Even with all your tricks, are you sure you’re enough?
When it’s time to show them all of you, powers and all, will you be what they want most?
A shiver slid down my spine as my throat went dry.
Or will your power show you the heartbreaking truth? What will you do then? Will you still be excited? Will you still be the Syndicate leader you need to be?
I couldn’t afford to be soft. I had a legacy to uphold, a role my family was counting on me to step into. I couldn’t let that unravel because some glowing bond decided to feel everything I was trying to ignore. I couldn’t be ruined by the truth. Not by this.
Be smart. Be strategic. Let them touch. Let them taste. Let them fall.
But don’t fall back.
The heat pulsed again, deeper, sharper, almost desperate now, as if the mark on my back were screaming at me, trying to drag me down into something bigger than lust. Something that felt suspiciously like... surrender. Like bonding. Like wholeness.
No.
I staggered, just for a second, but it was enough to break the illusion of control. Alic’s arm shot out, steady and strong, catching me before I tipped. His large hand was warm on my shoulder, grounding.
“You okay?”
That voice. That tone. It was gentle in a way it had no right to be. Even worse, it feltsafe.The kind of safe that made me want to lean in, let go, and pretend, just for a breath, that I didn’t have the weight of a throne strapped to my spine.
But I couldn’t.
Swallowing the urge, I forced my emotions down, cutting off the heat, the bond, the need like it was nothing more than static in my head.
“I’m fine.” My voice came out steady, controlled. I smoothed my hands down my shirt like it could press me back together, like I wasn’t already unraveling at the edges.
“Let’s go see what the hound has found for us.”
I caught Alic’s glance over his shoulder at Maso, catching something unreadable in his expression. I ignored it.
Didn’t comment.
Didn’t flinch.
Instead, I turned around, heels clicking like war drums against concrete, and stalked off into the container yard, hoping they couldn't see that I was still burning from the inside out.
We moved through the maze of towering shipping containers, the scent of metal and salt hanging heavy in the air. Alic scanned the rows like a bloodhound, occasionally pausing before gesturing us in a new direction. Eventually, I spotted her, a short, tan, curvy girl casually leaning against a faded blue container like she had all the time in the world.
The moment she saw us, she straightened and stuck her hand out with an easy grin. “Nice to meet you, Miss Glovefox. Mr. Gorgof. And Mister…” Her gaze shifted to Maso, her hand still extended.
He stared at her, eyes icy and unreadable. “Morino.”
She gave a sharp nod and pivoted back to me, unfazed. I liked her already.
Even before she spoke again, I pegged her as a bear shifter. Most people wouldn’t catch it at a glance, but I’d been around enough to know the signs. While werewolves dominated the shifter population—same strain, same scent, same pack mentality—there were others, including rare strains that had come over from Faerie, including bear. Bear shifters were slower to trust and deadly when riled. They were excellent trackers and even better bruisers, the kind of hound you hired when you wanted something caught with minimal damage.
She jerked a thumb toward the container behind her. “This one gave me a hell of a time. Nearly took my arm off trying to escape.” She gave the metal door a swift kick. It groaned in protest, and something inside moved, the sound heavy.
“I’ll have to tack on another twenty G’s,” she added so casually you’d think she was asking for spare change.
Alic stepped forward, towering over her with a glare that practically said, “in your dreams.”She didn’t flinch, but I still lifted a hand to cut him off.
“Ten,” I said, calm and firm. “Your arm looks just fine, so I’m guessing someone already patched you up, which means that part’s not on me.”
I flicked my fingers at the shredded sleeve of her jacket. “As for that Saint Laurent lambskin aviator, it retails for a little over seven grand. Add some mental trauma money, and you’re still walking away with a profit, so let’s not play games.”
