I push off the counter and pace the small length of the kitchen. "Chimeras ain't accidents, Miranda. They’re corrections. Nature don't make things like you often. Maybe once every few centuries. But when she does? It’s because the balance is off."
"Balance?"
"Vampires got too strong," I say. "Or Wolves got too weak. Or the feud got too bloody. A Chimera is the fulcrum. You bridge the gap. You got the strengths of both and the weaknesses of neither."
She stares at me, her hands gripping the edge of the mattress. "Matilde knows."
"She knows," I nod. "She knows that if you fully transition—if the Wolf side wakes up—you’ll be stronger than her. You’ll have the claim to the estate by blood and the power to hold it by force. That’s why she wants you dead. You ain't just a threat to her life; you're a threat to her ego."
"But the Pack..." She hesitates. "You said they exiled my father. You said they hated him."
"Some did," I admit. "The loud ones. The ones who saw the world in black and white. But the Pack ain't a monolith."
I walk back to the stove. The coffee is bubbling, filling the room with the scent of burnt roast and chicory. It’s grounding.
"My father wasn't the only one who loved Silver," I say quietly. "There are Elders in the bayou—old wolves, mean as snakes—who still pour a drink for him on the Solstice. They fought beside him. They saw him take bullets that would have turned other men to paste. They respected the power."
I pour the sludge into two tin mugs.
"When he was exiled... it split the council. A lot of them thought it was a mistake. They believed that a Mate bond is sacred. It comes from the marrow. You don't choose it, and youdon't break it. To punish a wolf for following his instinct? That sits wrong with the old blood."
I walk over to her and hold out a mug.
She takes it. Her fingers brush mine. The spark is still there—hot, electric—but it doesn't scare me as much as it did an hour ago.
"If they find out who you are," I say, looking down at her, "if they know you're Silver’s pup... the old ones will rally. They’ll see it as a chance to fix the mistake they made twenty-six years ago. They helped my father build a grave for him, Miranda. Deep in the woods. A marker. You don't build a shrine for a traitor."
"They buried him?" she whispers, looking into the dark liquid.
"They honored him," I correct. "And they’ll honor you. Not all of them—some will call you an abomination. They’ll ask you to prove yourself. They might challenge you. But most? They’ll see the miracle."
"I don't feel like a miracle," she mutters. "I feel like a biological experiment gone wrong."
"That’s because you're looking at the schematic upside down," I say.
I crouch down in front of her, bringing myself to her eye level. The smell of her—that potent mix of wolf-musk and human-sweetness—is intoxicating. It settles the Wolf in my chest.
"I’m sorry," I say.
She blinks, surprised. "For what? The kidnapping? The bad coffee?"
"For treating you like the enemy," I rasp. "For looking at the label and not the contents."
I reach out, taking her free hand. Her skin is soft, but her grip is firm.
"I smelled the rot on you and I stopped thinking," I admit. "I judged you for a name you didn't even know you had. I was ready to hate you because it was easier than admitting that the universe tied me to a Duval."
"It’s... understandable," she says, her voice tight. "Prejudice is a deeply ingrained survival mechanism."
"It’s stupid," I counter. "And I was wrong. You ain't poison,chérie. You're the cure."
She looks at me, and finally, the defensive walls in her eyes crack. The mechanic steps back, and the woman steps forward.
"So what do we do?" she asks. "If I’m this... weapon. If I’m the heir. What’s the play?"
"We stop hiding," I say. "We stop waiting for Gregor to kick down the door. We tell the Pack. We bring the Elders in. We announce you."
"You want to introduce the 'abomination' to the family reunion?"
