Kieran

I stare at the intelligence reports spread across my desk, trying to focus on the information I received last night about movement among the gypsy witches. With no allegiance to anyone, the witches have occupied a portion of my territory for centuries now. We don’t cross paths, and they usually keep to themselves. I have a weak spot for them, so I let them be. But for them to be this agitated is unprecedented. Something is happening.

My eyes wander toward Daciana where she’s sitting with Artisem, the two of them going over the heaps of proposals sent to me this morning.

She’s frowning at a piece of parchment, her nose slightly wrinkled, lips pressed into a thin line. She can’t hide her emotions worth a damn, and despite everything—the Council’s machinations, the witches’ movements, the mounting pressure—I find myself watching her instead of reading about potential threats.

She’s so much younger this time.

The thought surfaces unbidden, and I shove it down before it can take root. I force my attention back to the report, but the words about territorial boundaries and unusual gatherings blur together. I’m far too aware of every rustle of parchment from her direction, every quiet comment she makes to Artisem.

A restless impulse takes hold. Maybe it’s the frustration of being cornered. Maybe it’s the unsettling news about the witches. Maybe it’s something else entirely—something I refuse to examine too closely. In any case, I find myself wanting to provoke a reaction from her.

“Find any suitable ones?” I ask, keeping my tone casual as I pretend to study a passage in the report.

Artisem’s head snaps up so fast I hear his neck crack. He stares at me with an expression of pure horror, like I’ve just suggested stepping down as alpha and joining a traveling circus.

Daciana’s spine goes rigid. “They’re all noble ladies,” she says stiffly. Then, I hear her mutter under her breath, “This is not part of my job.”

I feel the corner of my mouth want to twitch. I set down the report, finally allowing myself to look at her properly. She is gripping a proposal hard enough that the parchment crinkles, deliberately not meeting my eyes. Her jaw is set in that stubborn way that makes warmth unfurl in my chest.

“I need your help figuring out who could be a potential spy,” I say.

Her gaze snaps to mine, and the force of it hits me as if it were a physical object. “What are you going to do with that information?”

I let a slow smile form. “They could be considered.”

It’s a lie. Complete fiction. I have no intention of considering anyone, spy or otherwise. But watching the color rise in her cheeks, seeing that flash in her eyes—of anger, maybe, or something more complicated—is addictive.

Her hand tightens even more around the parchment, knuckles going white. For a heartbeat, I think she might tear it in half, might even throw it at me, and part of me wants her to. Wants to see the fire that I know burns inside her unleashed in my direction.

But then, her shoulders droop, and guilt slams into me.

“I need to get some air,” she says quietly, already pushing back from the table.

The sense of satisfaction drains away instantly, replaced by an uncomfortable sharpness lodging itself between my ribs.

“Was that really necessary?” Artisem hisses the moment the door closes behind Daciana.

I stare at the intelligence report I’m no longer reading. “I was just…” Just what? Baiting her? Testing her? Watching for reactions I have no right to want? The words die in my throat. “I don’t know.”

I’m too old for this. Too old to be playing games like some foolish youth desperate for attention. Even with the fated mate bond muted between us—something I did deliberately, carefully, with magic that cost more than I like to remember—she might still feel some of the lingering effects. It would explain certain things, such as the way she sometimes catches her breath when I walk into a room or the flush that creeps up her neck when I stand too close.

I shouldn’t encourage it. Shouldn’t want it.

But gods help me, I do.

I force myself to wait. To give her space. Not to chase after her like some desperate fool. I pick up the report again, pretending to read about witch movements and territorial violations. The words may as well be written in a foreign language for all the sense they make.

Five minutes. I’ll give her five minutes.

Each second feels like an eternity. I’m aware of every tick of the clock on the mantle, every breath I take, every too-fast beat of my heart. Artisem has gone back to the proposals, but I can feel his occasional glances in my direction.

Finally, I stand. “I’ll go apologize.”

Artisem makes a sound somewhere between approval and exasperation. I don’t wait to find out which.

I step into the corridor, searching for her dark hair, her familiar silhouette—and I freeze.

She is far down the hall, her back to me. She’s with a man. I recognize him immediately, even from this distance: Leon, one of Lucian’s inner circle. He’s leaning against the stone wall, and I can see he’s smiling at her. Daciana is clearly talking, her hands moving as she speaks, animated in a way she rarely is around me.

Something cold and lethal unfurls in my chest.

My wolf surges forward, slamming against the cage of my control. The rage isn’t hot—it’s icy, spreading through my veins like winter frost. Deadly. Absolute. The kind of cold that kills silently, efficiently.

I start walking toward them, my footsteps silent on the stone floor. As I get closer, I hear her laugh—a sound I realize with sudden, brutal clarity that I want directed at me. Leon’s eyes track over her face with unmistakable interest, lingering too long.

He reaches forward and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear.

I’m beside them in an instant, my hand locked around Leon’s wrist before his gesture is complete. They both startle—Daciana whirling around, her eyes going wide, and Leon freezing mid-movement.

I lower his hand slowly, deliberately, keeping my grip just shy of painful, restraining myself from breaking his wrist. “What are you doing?”

My voice comes out low, controlled, but I can hear the edge beneath it. So can Leon, if the way he pales is any indication.

“Alpha Kieran. I was just—”

“Just?” I repeat, not releasing him. My wolf is a snarling presence in my mind, demanding I make it absolutely clear that she’s…

That she’s what? Mine? She’s not. I made sure of that.

“Alpha Kieran…” Daciana starts, her voice carrying a note I can’t quite interpret. Warning? Confusion?

I don’t look at her. Can’t. Because if I do, I might see her defending him, choosing him, and my wolf is already straining against my control so hard that my bones ache with the effort of holding him back.

“He was just being friendly,” Daciana continues, and now there’s definitely an edge to her tone. “Is that a crime?”

Friendly. The word scrapes against the rawness inside me. I finally let go of Leon’s wrist and take a measured step back, though everything in me screams to do the opposite. To move closer. To position myself between her and this man who has no right to touch her hair, to make her smile like that, to look at her like she’s something he could have.

“My apologies,” I say, the words tasting like ash and lies. “I didn’t realize you two were…acquainted.”

Leon straightens his jacket, eyeing me with the wariness of a man who has just glimpsed a predator. Smart. “I should go. Duty calls.”

He nods to Daciana in a way that is too familiar, too warm, and I watch him retreat with a savage satisfaction that does nothing to ease the tension coiling tighter and tighter in my chest.

When he’s gone, Daciana turns to me, and I finally meet her eyes. There’s color high on her cheeks, but whether from embarrassment or anger, I cannot tell. Both, maybe.

“What was that?” she demands.

What was it? Jealousy. Possession. The echo of a bond I tried to sever but can’t seem to kill completely, no matter how much magic I throw at it.

“Nothing,” I lie.

I watch her face shift from anger to a sharper, more wounded expression.

“I was talking about my studies with Leon,” she snaps. “You had no right to interfere.”

My mind catches on the word. “What studies?”

A flush creeps up her neck. “It’s not important.”

She turns to leave, but my hand moves before I can think better of it, fingers closing gently around her wrist. She stops, going still in a way that makes my pulse spike.

“What is he teaching you?”

“None of your business.” Her voice is ice.

“You’re acting as my liaison.” I keep my tone even, controlled. “Therefore, I need to know.”

Her face drains of color. The change is so sudden, so complete, that alarm cuts through my possessiveness. She yanks her arm away like I’ve burned her, rubbing her wrist even though I know I was only just holding her back.

“I was never given any formal education,” she says harshly, the words coming quickly and defensively. “I can only read and write. Leon has been teaching me the education that nearly every soldier or common wolf shifter has. About the Kingdom. History. All that stuff.”

The admission stuns me. I stare at her, trying to reconcile this news with the sharp, observant woman I’ve been watching these past weeks. “Why didn’t you learn it as a child?”

Her jaw clenches. “I’m the first-born daughter. My parents wanted sons.” Each word is bitten off, laced with old humiliation. “They chose not to educate me apart from the basics and forced me to be a warrior instead. I’m good at fighting but nothing else. I’m not smart. Leon is teaching Astra, and I was trying to learn while I was guarding her. He noticed and said he could help me while I’m acting as your liaison.”

Not smart. The words make my wolf snarl. She thinks she’s not smart because no one bothered to teach her. A hot and furious streak winds through my chest—not at her, but at everyone who made her believe this lie.

“I can teach you,” I say before I can stop myself.

Her eyes flash. “No thanks.”

She starts walking away, and I move after her, catching her arm again, more gently this time. “I’m serious, Daciana.”

She doesn’t turn around, but she stops. I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way she’s holding herself rigid.

“I can teach you far more than that boy can,” I say quietly. “My pack holds the most ancient knowledge in the Kingdom. Histories and texts that even the Council doesn’t have access to.”

She hesitates. I see the slight loosening of her posture, the way her breathing changes. I push the advantage, moving closer to her ear.

“I’m a good teacher.” My voice drops, becomes coaxing. “I taught Artisem, and he is known as one of the most respected scholars in our pack now, along with being a warrior.”

She turns slowly, and there’s a fragile look in her eyes that makes my chest ache. “You’re not saying this to mock me?”

The question confuses me. “What? Why would you—”

“I’ve had a few soldiers offer before.” She tries to shrug, but it doesn’t convey nonchalance. She is trying to conceal how she was hurt. “When I came to them, they just—they were just joking. Leon is the only one who’s been serious.”

White-hot rage floods through me. I want names. I want to know which soldiers thought it would be amusing to humiliate Daciana for wanting to learn, for trying to better herself. My free hand curls into a fist at my side.

“I will never mock you,” I say. The words come out rougher than I intend. Raw. “And it’s never too late to learn. I admire the fact that you want to.”

Her eyes search mine, looking for the lie, the trap. They find none.

“I’ll teach you in the evenings,” I continue, releasing her arm. “After your duties are done for the day. We can start tomorrow, if you’d like.”

“Okay,” she says finally, quietly. “Thank you.”

She turns and heads back toward my study, her steps measured, controlled. I watch her go, tracking every movement until she disappears through the doorway.

I sigh quietly, running a hand through my hair.

I’m already spending too much time with her. Already fighting the pull of a bond I’ve tried to sever. Already struggling not to reach for her every time she’s in the same room.

And now, I’ve just arranged to spend my evenings alone with her, teaching her, watching her learn, being the one who puts that light in her eyes when understanding clicks.

I’m playing with fire. Courting disaster.

But gods, I can’t help myself.

I head back down the corridor, fully knowing I won’t be able to concentrate on those intelligence reports. Tomorrow evening can’t come fast enough.

I FIND myself standing in Lucian’s study a few days later, having been summoned by the man.

He’s standing by the window, staring out at the courtyard below, when I enter. He doesn’t turn around, and the tension in his shoulders tells me this isn’t a casual get-together.

“I’ve spent the past two days trying to stop the Umbra Council from doing this,” he says without preamble.

I don’t need to ask what he means. The pressure to take a mate has been mounting since the Council’s last decree. More and more profiles are being sent to me, and I’ve begun to receive messages from fathers and uncles about arranging meetings. “I have no intentions of taking a mate. You know that they will either attempt to destroy my pack from the inside or act as a spy. My priority is my pack.”

“You shifted your priorities when you set foot in the capital, Kieran,” Lucian murmurs. “I am sorry that you are being dragged into this, but there is a limit to how much I can shield you without being accused of favoring your pack.” He finally turns to face me, his expression unreadable. “What about Daciana?”

The question hangs in the air between us. My jaw tightens, and I blink at him.

“She’s not someone I can consider,” I say finally.

Lucian’s eyes narrow. “It’s obvious you care for her, Kieran. I haven’t seen you interact with anyone the way you do with her.” He pauses, studying me carefully. “The way you’ve been behaving where she is concerned implies the fated mate bond. Though she hasn’t mentioned it to Astra, so I can’t be certain.”

My silence is not enough to end this topic of conversation.

“If you like her, you should pursue her,” Lucian says, his tone gentler now. “She’s loyal only to Astra. She has no family ties that will make her a liability to you—”

“Stop.” The word comes out sharp, laced with fury. “Daciana is not some bargaining chip you can simply throw at someone.”

“That’s not what I’m—”

“I will not be with her.” The words taste like poison, but I force them out anyway.

Lucian sighs, studying me for a long moment. “Fine. Then I guess I can give Leon the go-ahead.”

I involuntarily straighten to my full height. “The go-ahead to do what?”

“Leon is interested in pursuing Daciana,” Lucian says casually, but I can see the calculation in his eyes. “He asked for my permission because she is one of Astra’s guards.”

Fury floods through me. My wolf slams against my control, snarling, demanding I do something—anything—to stop this.

“Selene and Daciana are the closest people to Astra,” Lucian continues. “I’d prefer they be with men I can trust. I was just being courteous by asking you first, given your…connection.”

“No.”

Lucian tilts his head. “No, what?”

“Leon isn’t good enough for her.”

“Really?” Lucian’s voice goes cold. “Leon is one of the most capable men I know. If he’s not good enough for her, who is?”

The challenge in his tone makes me cross my arms over my chest. “Have you even considered Daciana’s feelings on the matter? She might not like him.”

“That’s what the courtship is for,” Lucian says smoothly. “He’ll pursue her, and if she likes him, she’ll agree. Nobody’s forcing her.” He pauses, then adds, “Besides, Astra thinks Daciana might be ready to settle down. She thinks her friend looks a little lonely.”

Something sharp and vicious tears through my chest. The thought of her lonely—of her seeking comfort in someone else’s arms because I’ve kept her at a distance—makes my wolf howl with outrage.

“I don’t agree with this,” I say, my voice low and dangerous.

Lucian’s expression hardens. “It’s not your place to agree or disagree, Kieran. Daciana is just your liaison. She is nothing to you.” His words are deliberate, cutting. “If you don’t want her, then there are other men who do.”

My body shakes with the effort of keeping my wolf caged. All my instincts are shrieking at me to deny it, to claim her, to tell the King exactly what Daciana means to me.

But I can’t. I won’t.

“I need to go,” I manage, my voice strained.

I force myself to turn and leave with unhurried steps, though my control is fraying with each breath I take. By the time I reach the corridor, my wolf is a snarling, furious presence in my mind, demanding I go back and end this conversation the way I should.

But I keep going, because staying would mean admitting truths I can’t afford to speak.

I’m walking down the corridor, still reeling from Lucian’s words, when there’s a shift in the air. I freeze mid-step, and the scent hits me—ancient, wild, laced with magic that shouldn’t exist anywhere near the capital. My wolf stirs instantly, hackles rising. One of the windows is open, and that’s where it’s coming from.

Without thinking twice, I leap through the window and land in the gardens below with hardly a sound. The moment my feet touch the ground, I’m running.

The scent pulls at something deep and primal in my chest. I know this magic. I’ve known it for centuries. But it shouldn’t be here.

As soon as I hit the tree line, I transform. My body explodes into fur and muscle, and I tear through the forest at a speed that would terrify most shifters. The scent trail is strong, deliberate, as if whoever left it wanted me to follow.

An hour passes. Maybe more. Time loses meaning when I’m like this, chasing something I shouldn’t want to find but can’t ignore.

The trees start to thin. I slow down, then shift back, my body reforming as I step into the human city at the forest’s edge.

There’s a large market going on. Various stalls dot the streets, and colorful banners are strung between buildings. The magic thrums stronger here, weaving through the crowd like a living thing.

I follow it to a small tent tucked in a corner, away from the main shopping area. My hand pushes aside the fabric entrance before I can reconsider.

The woman inside is alone, sitting at a simple, wooden table. She’s not young, but she’s not old, either—somewhere in between, with long, dark hair highlighted with silver. When she looks up at me, my breath catches.

Her eyes are completely white. Blind.

“So, the cursed one comes,” she says, her voice all smoke and honey. “Do you seek answers, Wolf King?”

That face. I know that face. But from where?

“What is a gypsy witch doing here?” I demand, my tone harsher than I intend.

She smiles slowly, knowingly. “Hold out your hand.”

I should refuse. Should turn around and leave this tent, this market, and this entire situation behind. But my hand extends anyway, palm up.

She pulls out an old knife. The handle is wrapped in leather, the blade darkened with age and use.

I recognize gypsy magic when I see it. She needs my blood.

The woman takes my hand in hers. Her grip is surprisingly warm. The knife slices across my palm quickly and efficiently. I don’t flinch.

Using my blood, she draws a symbol on the table between us. Complex. Ancient. My wolf prowls restlessly as I watch the blood form patterns I half recognize.

Then, she stops. Says nothing.

“What?” I snap, impatience flooding through me.

She laughs, delighted. “The gypsy witches will soon leave your territory.”

I frown. “Why? Your kind has been there since—”

“Since you first took our daughter.”

The words stop me cold. I go very, very still. “I have also grieved,” I say quietly. “More than any of you.”

Her smile fades. “Your time for revenge is coming. You cannot prevent the inevitable.” She leans forward, and there’s a terrible look in her blind gaze. “Your souls are bound. You will mark her.”

A growl tears from my throat. “I won’t.”

She shakes her head. “This is the last chance you get.”

Then, suddenly, she lunges forward with impossible speed, grabbing my wrist with strength that shouldn’t belong to someone who looks like her. She forces my sleeve up, revealing the mark on my forearm—black as ink, twisting across my skin.

“A curse on a curse,” she whispers.

My heart stops. “What does that mean?”

“My kind broke our most cardinal law.” Her fingers trace the mark, and I feel magic spark against my skin. “We do not interfere with the magic of other witches. But we cursed the curse that was placed upon you.” She pauses, white eyes boring into mine. “That is why we have not moved beyond your territory. We will be struck down if we ever leave.” A slow and vicious smile crosses her face. “Have you never wondered why you remember each lifetime?”

My mind goes blank. Then, it explodes with realization.

“This is because of you?” The words come out strangled.

Her unseeing eyes narrow. “We wanted revenge. Our daughter should have lived a life of happiness. We will give her that life.”

Fury erupts from me, hot and deadly. “You did this to me! You made us relive—”

“We only made sure you remembered.” Her voice is calm, matter of fact. “The day the curse breaks, my kind will breathe our last.” She releases my wrist and sits back down, her expression softening. “Bring her to see us once we leave. We fulfilled our promise to her.”

I step forward, rage making my movements sharp. But my eyesight is starting to blur. “What promise? What—”

“We cannot tell you everything,” she says, and her voice sounds distant now. “But the curse is weakening.”

“What do you—”

“After all, the curse of a gypsy witch is stronger than any other curse.”

The tent tilts. I stumble forward, catching myself on the edge of the table. My vision darkens at the edges.

“No—” I try to growl, but the word comes out weak.

Then, slowly, my knees give out.

I close my eyes.

When I open them, I’m standing in the middle of a busy street. Humans stream past me, none of them giving me a second glance. There’s a wooden bench in front of me.

For a moment, I wonder if I imagined the whole thing. Some fever dream brought on by stress and the conversation with Lucian.

But then, I look down at my palm.

The cut is still there, fresh and bleeding. And carved into the wood of the bench, with what looks suspiciously like blood, is the same symbol the witch drew on her table.

I stare at it, my wolf snarling in my mind, and only one thought echoes through my head.

What the hell have they done to me?