Chapter 2

The merchant''s name was Silas Grubb, and he smelled of greed, cheap wine, and unwashed flesh. Aiden catalogued the scents automatically, the wolf within him wrinkling its nose in disgust.

"Come on, boy," Grubb said, grabbing Aiden''s arm and dragging him toward a side door of the castle. "We''ve got to make you presentable for His Grace."

The touch was rough, proprietary. Aiden''s instincts screamed at him to break the man''s arm. But he forced himself to stay still, to play the docile merchandise. For now.

They entered a stone-walled room that smelled of soap, steam, and mildew. A large copper tub sat in the center, steam rising from the hot water within. Two servants—a man and a woman—stood waiting, their expressions carefully blank.

"Clean him up," Grubb ordered. "Scrub off the dirt, but don''t damage the merchandise. His Grace paid double, and I want him looking his best."

The female servant, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes, approached cautiously. "We''ll take care of him, sir."

Grubb didn''t leave. He leaned against the wall, watching with a leer that made Aiden''s skin crawl. "Go on then. Strip him."

Aiden''s hands clenched into fists. The silver manacles still burned on his wrists, but the moon-power was there, simmering just beneath the surface. He could break them. He knew he could. The chains had groaned under his flexing earlier.

But breaking free now would mean running. And he wasn''t ready to run. Not yet.

The male servant, a young man with nervous hands, approached. "If you''ll just... raise your arms, sir."

Aiden did. The servant unfastened the rough tunic he wore, pulling it over his head. The cool air hit his skin, and he felt exposed. Vulnerable. But also... powerful. His new body was lean but muscular, with the wiry strength of a predator. Scars crisscrossed his torso—old wounds from Aiden''s life as a captured werewolf.

Grubb whistled. "Look at that. Battle scars. The Duke likes them with a bit of history."

The female servant gasped softly. Her eyes went to a particularly nasty scar across Aiden''s ribs—a silver blade wound, if he was any judge. It had healed poorly, leaving raised, silvery tissue.

"Into the tub," the male servant said gently.

Aiden stepped into the hot water. It should have been soothing, but to his heightened senses, it was almost painfully hot. He hissed, sinking down until the water covered his shoulders.

The female servant took a sponge and soap, beginning to wash his back. Her touch was gentle, professional. But Grubb''s eyes never left him.

"Turn around," Grubb said after a moment. "Let''s see the front."

Aiden didn''t move.

"I said turn around, boy. Or do I need to come over there and turn you myself?"

The threat was clear. Aiden felt the wolf stir within him, a low growl building in his throat. He turned slowly, meeting Grubb''s gaze.

The merchant''s eyes traveled over his body with a possessiveness that made Aiden want to vomit. "Not bad. Not bad at all. The Duke has good taste." He took a step closer. "You know, I could have gotten triple for you on the black market. Werewolves are rare these days. Especially Silver Moons."

Aiden remained silent, his eyes fixed on Grubb''s face.

"The Duke may have bought you, but that doesn''t mean I can''t have a little taste first," Grubb murmured, his voice dropping. "What do you say, boy? A quick tumble before you go to your new master? No one has to know."

The female servant froze, her sponge hovering in mid-air. The male servant looked at the floor, his face pale.

Aiden''s control snapped.

It wasn''t a conscious decision. One moment he was sitting in the tub, the next he was moving. Water exploded as he stood, moving with a speed that shouldn''t have been possible for a human. Or even most werewolves.

He was out of the tub and in front of Grubb before the merchant could blink.

"What—" Grubb started.

Aiden''s hand shot out, fingers wrapping around Grubb''s throat. He didn''t squeeze hard enough to crush—just enough to lift the man off his feet and slam him against the stone wall.

The impact knocked the breath from Grubb''s lungs. His eyes bulged, face turning purple.

"You touch me," Aiden said, his voice low and guttural, "and I''ll rip your throat out with my teeth."

His eyes were glowing. He could feel the heat of them, the silver light reflecting in Grubb''s terrified gaze. The wolf was close to the surface now, snarling and snapping.

The two servants backed away, their faces white with fear.

Grubb made a choking sound, hands clawing at Aiden''s wrist. But Aiden''s grip was iron. Werewolf strength, even suppressed by silver, was more than a match for a fat, greedy merchant.

"I am not merchandise," Aiden growled. "I am not property. And I am certainly not yours to ''taste.'' Do you understand?"

Grubb managed a weak nod.

Aiden released him. The merchant slumped to the floor, gasping for air, clutching his bruised throat.

"Now," Aiden said, turning back to the tub as if nothing had happened. "I believe I was having a bath."

He stepped back into the water, which was now lukewarm. The female servant approached cautiously, sponge in hand.

"Please," she whispered. "Don''t hurt us. We''re just doing our jobs."

"I won''t hurt you," Aiden said, his voice returning to normal. The glow faded from his eyes. "Just finish washing me. I have an appointment with the Duke."

They worked in silence after that, the only sounds the splash of water and Grubb''s ragged breathing from the corner. The merchant didn''t try anything else. He just watched with hate-filled eyes, rubbing his throat.

When Aiden was clean, they helped him out of the tub and dried him with rough linen towels. They produced fresh clothing—simple servant''s garb of dark trousers and a white shirt, but of good quality fabric.

"No," Grubb croaked from his corner. "Not that. The Duke said to bring him to his chambers. Bring the fancy ones."

The male servant nodded and left, returning with different clothing. These were finer—black trousers that fit perfectly, a white shirt of soft cotton, and a dark waistcoat. No jacket. The Duke wanted to see what he''d bought, apparently.

As they dressed him, Aiden caught his reflection in a small, tarnished mirror on the wall. The face looking back was unfamiliar. Young. Too young. Seventeen, if the memories were correct. High cheekbones, sharp jawline, and those eyes—normally a pale gray, but with the distinctive silver flecks of the Silver Moon bloodline. When he called on his power, they would glow like molten metal.

He looked nothing like Allen Silvermoon. Allen had been thirty-five, weathered from years of hunting, with scars and lines that spoke of hard living. This body was... pretty. Delicate almost. But the strength was there, coiled beneath the surface.

"Ready," the female servant said, stepping back.

Grubb pushed himself to his feet, still massaging his throat. "Remember what I said, boy. The Duke may own you now, but I have friends in this castle. Cross me, and you''ll regret it."

Aiden met his gaze. "Try me."

For a moment, they stared each other down. Then Grubb looked away first, muttering something under his breath.

"Take him to the Duke''s chambers," Grubb said to the servants. "And remember—if anyone asks, he fell in the bath. Understood?"

The servants nodded quickly.

The male servant led Aiden out of the bathing room and into a labyrinth of stone corridors. Torches flickered in sconces, casting dancing shadows on the walls. The castle was huge, a maze of passages and staircases that spoke of centuries of construction and renovation.

As they walked, Aiden catalogued everything. Exits. Windows. Guards'' positions. Old habits died hard. A hunter always knew his environment.

They climbed a wide staircase, the stone steps worn smooth by generations of feet. Tapestries lined the walls, depicting battles and hunting scenes. The air grew warmer, the smells changing from damp stone and mildew to beeswax polish, old books, and... something else.

Alexander''s scent.

It was faint here, but growing stronger as they ascended. Leather and bergamot, old paper and ink, and beneath it all, that wild, earthy note that had called to the wolf in the courtyard.

His body responded immediately. A low thrum started in his blood, a pull toward the source of that scent. The wolf within him stirred, interested.

Down, Aiden told it silently. Not yet.

They reached a heavy oak door at the end of a corridor. Two guards stood outside, their expressions impassive. They wore the Duke''s livery—dark blue with silver trim.

"The Duke''s new servant," Aiden''s escort said, his voice trembling slightly.

One of the guards nodded, rapping sharply on the door.

"Enter."

The voice from within was Alexander''s. But colder. More formal than Aiden remembered.

The guard opened the door, and Aiden stepped through.

The Duke''s private chambers were exactly what he''d expected—and nothing like what he''d expected. The room was large, dominated by a massive four-poster bed hung with dark velvet curtains. A fire crackled in a marble fireplace, casting warm light over bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes, a large oak desk scattered with papers, and several comfortable-looking chairs.

But it was the man standing by the fireplace who held Aiden''s attention.

Alexander—the Duke—had changed out of the dark clothing he''d worn in the courtyard. Now he wore a dressing gown of deep burgundy silk over trousers and an open-collared shirt. He held a glass of amber liquid in one hand, and he was staring into the fire as if it held answers to questions Aiden couldn''t begin to guess.

"Your Grace," Aiden''s escort said, bowing low. "The... the new servant."

The Duke didn''t turn. "Leave us."

The servant bowed again and backed out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Silence.

Aiden stood just inside the door, waiting. The Duke continued to stare into the fire, sipping his drink. The only sounds were the crackle of the flames and the steady tick of a clock somewhere in the room.

Finally, the Duke spoke without turning. "Come here."

Aiden approached slowly. The scent was stronger here, almost overwhelming. Leather, bergamot, whiskey, and that wild undercurrent. His body reacted despite himself—heart beating faster, senses sharpening.

The Duke turned as he approached. Up close, in the firelight, he was even more striking than Aiden remembered. Handsome in a severe, aristocratic way. Dark hair swept back from a high forehead. Sharp cheekbones. A mouth that looked like it didn''t smile often. And those eyes—dark, intense, studying Aiden with a focus that felt like a physical touch.

"You cleaned up well," the Duke said, his gaze traveling over Aiden from head to toe. "The Silver Moon eyes are... distinctive."

Aiden said nothing. What was there to say?

"The merchant. Grubb." The Duke took another sip of his drink. "He came to my steward complaining. Said you attacked him. Broke two of his ribs, if his story is to be believed."

Aiden remained silent.

"Is it true?" the Duke asked.

"Does it matter?" Aiden finally spoke, his voice quiet. "You bought me. I''m your property now. Do with me what you will."

The Duke''s eyes narrowed. "That''s not an answer."

"He tried to touch me," Aiden said flatly. "I discouraged him."

A faint smile touched the Duke''s lips. It didn''t reach his eyes. "I see. And how, exactly, did you ''discourage'' him?"

"I showed him what happens when you treat a werewolf like merchandise."

The smile vanished. "You admit it, then. You''re a werewolf."

"You already knew that when you bought me."

"I knew you had Silver Moon blood. There''s a difference." The Duke set his glass on the mantelpiece. "Full werewolves are dangerous. Unpredictable. They lose control during the full moon, become mindless beasts."

"I''m not a mindless beast," Aiden said.

"Aren''t you?" The Duke took a step closer. "What are you, then? A boy playing at being dangerous? Or something else?"

The distance between them had shrunk to less than an arm''s length. Aiden could feel the heat radiating from the Duke''s body, could smell the whiskey on his breath. The wolf within him stirred again, not in fear or aggression, but in... curiosity.

"I''m what you bought," Aiden said, holding the Duke''s gaze. "Whatever that is."

The Duke reached out. Aiden forced himself not to flinch this time. Fingers touched his chin again, tilting his face up just as they had in the courtyard. But this touch was different. Not assessing. Not evaluating merchandise.

Searching.

"Your eyes," the Duke murmured, his thumb brushing just below Aiden''s left eye. "I''ve seen eyes like that before. In a dream. Or a memory."

Aiden''s breath caught. "What memory?"

The Duke''s expression clouded. He dropped his hand, turning back to the fire. "Nothing. A headache. They''ve been getting worse lately."

"Headaches?"

"Since I saw you in the courtyard." The Duke picked up his glass again, draining the last of the whiskey. "Strange, isn''t it? A werewolf boy appears, and suddenly I''m having dreams I can''t explain. Memories that don''t make sense."

Aiden''s heart was pounding now. "What kind of memories?"

The Duke turned, his eyes meeting Aiden''s. In the firelight, they looked almost black. "Of a man. A hunter. Teaching me things. Showing me how to track, how to fight. How to kill creatures like you."

The words hung in the air between them.

"And?" Aiden prompted, his voice barely a whisper.

"And then I killed him." The Duke''s expression was unreadable. "In the memory, I put a silver bullet through his heart. On orders. Because that''s what good soldiers do. They follow orders."

Aiden couldn''t breathe. The room seemed to spin around him. He was back in that forest clearing, looking up at Alexander''s face, feeling the silver burn through his chest.

"Why are you telling me this?" he managed.

"Because you look at me like you know me," the Duke said softly. "And when I look at you, I see his face. Not yours. His. The man I killed."

The clock ticked. The fire crackled.

Somewhere in the castle, a bell began to toll. Midnight.

The Duke shook his head as if clearing it. "Enough of this. You''re here to serve, not to stir up old ghosts." He gestured toward a door on the far side of the room. "Your room is through there. Small, but it connects to mine. I''ll have duties for you in the morning."

Aiden didn''t move. "That''s it? You''re not going to... inspect your purchase?"

The Duke''s eyes darkened. "What did Grubb tell you?"

"That you wanted to inspect me personally."

A slow smile spread across the Duke''s face. It wasn''t a nice smile. "Oh, I will. But not tonight. Tonight, I have other matters to attend to." He picked up a stack of papers from his desk. "Go to your room, Aiden Silvermoon. We''ll begin your... training tomorrow."

It was a dismissal. Clear and final.

Aiden bowed slightly—not the deep bow of a servant, but a slight inclination of the head. Then he turned and walked toward the connecting door.

As he reached for the handle, the Duke spoke again. "One more thing."

Aiden paused, looking back.

"The merchant. Grubb." The Duke''s expression was cold. "If he bothers you again, you have my permission to do more than break his ribs. Understood?"

Aiden nodded. "Understood."

He opened the door and stepped into the small room beyond. It was indeed small—just a narrow bed, a washstand, and a single window looking out over the moonlit courtyard. But it was clean, and it was his.

He closed the door, leaning against it. His heart was still racing, his senses overloaded with Alexander''s scent, Alexander''s presence just on the other side of the wall.

The wolf within him was fully awake now. Pacing. Restless.

And the moon outside the window was one day closer to full.

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