Julian’s gaze didn’t waver. “If not a witch, then what?”
“I—” Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. There was no lie she could tell that would sound convincing now.
He studied her face, the flicker of her pupils, the tremor of her breath. “You don’t need to be afraid of me,” he said after a moment. “If I wanted to expose you, I already would have.”
Layla didn’t believe that for a second. “Then why are you here?”
“Because I want to understand what you are to him,” Julian said. “I wasn’t raised in the Volkhov Pack. I grew up an ocean away. Different priorities. Different practices. Yest' veshchi, ot kotorykh dazhe ya ne mogu ubezhat.”
Layla swallowed. So he was Russian.
Without pausing, he seamlessly switched back to English, blinking away whatever ghost had just touched him. “I want to understand what you might be to the pack.”
She stared at him, caught between fear and disbelief. “You think this”—she gestured at the books, the symbols, the chalk dust clinging to her hands—“could ever help anyone? If Dominic finds out, he’ll—"
“Kill you?” Julian asked mildly. “Exile you? Perhaps. Or perhaps he’ll decide Lunarion wouldn’t have chosen someoneunworthy for him. That you’ve got a part to play in all this. Either way, your secret can’t survive long. Not as the Luna. Not as the Alpha’s mate.”
Layla’s stomach turned cold.
Julian’s expression softened slightly, though the effect was somehow worse than when he’d looked at her like she was some sort of weapon. “You’re not the first to be afraid of what you are,” he said, “but fear makes poor cover. You’d do better with allies.”
“Are you offering?” she asked, the words escaping before she could stop them.
A corner of his mouth twitched. “That depends on what you’re offering in return.”
Her voice cracked. “I don’t have anything.”
“Oh, I think you do.” He gestured to her notes. “Dreams. Visions. Insight. I’ve seen enough of this world to know the divine rarely wastes effort. If it’s showing you something, it’s for a reason.”
Layla blinked at him. “You really do believe in all this, don’t you?”
Julian’s gaze softened. “I have more reason than most.”
The weight of his words pressed against her chest until she could barely breathe.
“Julian,” she whispered, “please. Don’t tell him.”
He looked at her for a long time, the silence stretching until the faint hiss of the sea outside was the only sound in the room.
Finally, he said, “That depends on you.”
Layla’s pulse hammered. “What do you want?”
“I want you to tell me everything you see,” he said. “Every vision. Every dream. If something changes, I hear it first. I can…suggestplans to the Alpha accordingly. In exchange, I keep your secret.”
The way he said it made her skin crawl.
“You’re using me,” she said quietly.
Julian smiled, just enough to show that she wasn’t wrong. “I’m protecting the pack. If that protection happens to require…information, then yes. I’ll use it. I’ll useyou.”
He stepped back, giving her room to breathe. “But understand this, Layla: if you lie to me again, I’ll know. And I won’t be as forgiving twice.”
Her vision blurred, the candlelight seemed too bright, the air too thin.
Julian turned and started toward the stairs, pausing halfway up. “Think carefully,” he said. “Witchcraft is treason in these parts. But prophecy? A divine gift from Lunarion? The pack may just believe that. Oh, and Layla?”
“Yes?” she squeaked, flinching slightly at the ice in his voice.
