“Because you never gave me the chance.”
“Because I never wanted to.”
Annora’s eyes flashed, hurt and fury braided together, and for a moment the political mask dissolved entirely and I saw the woman underneath. The one who’d built her entire identity around becoming queen of Veyndral and couldn’t accept that the position had been filled.
“You’re making a mistake,” she said.
“I’ve made several. You’re not one of them.”
“She can’t give you what I can.”
“You’d be surprised.”
Mira’s voice came from behind Annora. Casual. Conversational. The tone she used when she was about to do real damage.
Annora turned. Mira stood three feet away, a dagger balanced loosely in her right hand. Not brandished. Just present. The way a person holds a pen they’ve been writing with.
“I couldn’t help overhearing,” Mira said. “Mostly because you weren’t being quiet and also because I have a vested interest in conversations about my replacement.”
“This is a private discussion,” Annora said.
“About my mate. Which makes it my discussion.” Mira tilted her head. “You want to know what I can offer that you can’t? That’s fair. You’ve had decades to make your case. I’ve had months.”
“Months of chaos, conflict, and a war you started. You’re not as special as you think you are.”
“A war my father started. I’m finishing it.” Mira rotated the dagger between her fingers with a fluidity that came from weeks of training and a lifetime of learning to defend herself. “You keep talking about what I can’t do. Can’t rule, can’t lead. Can’t stand beside him. And yet here I am. Standing.”
“With a dagger.” Annora’s lip curled. “How very human.”
Mira moved. Fast. Not aggressive, just efficient. The dagger traced a thin line across Annora’s cheekbone before the lycan woman could flinch.
A scratch.
Annora’s hand flew to her cheek. She gasped, staring at the blood on her fingers, and for a moment the centuries-old aristocrat looked genuinely scared that a human had touched her.
But I had a different reaction. All I could think about ismy mate’s so fucking hot.
Every drop of blood in my body went south. My wolf growled with want.
The woman carrying my children had just opened a lycan noble’s cheek with a flick of her wrist and the only coherent thought left in my head was that I needed everyone in this clearing to disappear so I could put my mouth on her.
“Relax.” Mira wiped the blade on her sleeve. “You’re not a disgusting human. You’ll regenerate.”
The scratch sealed itself in seconds. Annora watched it close, her expression cycling through shock and rage.
Mira stepped forward and rested her hand on Annora’s shoulder. The gesture was almost friendly.
“For the record,” Mira said, “he’s the one chasing me. Begging me to take him back.” She held Annora’s eyes. “Just one word from me and he’ll crawl back on his knees.” A smile. Not warm. Certain. “We are not on the same level.”
Annora didn’t speak or move. The hand on her shoulder held her in place with the gentle authority of a woman who’d stopped asking for permission to occupy space.
Mira released her and turned to me. “Lucian.”
Well shit, I was really turned on by her actions.
I followed her.
My wolf didn’t even hesitate. The king of Veyndral, trailing his mate into the tree line because she’d told him to.
