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“I apologize,” he finally whispers, voice cracking like spring ice. “I am profoundly sorry, troublesome thing.”

“Sorry for what?”

But he’s already pulling away, shadows retreating as ivy reluctantly releases its hold. Cold air rushes between us like a physical wound. His mask rebuilds itself with each inch of distance, but it’s cracked now—fragile.

“Six days,” he says, stepping back with visible effort and aristocratic precision. “Six days until I am compelled to destroy everything I have just discovered I want.”

“Six days until what?”

His smile turns sharp, dangerous, full of secrets that could destroy us both. But underneath it, I catch a glimpse of genuine anguish before he locks it away.

“Six days to memorize the taste of you before I am forced to forget it ever existed.”

He melts into shadows, leaving me alone with thorns blazing beneath my skin and the taste of winter magic still burning on my lips—and the terrible certainty that something is very, very wrong.

I touch my mouth where ancient power still tingles, staring at the space where he stood.

Six days.

The countdown has begun, and I don’t even know what happens when it ends.

But from the devastation in his eyes, I know it won’t be anything good.

17

ORION

The oath markbrands fire through my bones watching her command the room. Twenty students hang on her every word like wolves recognizing pack alpha. My flesh burns where ancient magic carved its claim.

Because she is.

“Intuition matters more than power,” she tells them, demonstrating a joint lock that could snap bone if applied with full force. Her movements flow like water over stone—fluid strength that shouldn’t exist in human form.

But she’s not human. Every instinct I possess screams the truth my rational mind already knows.

She’s royal Wild Court. The missing piece of everything I’ve been bred to protect and serve.

And she’s still fighting it like her life depends on denial.

Students circle her like satellites drawn to gravity. Their eyes track her movements with the hunger of predators learning from something apex. When she speaks, even the rebellious ones shut their mouths and listen.

“Master the basics first,” Ash says, gathering materials with military precision. “Complexity comes after you stop fucking up the fundamentals.”

Her voice stays level, professional. But I catch the tension in her shoulders, the way her pulse jumps when she thinks I’m not watching.

Every breath she takes, every shift of weight, every micro-expression—catalogued and memorized like scripture.

The last student finally leaves, and the arena’s energy shifts. Suddenly we’re alone, and the space feels charged with possibility. Wild magic hums beneath my skin, recognizing its match across twenty feet of crystal flooring.

“Good class.” I prowl forward, heat rolling off me in waves that make the air shimmer. “They listen like you’re pack alpha.”

“I’m their instructor.” Her knuckles whiten around the gear bag’s strap—soldier’s response to uncontrolled variables. When in doubt, strangle something. “It’s called doing my job.”

“That what we’re calling it?” Each step closer makes the oath mark burn brighter. She backs up before catching herself—prey instinct overriding military training for half a heartbeat. “Because that looked like authority calling to authority.”

“What do you want, Orion?”

I take a step forward. She doesn’t move.