And if I didn’t know, with absolute certainty, that Amira is a shifter… she’d be on my list. Right near the top.
Out of all the possible reasons for someone to collar me, one stands out above the rest.
Power.
My bloodline has always ruled the Royal Pack. Always gave the Alpha King. Always. Anyone could challenge us, and they did, but no one ever won.
So yeah — if someone wanted access to absolute power over all shifters… leashing me would be the obvious move. And Amira got closer to that power than most.
I step into the royal library without a sound.
I already know where she is — I can feel it. A constant, aching pull in my chest leads me to her without fail. A bond that should be gone, but still hums beneath my skin, alive and wild.
She’s at one of the large oak tables, surrounded by towers of ancient books and crumbling scrolls. Her face is bent in concentration, a small furrow between her brows, fingers stained faintly with ink. She looks like she always belonged here — fierce and untouchable.
“What do you want, Your Majesty?” she says without looking up.
Fuck, even her voice is sharp enough to cut.
“I brought you something to eat.” I set the plate down beside her carefully — pastries, sliced fruit, tiny sandwiches. “You’ve been locked in here for hours. You didn’t eat.”
Finally, she looks at me. Suspicious eyes. Arms crossed. Defensive posture engaged.
“Keeping tabs on my movements?” she asks flatly.
I smile, because of course she’d say that. “Obviously. If you insist on going through half the restricted archives in a single sitting, someone has to make sure you don’t collapse face-first into old and dusty paper.”
She sniffs the food once. Her stomach audibly growls, and she huffs, annoyed at herself.
“That smells... unfairly good,” she mutters, reaching out — then stopping mid-reach to narrow her eyes at me.
“This is not me accepting a mate offering,” she says sternly. “Got it?”
“Crystal clear,” I reply, nodding. Still smiling. But when she finally takes a bite of the sandwich, something warm unfurls in my chest. I almost release a contented growl, instinct tugging at me, but I clamp it down just in time.
I take the seat next to her and grab one of the books, flipping it open like I actually intend to read it. Truth is, I’m watching her. Everything about her is fascinating. She’s a beautiful contradiction. Someone who seems powerless at first glance, but she’s actually stronger than any warrior I’ve met. None of them would have survived the pain of a rejection for six months and still have their sanity by the end.
“How’s your little girlfriend?” she mumbles around a bite. “Still upset?”
My jaw tightens at the memory. Amira’s last stunt was too much — reaching for me after everything I told her.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” I say, voice low. “She’ll be leaving for her father’s pack tomorrow.”
Kassira’s eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously?” There's too much glee in her voice for someone pretending not to care. “How’d she take it? Did she cry? Beg? Throw something at you?”
I grin despite myself. “It went about as well as you’d expect—”
I stop. My eyes catch on something in the book I’ve been pretending to read. A paragraph, just a few words.
She leans forward, chewing slower now. “Why’d you stop?”
My blood goes cold.
I turn the book toward her and tap the line that stopped me cold. “This — right here. It says controlling magic can only be placed on a lycan when they’re at their most vulnerable. Tiny windows of time. As a newborn… or during deep grief.” I glance up, voice low. “The collar — it’s definitely controlling magic. It’s controlling my lycan and my part of the bond.”
“And your mind, most likely,” Kassira murmurs. Her voice is soft, but the words hit hard. She meets my eyes. “You never shifted because of it. That collar stopped everything. You should’ve turned at ten, when all lycans do. Which means someone got to you before then.” She leans back, fingers tapping against the wood. Then throws her head back, groaning. “Ugh, I really, really wanted it to be your little girlfriend. But even if she were a pure-blood witch, she would've been too young backthen.” She huffs. “This would’ve been so much simpler if it was her.”
I bite down a curse. “Yeah,” I mutter. “I thought about that too.”
