"You're not just lost," he said quietly. "Something brought you here. Something powerful. The moon doesn't waste its magic."
As she sat frozen, trying to understand, a low growl echoed from outside—long, deep, and territorial. The others stiffened.
Lucien's gaze snapped toward the sound, then back to her. "Your presence is stirring things that have long slept."
Elena clutched the pendant instinctively. It was warm again. Hot, even. And underneath her skin, something stirred—something old and wordless and wild.
"What's happening to me?" she asked, voice shaking.
Lucien stepped closer, his gaze intense. "You crossed a threshold few ever do. And now? Now the past will not let you leave."