The air froze her lungs as the girl sucked in each ragged breath; a sharp contrast to the numbness spreading across the soles of her bare feet as snow crunched beneath each fleeting step.

A flash of water appeared through the canopy of trees as she ran past. A splash of blue in the corner of her eye. Then another, giving her a glimpse of the delicate ice forming on the still surface. The sense of urgency propelling her forward increased; she was nearly there.

Impatient to reach her final destination she grew careless, her bare arms brushing past evergreen branches heavy with snow. The sudden movement freed them from their burdens with a dull thud and she flinched; skidding to a halt and turning towards the sound as though something had jumped out of the nearby bushes towards her.

Nothing moved. The forest around her remained still and silent in the pale morning light.

The brief pause gave the chill time to settle into her bones. Ripples of pain ran through her tense muscles, reminding her small frame that she wasn't dressed appropriately for such weather. She forced herself to keep moving.

Without warning the canopy cleared, opening up onto the rocky shore of the loch. As she left the safety of the tree line behind, her feet protested the change between the soft carpet of pine needles on the forest floor and the smooth, icy solidity of the stones.

In the early morning light, the overnight snowfall glimmered across the pebbles, trespassing over the edges of the ice. It was the first snow of the season, and it camouflaged the water's edge so perfectly that it would be easy to step out onto the loch without realising the ground beneath her was no longer firm.

She allowed herself to slow to a stop, scanning the loch for signs of life. There was no evidence that either man or wolf had set foot in the fresh snow. Eleanor was the first to arrive. All she had to do now was wait for the others. For her parents. For her pack.

This was the meeting point. Where her parents had taught her to run in times of danger. Startled from her sleep, she'd followed her father's urgent cry without question: "Run, Eleanor! We'll be right behind you."

Her heart hammered in her chest as she crouched down by one of the larger boulders, her thin night dress doing nothing to shield her from the elements.

The faint smell of smoke drifted across the frozen water, and her eyes were drawn to the other side of the loch where the tall chimney stacks in their village poked up between the trees...

"Hannah?" A familiar voice drew her back to the warmth of the study; the ice and snow replaced by a roaring fire and dancing shadows.

As her vision began to clear, she blinked, trying to clear her head of the brief flash of memory. Just like before, she experienced a blissful moment of release, the pain in her head reluctantly receding.

"Just breathe, Hannah." The rich tones of Blake's voice warmed her deep inside and she attempted a reassuring smile, though she suspected it came out more like a grimace.

"Eleanor?" Another voice cried out; younger, with a Scottish lilt that had thickened in his distress. "What's wrong with her?"

"She'll be alright, just give her a minute." Despite his calm tone, Hannah heard the tension flowing through Blake's words.

"She looks so pale..." Dylan's voice, by contrast, was cracked and anxious. Hannah found herself irritated that he was interrupting Blake's smooth, calming tone in her ears.

"It happens sometimes. A lasting effect from her injury... and the shock of two strangers telling her that her pack is dead," he added under his breath with more than a hint of suppressed irritation.

As her breathing calmed down and the pain returned to its usual dull throb, Hannah focused on Blake's continued explanation of the after effects of her injury. She was quick to notice how he avoided any mention of her returning memories; clearly, he wanted that information to remain hidden from them. A subtle warning flowed through his voice that she was sure was directed towards her. She wasn't sure why he would want to conceal it from her family, but she trusted him enough to follow along... for now.

"Should I call for the pack doctor?" Dylan was asking, a slight edge of hysteria developing in his voice.

"He can't help her. She must have forgotten to take her medication this morning."

"Be sure to give us a good supply of them pills before we leave," boomed the unconcerned voice of her uncle from his chair by the fire. Unlike Blake and Dylan, he'd made no move towards her when her episode began; watching the scene unfold with piercing eyes.

"I hardly think now is the right time to discuss that, do you?" Blake snapped, unable to retain his calm exterior. To the two outsiders, his voice only expressed his growing irritation, but Hannah could hear the subtle edge of worry behind the snap.

She opened her eyes. Two faces hovered in close proximity. She looked bewilderedly between the two men; both of them sporting matching expressions of concern.

"I'm - I'm alright," she attempted to reassure them. She caught Blake's eye, letting him know she had heeded his warning. "The pain is fading."

As soon as he had satisfied himself that her attack had passed, Blake moved away from her, allowing Dylan to take his place on the sofa beside her.

The young wolf took both her hands in his and she stared at them in confusion; a sense of loss washing over her as the Alpha returned to his place by the window.

"Are you sure you're alright, Elen - Hannah?" Dylan asked. "Do you need a glass of water?"

She looked up at him, her mind still struggling to comprehend why he was comforting her and not Blake. "No... no, it's alright, I'm fine. Really. The headaches come and go. The Alpha" - she placed a certain amount of emphasis on his formal title, not bothering to conceal the hurt in her voice - "is right. In all the excitement, I forgot my medication this morning."

Her uncle flashed shrewd eyes towards Blake, and shifted in his chair, his expression full of speculation.

"If you're sure..." Dylan said uncertainly as she pulled her hands away from his with a small smile.

"I am," she confirmed, a new note of determination running through her voice. Gritting her teeth she turned to her uncle and studied his face. Framed by the glow from the fire, he'd lost the pampered look of the average socialite; the shadows making his expression harsh and rough like chiselled stone.

"My parents are dead," she said bluntly, more a painful acknowledgment than a question.

He held her stare with one of his own. "Yes."

"During a massacre." she swallowed, forcing her thoughts away from the resurfaced memory.

Her uncle's eyes flickered. "Yes."

She leaned forward. "Did you avenge them?" she asked fiercely, surprising herself with the level of savagery in her voice. She saw Blake glance in her direction out of the corner of her eye, but ignored him.

Her uncle leaned towards her, his expression intent. "Yes," he told her, his voice harsh but sincere. "With a river of blood."

There a moment of silence.

"Good," she said finally. "That's all I want to remember." For now. The who and the why can wait for another time, she added silently.

Her uncle sat back, a new, thoughtful expression hovering around his face as he watched his niece from the comfort of his leather armchair.

Blake remained in the shadows, his eyes locked on the rain that was slowly giving up the fight outside.

The next hour moved ridiculously slowly. Under a cloak of constant scrutiny, Dylan and Hannah sat in uncomfortable silence, stealing furtive glances at one another. Every so often, Dylan would open his mouth to say something; the words forming on his lips only to glance furtively at his father or Blake and lapse back into an awkward silence without a word escaping him.

Blake's dark and brooding eyes watched over them, distrust dancing behind the fire in his eyes. Her uncle's stare was equally intent; every reaction analysed for a sign she might have retained any of her memories.

Hannah increasingly began to feel like a teenager at a high-school dance - one where the chaperones hovered far too close for comfort. She wondered if they both knew they were making it impossible to broach the questions she desperately wanted to ask Dylan.

The two men maintained an air of strained civility; Angus filling the abysmal silence with random questions about the pack, the weather and, much to Hannah's chagrin, he waxed lyrical about Syrus every chance he got. As far as Angus was concerned, he was the wonderful, generous Alpha who took them in, healed him up and helped his son reunite with his missing mate.

His descriptions seemed more than a little disjointed from the picture painted during the Blackridge council of war. But Hannah supposed Syrus must be capable of being charming as well, so good was he with manipulation. Still, she winced every time his name came up.

Blake's responses were clipped and to the point. It didn't take long to realise that, while Angus kept his tone light and jovial, he also avoided answering any and all questions Blake directed at him in return.

As time past, Hannah could see the shadow of a twitch developing in the corner of his eye, and she threw a silent prayer towards the Goddess that Blake's famous patience could hold out.

Eventually, it became clear to everyone that no progress would be made while they all sat together in one room. Sharp enough to realise that Blake wasn't nearly as impartial as he had expected him to be, it was Angus who proposed a change of scenery.

"Well," he began in a jovial tone that failed to match his expression. "Let's leave them to get re-acquainted properly, shall we?" He stood up, as though the decision were already made, and shot his son a penetrating look.

His assumption reminded Hannah that her uncle was a man used to getting his own way.

"You and I should discuss any reparations we owe your pack for the care of my niece." Angus directed this towards Blake who tried hard to hide the disgust that flitted across his features.

"We demand no reparations, Maclerie" he stated firmly, avoiding Hannah's shocked gaze.

"Laird Maclerie," her uncle corrected, his chin jutting out a little.

Dylan winced his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but kept his lips pressed firmly together while the silence stretched between them.

Blake stared tersely into the distance for a moment then, to Hannah's surprise, nodded stiffly, leading the way to the door. He glanced at her as he passed and she made sure to shoot him a resentful look in return.

You're leaving me?

He seemed to recoil slightly from her admonishing glare, but it didn't prevent him from leaving the room - her uncle trailing behind with a smile of satisfaction. The door clicked softly behind them.

"Eleanor..." Dylan started almost immediately, one hand nervously rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Please," she snapped, her patience wearing thin. "Stop calling me that."

His face flashed confusion, then hurt.

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "I just... I don't know why, but it doesn't feel like my name. In all my memories... I'm Hannah."

"Hannah," he corrected himself with a rueful grin. "You know, the moment they told me the name of the girl they'd found... I knew it was you. Only you could turn up with no memories, but still recall the name of your wolf."

My wolf? she thought, startled out of her irritation by the new revelation.

He chuckled lightly, raking a hand through the red hair that looked so similar to her own. "You always hated your name."

"I did?" she asked, confused by his laughter.

"Oh, yes!" he nodded. "The Scottish packs have held on to more of the old traditions than most - I guess because we continue cling so fiercely to our clans," He shrugged and cast a nervous glance over in the direction his father had disappeared. "One tradition most packs still recognise is the 'Daughter's Dominion'.

"The what?"

"Boys carry the clan name to the next generation. No matter which pack they end up in, the name keeps the clan alive. Maclerie, Mcgraven, Gonorhey... Girls take their mate's name. So, the she-wolves began to pass down their given names to their eldest daughters. Something of theirs to carry to the next generation..."

"My - My mother's name was Eleanor?" she whispered as another piece of the puzzle slipped into place. "And... my grandmother's name?"

"Also Eleanor. A proud name that can be traced back ten generations or more," he boomed, mocking his father's overbearing voice. His face lit up when she rewarded him with a small smile. "Your mother was a fiery woman, I remember."

"What was she like?" Hannah asked wistfully.

"Fierce." He laughed. "All flaming hair and eyes as hard as agates if you crossed her! She used to bake scones every weekend..." he trailed off as her eyes filled with soft tears.

She swiped them roughly away.

He hesitantly reached out to pat her hand - an awkward attempt at comfort. "You always used to say: How can I be myself if I don't even own my name? Your mother once made the mistake of confessing to you that she'd secretly wanted to call you Hannah - you were about ten at the time, if I recall."

Hannah? Her eyes widened with surprise.

"For months afterwards you refused to respond to any other name. You called it your true name, drove your parents wild! I remember..." Again he paused, as though recalling a memory too painful to recite out loud. "You were always so independent, Eleanor," he said instead. "Until..."

"Until the massacre, you mean?" she said, her jaw clenched. "You can say it, you know. I won't curl up into a ball every time it comes up."

"I would," he said simply. " But then, you always were stronger than me." His voice took on a bitter edge. "After the massacre, you stopped using Hannah and became Eleanor again. Losing your mother made you want to hold onto to something that belonged to her. Her name was all you had left."

They sat in silent contemplation for a moment as the few images she had of her mother rose up to the forefront of her mind, reminding her that they would never be reunited. She strived to tune them out as Dylan continued to reminisce.

"When you shifted for the first time and found out your wolf had chosen the name Hannah - "

"Wait," she interrupted. "So, my wolf stole my name?"

He chuckled again. "I think your wolf chose that name to honour the feisty, independent girl you once were. To remind you that you're more than just the weight of a name." He tilted his head to one side and observed her quizzically. "It worked. Look at you. Even when you've forgotten everything else, you still managed to cling onto your true name."

She flushed, a pang of guilt preventing her from enjoying the compliment. Why don't I feel anything for him?

"Did - did we sense each other straight away, once you shifted for the first time?" she asked hesitantly. "I've heard true mates can do that, even before they turn Eighteen."

He grimaced. "No. You weren't around when I shifted. Father sent me back to Scotland to fight in the war. You went to live with our grandmother. We were both heading towards twenty-one by the time I returned -"

"My grandmother? Is she still alive?" Hannah interrupted.

Once again he turned worried eyes towards the door his father had left through before answering hesitantly: "Yes."

"Can I see her?" she asked eagerly.

He shook his head vigorously.

"Why not?"

"it's... complicated," he muttered, and she sensed he'd ventured into another subject he wasn't supposed to talk about.

"No offense Dylan," she said firmly. "But things really can't get much more complicated. I think this will be a lot easier if you're completely honest with me."

He tilted his head to one side. "How much do you know of the succession of Alphas?"

She offered him a look filled with exasperation.

"Okay, silly question I suppose." He grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand; a nervous gesture, she realised. "When an Alpha takes over a pack he signs a legal document naming his successors."

She remembered the doctored document Asher had pulled out yesterday, naming the Elmwood successors. She nodded in understanding.

"In Scotland, the first successor is the Alpha's eldest son," he explained. "The line of succession runs down through each of the sons, then their sons. If there are no sons, the next in line is the nearest male blood relative - his brothers and their sons. Your father had none of those."

"He had a daughter!" she protested.

"Yes," he smiled. "But daughters can't inherit without a mate to carry the title. Any male pups you have would then be next in line."

"I'm not mated," she agreed.

"No," he shook his head slowly. "Not yet."

She looked away, but not before catching the first hint of frustration behind his eyes.

"Anyway," he continued. "If there are no brothers, the line of succession moves to the mate's family line. Your mother only had one brother."

"My uncle is next in line?"

"No, he's ineligible. My older brother, Adam, was named next in line." The lines of pain marring his face told her without asking that his brother was dead.

"What happened?" she asked.

"The Clan wars." He shrugged. "I'm not next in line, if that's what your thinking," he added quickly. "My father was banished from our pack before I came of age. By law, I'm no longer eligible either. Our grandmother" - he hesitated - "Disapproves of father's ambition. They don't talk much, anymore."

"But why can't I see her?"

"She doesn't approve of our mating either," he said vaguely and, at the reminder, she flinched involuntarily.

The mildly impatient look flitted back across his face. "Hannah," he said with a frown. "We have a lot to talk about. I understand you need time. But my father won't wait long." His eyes flickered. "and neither will my wolf."

"I can't mate you," she told him desperately. "I don't know you."

"You do," he argued, the black in his eyes growing deeper as his wolf asserted itself. "You just don't remember it." His voice was tinged with sadness as he looked into her eyes. "We're cousins. I know it must feel strange. Believe me, I felt the same way when -" He cut himself short, his eyes flickering. "But you can't run from this, Hannah. Neither of us can. One day you'll remember me. I know you will. If those memories don't come back until after we're mated, I'm okay with that."

But I'm not, her eyes told him and his wolf released a growl of annoyance.