*
He was kept in the facility for another twenty-four hours, so that the doctor could monitor how his body was reacting to the surgeries. He discovered that what had seemed like a few hours of nightmares had, in reality, been twenty-six days of being kept comatose in a suspended animation tank while his body underwent the surgeries and adapted to the mutations. Twenty-six days, gone, while his DNA melded with that of a white wolf, while nameless doctors and scientists turned him into a beast to serve his queen. In that time, the sun had come and gone, plunging the great city of Artemisia into another long night.
The next day, he found a pile of clothes left beside his bed—soft brown pants, a black T-shirt, and plain boots. They fit him perfectly.
He had just finished dressing when he smelled someone coming—the thaumaturge from the day before. His nausea from his new heightened sense of smell had been quelled during the night, but a new sinking, crawling feeling settled in Z’s gut as the thaumaturge entered the room.
Because another sense was missing.
The telltale vibration of energy that his people could perceive and manipulate. It was gone.
His throat clamped. “Something’s wrong with me,” he said before the thaumaturge could speak. “My gift. It’s … I think something’s wrong.”
The thaumaturge stared blankly for a moment, before his expression softened into kindness. The look eased Z’s growing panic. “Yes, I know,” he said. “That is an unfortunate result of the modifications. You see, wild animals do not have the abilities that we do; therefore we must hinder your awareness of bioelectricity so that your Lunar instincts will not interfere with your new wolfish instincts. Don’t be alarmed—you are not powerless. We have simply given you a new tool with which to take advantage of your gift. It will be my job to ensure that all of your instincts and abilities are functioning properly when you’re called on to use them.”
Z licked his lips, finding it awkward to maneuver around his new teeth. He had to shut his eyes to force the wash of bile back down his throat.
They had taken away his Lunar gift. He was as vulnerable as an Earthen now. As useless as a shell. And yet they wanted him to be a soldier?
“We were not properly introduced yesterday,” the thaumaturge continued. “You are to call me Master Jael. You will be known as Beta Kesley until and unless your ranking changes. I am glad to see you dressed. Come then.”
He left the room, and it took Z a scrambling minute to realize he was meant to follow.
“The candidates for special operative status have been given their own training grounds beneath AR-3,” Master Jael said as they left the research facility. Z caught only the briefest glimpse of the glittering white buildings of Artemisia—Luna’s major city—before Jael led him down into the lava tubes beneath the surface. A personal shuttle was waiting for them. “The training grounds consist of separate barracks for each pack, a community dining hall, and a series of training rooms in which you will perform formations and learn fighting techniques. This is also where you will decide your placement in the pack.”
“The pack?”
“Your new family. We have found that your instincts react best when we mimic the hierarchy of wolves in their natural habitat, and so each pack consists of six to fifteen operatives, depending on the mental strength of their thaumaturge.” His grin widened. “You are my fourteenth pack member.”
Z turned away to watch the black regolith walls pass by the shuttle window and tried to pretend that he understood what Master Jael was talking about.
The training grounds were in enormous caverns carved into the lava tubes. When they walked into the main room, Jael’s heels clipping with each step, Z saw that thirteen soldiers were already lined up to greet them, dressed exactly as he was. He guessed their ages ranged from twelve to eighteen or older, and though they stood in perfect posture in a straight line, with their heels together and arms stiff at their sides, Z knew instantly who was their leader. The tallest and the largest and the one whose eyes flashed when they met his.
“Master Jael,” he said, and in unison, all the soldiers clasped a fist to their hearts.
“Alpha Brock. You have a new member joining you today. This is Beta Ze’ev Kesley.”
Z could feel the scrutiny of the soldiers cutting into him. He forced himself to stand up straighter, though it pinched the muscles between his shoulder blades. He took the time to meet each of their gazes, thinking that, though there was a proliferation of unfamiliar aromas in this hall, he could pick out which scents belonged to each of them.
“Beta Kesley,” said Master Jael, “join your pack.”