Chapter 5

Aidan's POV

Six years later.

The hall was packed with self-satisfied Lycan Alphas, ordinary wolf Alphas, and a Council full of tedious old men. I could barely stand being near any of them, surrounded by silk, gold thread, and endless chatter from people who never said what they actually meant. I would have traded the whole evening for a night spent hunting down some rogue with my claws.

My father stood on the dais, and the room fell silent the way it always did when the Lycan King spoke.

"It's no secret," he said, "that in one month, I will lay down my crown. Tonight, the Council will announce the candidates who may claim it. Whoever proves themselves worthy through the trials will take it." He paused, and I felt every eye in the room turn toward me before he even said the words. "I hope it will be my son. Aidan."

Applause rolled through the hall. I kept my face perfectly still.

Then old, sour-faced Alpha Thaddeus opened his mouth, because of course he did.

"We would all be glad, of course, if Aidan managed to find himself a Luna before then." He said it smooth as silk, all courtesy on the surface and a blade underneath. "I only mean to remind the room of tradition."

Something inside me went taut and hot. Old Thaddeus never missed a chance to put a wheel under my feet.

Declan's hand landed on my shoulder before I could open my mouth.

"Don't," he murmured. "He loves it when you snap back. Don't give him the satisfaction."

I took the whiskey he pressed into my hand and drank it in one swallow.

Declan leaned in closer. "They don't know what we know."

My hand found its way, without my permission, to the small vial of ash hanging on a chain beneath my shirt.

"And they won't."

Silence stretched between us for a few seconds. Then Declan looked away.

"Where's Asta, by the way?"

"Not feeling well again. Seraphina's with her."

His expression changed instantly. "The seizures — more frequent now?"

"I know."

I said it too sharply. The crystal cracked in my palm. Conversation around us dropped off, and a few heads turned at the sound.

***

Elara's POV

I was standing at the entrance to the estate, and before I could even reach for the bell, the door swung open. A footman appeared in the doorway, and behind him I could hear music drifting faintly through the house — clearly some kind of reception already underway.

"Who are you?"

"Elara. I’m here about the nanny position."

His gaze dropped, and I followed it to Will, standing beside me.

"Oh — this is my son, William. I didn't mention I'd be bringing him. That won't be a problem, will it?"

He looked Will over a second time, unhurried, as if calculating something in his head. "We'll see what the head housekeeper has to say about that."

I was led into an office.

"Elara, I presume?" The woman behind the desk didn't look up right away.

"Yes." I sat when she gestured toward the chair across from her.

"Tell me about yourself. And why you'd want to work here."

I didn't think unloading my entire life story would improve my odds, so I kept it simple. "I'm looking for stable work. I have a son, and we need somewhere to live and money to live on."

"Money is your main motivation?"

"Yes. Giving my son a good life, a good education — that takes money, and my family isn't in a position to help. I've heard this pack takes care of its people."

"We certainly do. We're the royal pack."

"I hope my references were satisfactory."

"You wouldn't be sitting here if they weren't." She folded her hands on the desk. "Tell me what you can do."

I listed my skills — a basic first aid course I'd completed, the small things I'd picked up managing a household on my own. "And you can judge for yourself how I am with my own son. That's the best reference I have."

Will stood beside me the whole time, dressed in the best clothes I owned, his hair carefully combed, his shoes polished to a shine. I'd gone through everything we owned that morning, searching for something presentable for him, and at the bottom of an old bag I hadn't opened in years, I'd found a small envelope. Inside was the ultrasound photo I'd thought I'd lost.

My girl. Stillborn. Will would have had a sister.

I still didn't fully understand what the birth had done to me. They say childbirth changes a woman, but the next morning the midwife had gone completely silent as she handed Will to me to nurse. She'd held up a small mirror without a word. The scar on my face was gone. Silver strands had already begun threading through my hair. Six years later, it had gone completely white.

Cordelia's voice pulled me out of the memory.

"All right. You'll start in the morning." She studied me across the desk. "I should warn you, this girl has a temper. We've gone through ten nannies this year alone."

"Then I suppose my job is to win her over."

"Hm." A thin, humorless smile. "I'd say your job is to win over her father. Cross him, and he'll make your life miserable." She pressed a button on the phone at her desk, and a moment later someone appeared in the doorway. "Show Miss Elara and her son to their room."

We'd barely taken a few steps when Felix came pounding down the staircase at a dead run and nearly collided with Cordelia.

"It's happening again — someone get a healer, now!"

Cordelia's face went pale. "Another seizure?"

"Where's Seraphina?"

"I don't know. She wasn't with her."

"I can help." The words were out of my mouth before I'd decided to say them. "I have first aid training."

"Go. I'll call the clinic." Cordelia was already reaching for the phone.

We ran. By the time we reached the room, I found the child curled up on the bed, her small body shaking, limbs jerking against the sheets — and sparks. Sparks jumping off her fingers like static electricity.

"What is this?" I asked.

No one answered. The girl's breath caught, a thin, wheezing sound, as if she couldn't pull in enough air. A seizure. I'd seen them before, in training, but never like this — never with light crackling across a child's skin.

I dropped to my knees beside her, turned her onto her side, brushed the hair back from her face, and looked into her eyes.

"I need a spoon. Now."

Before anyone could even bring one to me, the shaking stopped. All at once. The girl's breathing evened out, her small body going slack and still in my arms, her eyes fluttering half open.

I went still. For one impossible second, looking at her face, I thought—

No. I pushed the thought away before it could fully form. It wasn't possible.

The door slammed open behind me.

"What are you doing to my daughter?"

I turned.

And stopped breathing.

It was him.

The man from the hunting cabin. The man I'd spent six years trying to forget.

His eyes moved over my face — cold, guarded, utterly unfamiliar.

Not a flicker of recognition.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?”

Something inside me collapsed.