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You’re compromised,my spirit Alpha reminded me.These stupid clothes are restricting your movement.
I grimaced, trying to find a comfortable position on the throne.
“You look beautiful, Zo,” Pyke murmured, running their hand down my arm. My Alpha bristled at the word—too feminine a description for us. “Perhaps you’ll find your High Consort tonight.”
“I think not,” I grumbled under my breath. “Not interested.”
They leaned close, setting an arm companionably on my shoulder. “Think about it this way—the faster you find a mate, the faster you can shake Zavery off.”
I felt my lips thin to a slash at the mention of my former lover.
“She still believes you’ll take her as a Mate. I overheard her bragging about it to her friends a few days ago.”
Irritation slashed through me. “If it wasn’t for Emberleigh, she and I would have parted ways a long time ago.”
“I know,” Pyke soothed, resting their chin on the curve of my shoulder. “You’ve made your feelings about Zavery abundantly clear, but she’s stubborn. She claims that you loved her once, so you’ll love her again.”
The muscles along my cheek twitched uncomfortably.
“It wasn’t love,” I bit out, each word as flinty as the power that ran along my fingertips.
Lovehad nothing to do with the conception of my daughter. There were several other words I would rather use instead: animal need, necessity, circumstance. My rut, Zavery’s heat. They had all come together almost a decade ago to ignite a flame that should’ve remained banked.
A swift kiss to my cheek left my skin wet with gloss. Pyke turned away again, ready to merge with the merry-making crowd.
“Wait.” The single word called them back to my side. “What was the bet with Netto?”
They stilled, eyes going wide like a frightened rabbit ensnared in a trap. I caught the waves of guilt that made the muscles of their cheeks twitch tellingly.
At that moment, I knew I had been hoodwinked. There had never been a wager of any kind—Pyke had simply evolved into a master manipulator, using my protectiveness to get me to do what they wanted.
“I, uh, Netto said—”
“Enough.” I turned back around, irritation knitting my brows. How easily I’d been taken in by their trickery.
“Sorry, Zo,” Pyke murmured. “Mama made me do it. If it’s any consolation, the jacket suits you so very well—”
The rest of the words faded into the whirr of the wind as the doors to the solarium opened with a chorus of trumpets. My spine straightened a little, fingers warming the cold, hard armrest of the throne.
The blare of the herald’s voice cut through the crowd with the severity of a sword.
“The house of Summerstream.”
Where merriment had been rife before, the noise simmered to a tense silence.
My vision narrowed, honing in on my prey within seconds. I felt my breath shorten and chest tighten, muscles shifting for battle. Against the silver of the throne, my fingertips sparked harshly, ready to cast the first flame.
There she stood, resplendent in silken finery, a disgustingly perfect hybrid of masculinity and femininity. My blood curdled as she stepped forward in an impossibly elegant stride, the heel of her shiny black boot barely making a sound on the polished marble.
There were others at her side—her mother, her intended mate, her entourage—but they paled in her shadow.
Rather, I traced the line of her boned corset, watching the way it cinched at her waist before flaring exceedingly wide around her hips. She had opted for a pair of billowy pants that looked as silky as her skin, its color as red as the flames that threatened to spark on my fingers.
Her shoulders were covered modestly with a silk wrap, tucked neatly into the tight corset. Only a hint of cleavage teased the eye, creamy and streaked with freckles.
Freckles,I thought, a memory battering at the carefully locked box in my brain. Memories were forbidden, meant only for rumination when my subconscious was compromised. In my dreams, perhaps. Another life where we had stood in the gardens, under the heat of the sun, and I had kissed every freckle that ran across the bridge of her nose.
Twelve.
