Claimed by the Wolf

The air on this planet tasted like rust and sugar. Kara had noticed it the first day, the way the atmosphere clung to her tongue with its chemical sweetness, the particulate of a billion engines and factories and breathing things all competing for space. She had catalogued it in her report. Section four, atmospheric composition, subsection C: trace elements of industrial pollution, elevated carbon dioxide, microbial life forms in suspension. The Council would appreciate the thoroughness. The Council always appreciated thoroughness.

She stood on the roof of the L-Corp building, seventy-three stories above National City, and watched the sun bleed orange across the horizon. Three more days. Seventy-two hours until the transport window opened and she could go home. Seventy-two hours until she could breathe air that didn't make her sinuses itch.

Her cousin Kal had adjusted to this world. He had built a life here, a name, a purpose. He had found people who mattered to him, a woman who shared his bed, a city that called him hero. He had forgotten Krypton. Or at least, he had learned to look at its memory without pain.

Kara had not.

She pulled the hood of her jacket up against the wind and let herself feel the familiar ache. Krypton lived. That was the miracle. But Krypton was dying, slowly, the way a patient with a terminal diagnosis dies, day by day, inch by inch. The core was unstable. The resources were running out. The Council had spent the last twenty years debating solutions while the planet's bones grew brittle beneath them.

And now they had sent her. Kara Zor-El. Daughter of the House of El. Scout.

She had been here six months. Six months of cataloguing, measuring, assessing. Six months of learning the language, the customs, the weaknesses. Six months of pretending to be a journalist, a profession that gave her access to everything she needed. The newsrooms, the government buildings, the military installations. She had walked through their Pentagon with a press badge and a smile and no one had questioned her. No one ever questioned her.

The report was done. It sat on a crystal drive in her apartment, encrypted twelve ways, waiting for the transport. The verdict was simple: Earth was conquerable. Their weapons were primitive. Their defenses were laughable. Their population was soft, divided, easily manipulated. They had resources Krypton desperately needed. Water. Minerals. A stable core.

She had written the truth. She had given the Council what they wanted.

And she had hated every word.

The roof door opened behind her. She didn't turn. She knew the footsteps, the rhythm of heels on concrete, the particular weight of someone who owned every room they entered.

"I was told I'd find you here."

Lena Luthor's voice was smoke and silk. Kara had heard it in boardrooms, in press conferences, in the quiet moments between interviews when the CEO thought no one was watching. She had studied it the way she studied everything, catalogued its cadences, its tells. She knew when Lena was lying. She knew when Lena was bored. She knew when Lena was about to destroy someone.

She did not know what Lena was doing here.

"Ms. Luthor." Kara turned, kept her face neutral, kept her hands visible. "I didn't realize you had business on the roof."

"I don't." Lena stepped closer. She wore a black coat over a black dress, her hair pulled back in a way that made her cheekbones look sharp enough to cut glass. "I had business with you."

Kara felt something shift in her chest. A warning. Her instincts had been screaming for weeks, every time this woman entered a room, every time those green eyes found hers across a crowd. There was something wrong with Lena Luthor. Something that didn't fit the profile.

"I'm flattered." Kara smiled, the polite smile she had practiced in the mirror until it looked natural. "But I'm not sure what the CEO of L-Corp would want with a reporter from CatCo."

"You're not a reporter." Lena said it like she was commenting on the weather. "You're very good at pretending to be one. I'll give you that. Your credentials are flawless. Your references are impeccable. But you're not a reporter."

Kara's pulse quickened. She kept her breathing steady. "I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do." Lena walked past her, stopped at the edge of the roof, looked out at the city. The wind caught her hair, pulled strands loose from the tight bun. "I've been watching you, Kara. Six months. Every move you make. Every person you talk to. Every file you access." She turned her head, just slightly, just enough to meet Kara's eyes. "You're very good. But I'm better."

The words hung in the air. Kara calculated. She could run. She could fly. She could grab Lena and disappear, wipe her memory, erase every trace of this conversation. She could do any of those things.

She didn't.

"Who are you working for?" Lena asked. "The government? The military? Some intelligence agency I haven't dismantled yet?"

"No one."

"Everyone works for someone."

"I don't." Kara stepped closer. She could smell Lena now, something floral and sharp, like night-blooming jasmine. "I work for myself."

Lena laughed. It was not a kind sound. "That's the first honest thing you've said to me in six months." She turned fully, faced Kara with her arms crossed, her chin lifted. "I know what you are."

Kara's blood went cold.

"I know you're not from here. I know you're not human. I know you have abilities that would make your cousin look like a child playing with toys." Lena's voice dropped, became something intimate, something dangerous. "I know you're here to decide if we're worth destroying."

The world narrowed to a point. Kara could hear her own heartbeat, the rush of blood in her ears, the distant hum of the city below. She could hear Lena's heart too. Steady. Calm. Certain.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" Lena reached into her coat. Kara tensed, ready to move, ready to fight. But Lena only pulled out a phone, tapped the screen, held it up.

A photograph. Kara, in her apartment. The crystal drive in her hand. The report visible on her screen. The angle was from outside, through the window, a telephoto lens.

Another tap. Another photograph. Kara at the military base, using her press credentials to access restricted areas. Kara at the port authority, studying shipping manifests. Kara at the power grid substation, her hand on the transformer, feeling its pulse.

"I have sixty-seven photographs," Lena said. "Twelve hours of video. Audio recordings of every phone call you've made in the last four months." She put the phone away. "I know everything."

Kara felt the ground shift beneath her. She had been careful. She had been so careful. But she had underestimated this woman, this ordinary human woman with her sharp suits and sharper smile.

"You can't prove any of it."

"I don't need to prove it." Lena stepped closer. Close enough that Kara could see the flecks of gold in her green eyes. "I just need to stop you."

"Then stop me." Kara spread her arms. "I'm right here."

Lena smiled. It was not a friendly smile. It was the smile of someone who had already won and was waiting for the other person to realize it.

"Oh, I'm going to. But not the way you think."

She moved fast. Faster than any human had a right to move. Her hand closed around Kara's wrist and something happened. Something that made Kara's knees buckle and her vision blur and her heart stop.

Pain. White-hot, bone-deep, soul-shredding pain.

And then nothing.

Kara woke on a bed that was not her own.

The ceiling was white. The walls were white. The sheets beneath her were white, so white they hurt to look at. She tried to sit up and discovered she couldn't. Her wrists were bound. Her ankles were bound. The restraints were not metal or rope but something else, something that hummed with a low vibration she could feel in her teeth.

"Don't struggle. It makes the burns worse."

Lena's voice came from somewhere to her left. Kara turned her head, the movement sending spikes of pain through her neck.

She was in a room that looked like a hospital. Medical equipment lined the walls. Monitors beeped. Machines hummed. And Lena stood by a table covered in instruments, her coat off, her sleeves rolled up, her hands gloved.

"What did you do to me?"

"I neutralized you." Lena picked up a syringe, checked the level of liquid inside. "The restraints are lined with lead. Your cousin was very helpful in explaining Kryptonian weaknesses before he decided to go into hiding."

"Kal wouldn't tell you anything."

"Kal didn't have a choice." Lena set the syringe down, picked up another. "He was in a similar position, once. Before I let him go."

Kara's mind raced. She pulled at the restraints, felt the lead burn against her skin, felt her strength drain away. She was helpless. She had never been helpless. Not since the day she left Krypton, not since the pod, not since she learned to fly.

"Why?" The word came out rough, desperate. "Why are you doing this?"

Lena walked to the bed. She sat on the edge, close enough that Kara could smell her, that familiar jasmine and something else now. Something wild. Something animal.

"Because you're mine."

The words didn't make sense. Kara shook her head, tried to pull away, but the restraints held.

"I don't understand."

"No. You don't." Lena reached out, touched Kara's face. Her fingers were cold. "You've been on this planet for six months and you still don't understand how it works. You think you're the predator. You think you're the one in control." She leaned closer, her lips almost touching Kara's ear. "You're wrong."

Kara felt something shift in the air. A pressure. A presence. The hair on her arms stood up. Her skin prickled.

And then Lena changed.

It was not the transformation of movies and legends. There was no dramatic tearing of clothes, no monstrous growth, no howling at the moon. It was subtler than that. Her eyes shifted first, the green bleeding to gold, the pupils elongating. Her teeth lengthened, sharpened, became something that did not belong in a human mouth. Her skin seemed to glow from within, a heat that Kara could feel even through the space between them.

"Werewolf." Kara breathed the word like a curse.

"Clever girl." Lena's voice was deeper now, rougher, threaded with something that made Kara's blood run hot and cold at the same time. "I wondered when you'd figure it out."

"You're a myth. A fairy tale. You don't exist."

"I exist." Lena pressed closer, her body against Kara's, her mouth against Kara's throat. "I've been existing for a very long time. And I've been waiting for you for even longer."

"For me?"

"For my mate." Lena's teeth grazed Kara's skin. "True mates are rare. Almost extinct. Most werewolves never find theirs. They live their whole lives searching, hoping, dying alone." She pulled back, met Kara's eyes. "I stopped searching a century ago. I accepted that I would never find you. And then you fell out of the sky."

Kara shook her head. "I'm not yours. I don't belong to anyone."

"You do now." Lena's hand moved to Kara's throat, pressed gently. "The moment I touched you on that roof, you became mine. The bond is already forming. Can you feel it?"

Kara could feel something. A thread pulling at her chest, a warmth spreading through her veins, a voice that was not her own whispering in the back of her mind. She tried to fight it, tried to push it away, but it only grew stronger.

"This is wrong."

"This is fate." Lena leaned down, pressed her lips to Kara's collarbone. "You can fight it. You can hate it. You can scream and rage and claw at the walls. But it won't change what you are now."

"What am I?"

"Mine." Lena bit down.

The pain was exquisite. It was fire and ice and lightning all at once. It was the worst thing Kara had ever felt and the best thing, the most intimate thing, the most terrifying thing. She screamed. She couldn't help it. The sound tore out of her throat and echoed off the white walls.

Lena held her through it. Her arms wrapped around Kara's body, her mouth pressed to the wound, her tongue tracing the blood. She was murmuring something, words in a language Kara didn't recognize, a language that felt old and deep and powerful.

The bond snapped into place.

Kara felt it like a physical thing. A chain wrapped around her heart, anchored to Lena's. She could feel Lena's pulse, her breath, her emotions. She could feel the satisfaction rolling off her in waves, the hunger, the possessiveness.

And she could feel the truth. The bond was permanent. Inescapable. She could no more break it than she could stop breathing.

"No." The word was a whisper. "No, please."

"It's done." Lena pulled back, looked at her. Her eyes were human again, green and soft. Her teeth were normal. Her skin was smooth. "You're claimed. You can't leave me. You can't hurt me. You can't even think about leaving without feeling physical pain."

Kara tested it. She thought about flying away, about finding Kal, about going home to Krypton. The pain hit her like a physical blow. Her chest seized. Her vision went dark. She gasped, choked, felt tears stream down her face.

"Stop." Lena's voice was gentle now, almost kind. "Stop thinking about leaving. It will only hurt you."

Kara stopped. The pain receded. She lay on the white bed, in the white room, and felt the bond pulse between them like a second heartbeat.

"Why?" she asked again. "Why do this to me?"

"Because I've been alone for two hundred years." Lena reached out, brushed Kara's hair from her face. "Because I've watched everyone I love grow old and die while I stayed the same. Because I found my true mate and I refuse to let her go, even if she hates me for it."

"I do hate you."

"I know." Lena smiled, sad and tired and ancient. "But you won't always. The bond will grow. It will change you. It will make you love me, whether you want to or not."

Kara closed her eyes. She could feel the bond working already, a warmth spreading through her chest, a softness where there should have been anger. She tried to hold onto her hatred, tried to cling to it like a lifeline, but it was slipping through her fingers like sand.

"Three days," she said. "The transport window opens in three days. Krypton will come looking for me."

"Let them come." Lena's voice was steel. "Let them bring their armies and their weapons and their technology. I've been defending this planet for centuries. I can defend it from a dying world."

"You don't understand. They're desperate. They'll do anything."

"So will I." Lena leaned down, pressed her forehead to Kara's. "So will I."

The days passed in a blur of white walls and soft sheets and Lena's voice reading to her from books she didn't recognize. The bond grew stronger, tighter, more comfortable. Kara felt herself changing, her anger fading, her resistance crumbling.

She hated it. She hated Lena. She hated the bond and the room and the helplessness.

But she couldn't stop loving the way Lena touched her. The way Lena's hands were always gentle, always careful, always reverent. The way Lena fed her and bathed her and held her when the nightmares came. The way Lena whispered promises in that ancient language, promises Kara didn't understand but felt in her bones.

The transport window opened on the third day.

Kara felt it. A vibration in the air, a shift in the atmosphere, a call from across the stars. She sat up in bed, her heart pounding, her breath catching.

"They're here."

Lena was at the window, looking out at the night sky. She didn't turn. "I know."

"Let me go." Kara hated the pleading in her voice. "Please. Let me talk to them. I can explain. I can make them understand."

"They won't understand." Lena turned, her eyes glowing gold in the dark. "They'll take you back. They'll punish you. They'll send someone else to finish what you started."

"Maybe." Kara swung her legs off the bed, stood on shaky legs. The bond pulled at her, tried to drag her back to Lena, but she fought it. "But at least I'll be free."

"You'll never be free." Lena crossed the room, took Kara's face in her hands. "You're mine. Forever. That's not a cage. It's a promise."

Kara wanted to argue. She wanted to scream. She wanted to hit Lena, to hurt her, to make her feel even a fraction of the pain she had caused.

Instead, she kissed her.

It was not a gentle kiss. It was desperate and angry and hungry. It was the kiss of someone who had lost everything and was trying to find something to hold onto. Lena responded in kind, her hands moving to Kara's hair, her mouth opening, her body pressing close.

The bond sang between them. It was joy and pain and longing and satisfaction all at once. It was everything Kara had never known she wanted and everything she had always feared.

When they broke apart, Kara was crying.

"I hate you," she said.

"I know." Lena wiped the tears from her face. "I know."

There was a sound outside. A rumble that shook the building. A light that turned the night to day.

Krypton had arrived.

Lena took Kara's hand, laced their fingers together. "Come. Let's go meet your family."

They walked out of the white room, down a white hallway, into a world that was about to burn.

The ship was beautiful. Kryptonian design had always been elegant, all curves and crystal and light. It hovered above the city, casting shadows that stretched for blocks. People were screaming below, running, hiding. The military was scrambling. The news was broadcasting live.

Kara watched it all from the roof of L-Corp, Lena at her side.

"General Zod," she said, reading the insignia on the ship's hull. "He's the Council's sword. He doesn't negotiate."

"Does he know you?"

"He knows my family. He knows what I was sent to do." Kara felt the bond pulse, felt Lena's concern like a second heartbeat. "He won't leave without me."

"Then we'll give him a reason to leave."

Lena stepped forward, raised her arms. She began to speak in that ancient language, the one that made Kara's skin prickle and her bones ache. The air around them shimmered. The temperature dropped.

The ship's hatch opened. A figure descended on a platform of light. Tall. Armored. Stern.

Zod.

"Kara Zor-El." His voice carried across the distance, amplified by the ship's systems. "You were sent to scout. You were ordered to report. You have failed in your duty."

"I have not failed." Kara's voice was steady. She was surprised by how steady. "I have completed my report. Earth is conquerable. The resources are abundant. The population is weak."

"Then why have you not returned?"

Kara looked at Lena. Lena looked back, her eyes soft, her mouth curved in a small smile.

"Because I found something worth staying for."

Zod's eyes narrowed. "You have been compromised."

"No. I have been claimed." Kara took Lena's hand, held it tight. "I have found my mate. And I will not leave her."

The silence stretched. The city held its breath. The bond wrapped around Kara's heart and squeezed.

"You would choose this primitive world over your own people?" Zod's voice was cold. "You would choose a monster over your own kind?"

"She is not a monster." Kara stepped forward, put herself between Lena and the general. "She is my mate. And if you try to take me from her, I will fight you."

"You cannot fight me. You are bound. You are weak."

"I am exactly as strong as I need to be."

Zod looked at them for a long moment. Then he laughed.

"So be it." He raised his hand. The ship's weapons began to charge. "If you will not come willingly, I will take you by force. And I will burn this world to ash to make an example of your disobedience."

The light grew brighter. The hum grew louder. The end was coming.

Lena stepped forward. She raised her hands. The air around her began to glow.

"You will not touch her." Her voice was not human anymore. It was ancient and powerful and absolute. "You will not touch this world. You will leave. Now. Or I will show you why my kind has survived for a thousand years while yours is dying."

Zod hesitated. He looked at Lena. He looked at Kara. He looked at the bond that connected them, visible now as a thread of light between their chests.

"What are you?" he asked.

"I am her mate." Lena's eyes were gold. Her teeth were sharp. "I am her protector. I am her home."

The weapons stopped charging. The light faded. The ship hung in the air, silent.

Zod stared at them. His face was unreadable.

"This is not over," he said finally. "The Council will not accept this. They will send others. They will not stop."

"Then they will die." Lena's voice was calm. "I have been killing monsters for centuries. I can kill a few more."

Zod turned. He walked back to the platform. The hatch closed behind him. The ship began to rise.

Kara watched it go. She felt the bond settle, felt Lena's relief, felt her own heart beating in time with her mate's.

"They'll come back," she said.

"I know."

"They'll never stop."

"I know."

Lena turned to her, pulled her close, pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"But neither will I."

The ship disappeared into the sky. The city began to breathe again. And Kara stood on the roof, in the arms of her captor, her mate, her monster.

And she realized she was home.