Ambrose beckoned him back to Sinclair Estates one final time that summer. Reeve, the noble and worthy High Lord he was, answered the call. But when the quick ordeal was over, he wished he had never returned.
Antony lay on the floor of the dining hall, in his pitch black wolf form, sedated under Ambrose’s Magic. His snout and paws twitched, writhing despite being unconscious.
Clarissa escorted a sobbing Arianna from the room, leaving only Maeve sitting at the table, watching in horror as her brother had just tried to attack Arianna. She did not look at Reeve.
Ambrose was muttering to himself, “It’s because he’s repressing it. He’s repressing his true desires.”
“I know,” said Reeve, kneeling beside the father and son. “How can I help you, Ambrose? I’ve already failed to help Antony.”
Ambrose’s attention shifted to Maeve. He looked at his youngest daughter with sorrow and closed his eyes.
“Show her,” he whispered.
Reeve’s insides plummeted. “No,” he said coldly.
Ambrose’s eyes opened, his gaze still on Maeve. “You have a very special gift, Maeve.”
“Ambrose,” snarled Reeve. “I will not let you.”
“You’ve told me— I know that,” she said, her voice void of any emotion, just as her face was.
Ambrose ignored Reeve. “More than jumping minds. You have a unique gift. And you must use it to help your brother.”
“Ambrose,” said Reeve. “Do not—”
Ambrose’s eyes were on Reeve now. Gone was the face of his friend. This was the face of the Premier. “You owe me,” was all he said. “Come here, Maeve. There isn’t time.”
She obeyed with haste, pushing up from the table at once. She stood at her father’s side, her fingers twitching anxiously.
“Under different circumstances,” began Ambrose, “I would never have burdened you with something like this. But there is no time. Antony needs our help. So when I tell you what I am about to tell you, I need you to understand that you are my daughter, and you are capable of great things.”
“You’re scaring me,” she said, a slight shake in her voice.
“You should be fucking terrified,” said Reeve.
She still did not look at him, but as she chewed the inside of her cheek, he knew it was taking everything in her not to.
Ambrose lifted one hand from Antony, the other still enveloped in his fur, and beckoned Maeve down to the floor. His knees folded as he instructed, and his hand cupped the side of her face.
“You have Shadow Magic.”
Maeve’s lips parted. Her skin, if it was possible, paled ever further.
“Antony has known about your abilities for a while now,” began Ambrose, and Reeve’s eyes widened, “and I have waited and tried to do everything I could to avoid this last resort. Antony has begged me for weeks now to talk to you. . .and I admit I have foolishly held onto hope that there is some other way—”
“I have what?” she interrupted, her voice quiet.
Ambrose sighed. “Shadow Magic.”
Maeve shook her head, slowly at first, then more frantically.
“Why, why, why do I possess Shadow Magic? It is banned. It is illegal. It is not spoken of anymore. It is gone. It was eradicated.”
Ambrose did not answer her question. “Antony has asked that you alter things, so that he may go and live a peaceful life on Heims with other wolves. A realm where he can allow himself to be what he truly is. But Heims does not allow wolves from Earth on their planet. So you’ll have to ensure you alter that as well—”
“I don’t understand,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’m—what?”
Ambrose’s eyes shifted to Reeve, who looked on in complete disbelief.
