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“Which is why New Vale must remain vigilant,” Great Uncle Johnathan continued. “We’re the only city that protectspotential fated ones instead of exploiting them. They could be anyone—any social class, any species, any location. When they appear?—”

“If they appear,” Archer corrected.

“When,” Great Uncle Johnathan insisted. “The signs are already showing. You saw the ancient tomb beneath the council chamber awakened.”

I nearly dropped my glass. The way he said it—like it was perfectly normal to have ancient magical tombs just casually mentioned over dinner.

“The tomb hasn’t stirred in millennia,” Zane’s deep voice rumbled beside me, making my skin prickle with awareness. “Not since New Vale’s founding.”

“Precisely.” Great Uncle Johnathan looked pleased. “And now, just as the texts predicted, we see the first signs. The thinning of barriers. The stirring of ancient magics. The call of compatible blood?—”

This time I definitely choked on my drink. Zane’s hand moved as if to steady me, then withdrew. The phantom warmth of his almost-touch lingered on my arm.

“Perhaps we should discuss lighter topics,” Aunt Senna suggested, her motherly instincts clearly sensing my distress. “Sylvie, darling, tell us more about this idol debut?”

But my mind was spinning. Compatible blood. The pull I felt toward the brothers. The way I’d woken up in this world after wishing so desperately to belong somewhere…

No. That was ridiculous. I was just a regular new graduate with a marketing degree who’d somehow ended up in a vampire’s body. This wasn’t one of my novels. There was no way I could be…

“More blood, Prince Luca?” Benedict appeared at my elbow with perfect timing.

Yes. Blood. Focus on blood. Not on how Zane’s pulse beckoned like a siren song or how Archer’s smile made my chest ache or how Ryker looked at me.

I was in enough trouble already without adding ancient prophecies and fated bonds to the mix.

“Of course,” Great Uncle Johnathan continued, clearly not done with his favorite topic, “the potential power of such unions… imagine the offspring of a fated pair, especially with the Whitlock alpha bloodline?—”

Archer choked violently on his wine. “Uncle! We’re eating!”

“You young ones need constant reminding,” Great Uncle Johnathan huffed, undeterred. “Especially you three. The Whitlock bloodline must secure a fated mate before the other clans. The Cheng Clan is already?—”

“Archer’s right,” Ryker cut in smoothly, though his eyes danced with amusement. “We’re a bit young to be thinking about offspring.”

“Speak for yourself,” Great Uncle Johnathan sniffed. “Zane is at the perfect age, prime for an alpha to start a family.”

“Here we go again,” Sylvie whispered to me with a knowing grin.

“The women practically throw themselves at him,” Archer recovered enough to tease. “Remember that gala last month? What was it, fifteen mating proposals?”

“Seventeen,” Aunt Senna corrected with a small smile. “I kept count.”

“Eighteen,” Ryker added. “You missed Lady Victoria’s niece hiding in his car.”

I took another sip of blood, trying very hard not to think about why that information made my fangs ache with something that felt suspiciously like jealousy. Of course women would pursue Zane. He was powerful, handsome, wealthy… Not that I cared. At all.

“None of that matters,” Great Uncle Johnathan said firmly. “The Whitlock heir must bond with his fated mate. Even if”—he fixed Zane with a stern look—”you have to wait until you’re gray.”

“That could be millennia.” Archer burst out laughing. “With his power level? He’ll probably still look thirty when he’s three thousand. Can you imagine? Grumpy old man Zane, still waiting for his fated one, looking like a supermodel while chasing kids off his lawn?—”

“While you’re still drawing council meeting cartoons?” Ryker suggested.

Luca Valentine’s memories filtered through my mind: the way supernatural aging worked in this world, slowing down based on power levels. It explained why Great Uncle Johnathan, despite being over a thousand years old, merely looked distinguished rather than ancient. Why Zane, at three hundred, could potentially maintain his prime for centuries to come. Why some hundred-year-old pack members looked older than their two-hundred-year-old alpha.

“My artistic talents are underappreciated,” Archer sniffed, then turned to me with a wink. “Don’t worry, little brother, I’ll save all my best drawings for you.”

I smiled back automatically, though something in my chest twisted at the wordbrother. The way he said it was so casual, so natural. Because that’s what I was supposed to be. Their brother. Not someone who was fascinated by the strong line of Archer’s throat when he laughed or the way Ryker’s fingers traced the rim of his wineglass or how Zane’s scent made my head spin…

No. Definitely not adding fated bonds to my growing list of complications. I had enough to deal with just trying to survive dinner without accidentally revealing I wasn’t really their Luca.