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“I can’t,” I said, my heart racing. “We have to help him.”

“And I will.” Horns appeared on either side of Arlo’s head. His skin turned ruddy…then crimson. His eyes glowed, and his features grew sinister. As he continued speaking, his voice dropped to an ominous rumble. “But you’re in serious danger. Prince Einar is a rogue lycan. He can’t control his beast. And once he loses control completely, he’ll kill anyone he can get his claws on. Including you.”

Chapter

Eighteen

EINAR

My control was a fraying rope. My vision blurred, darkness gathering at the edges.

Harper’s face was a mask of terror as she watched my mangled shift.

Never wanted her to see it.

It was too late now. And if Arlo didn’t hurry, it was going to be too late to save her.

“Go,” I tried to tell him, but the word got lost in a roar. Deep inside my mind, my beast snapped more of its restraints. Harper paled, backing away from me. The present and past converged, all my secrets whipping through my deteriorating brain.

When I was a young man, my animal half and I had lived in harmony, sharing a mind and body.

And then everything changed. I started losing minutes and then hours. I fell asleep in one place and woke in another. Small animals around my family’s estate went missing. The servants found bloodied clothing stuffed in the back of my closet.

I never remembered putting it there.

Until the fire came. It started as anger. At first, I could control it. Dismiss it. Someone insulted me, and I punched a hole in the wall. One of the assholes who sat on the Council of Nobles made an ill-timed quip—and then apologized profusely after I broke his jaw.

“He’s a hothead,” the other nobles whispered. “The king’s younger brother. It’s normal for second sons to be resentful and brash.”

Those accusations were true. I resented Cyrus, my perfect older brother. Our mother’s favorite. The golden heir with the laws of our forefathers tattooed on his arms. For years, I was content to be the playboy prince—irreverent and haughty. Cruel on occasion. I broke things because it was nothing to me that someone else had to fix them.

And then the fire came, and I was no longer brash. I was terrified. And I fought a losing battle. The gods punished me, I thought, and I prayed for mercy. I vowed to change my ways.

Mercy didn’t come. The fire spread, burning away my reason. The next time I grew angry, the fire roared—and my beast responded.

I lost control. The two halves of my soul—man and lycan—splintered.

And the next time the servants found bloodied clothes in my closet, they found a corpse too.

Cyrus spared my life, but he couldn’t secure my freedom. He sent me to the other side of the country, and he gave me money to buy land and build a house with enough protective spells to keep others out—and keep me in. Draithmere was a prison. My prison. I ruled a kingdom of rejects, my court full of jesters and broken people.

Coward though I was, I hadn’t been completely dishonest with Harper. I’d met Arlo as I said, and I took him into my service because I was selfish and desperate. But Arlo wasn’t just a steward. He was a warden—albeit one of my choosing. I was a convict and a rogue, yes, but I was still a prince, and I’d leveraged my title and position to strong-arm Cyrus into letting me hire Arlo. When the flames grew too intense, Arlo wrestled me into chains strong enough to hold me.

Over the years, he’d also used his considerable gifts to grant me temporary freedom from Draithmere’s boundaries. The same magic that allowed Arlo to pull objects from different planes let him bend my prison’s barriers just enough for short-lived reprieves. He smuggled me out of the mountains when I needed to deal with blackmailing journalists…or buy groceries. We rarely discussed his reasons for doing it. Maybe it was pity. Maybe it was wisdom. Someone had to keep the local werewolf packs in check. On my good days, I could do it—as long as I had Arlo to haul me back from the edge if I started to lose control. Whatever his motivations, he’d given me small snippets of freedom. And a purpose.

And he’d brought me Adina, who broke laws and created experimental potions that kept the fire at bay.

Except when it didn’t. Sometimes, the witch’s brew wasn’t enough to squelch the fire. Like when my anger burned too high. Or when my lust flared too hot. Or when I discovered that the woman I wanted more than anything didn’t really want me back. Adina’s potions were potent and long-lasting. She and Goliath had orchestrated a romance based on deceit. Every moment of passion I’d shared with Harper was a lie. None of it was real.

I roared, the sound shaking the ground under my unsteady feet. Screams echoed around the lawn. Dimly, I was aware of more people rushing from the maze. Blurry shapes bobbed at the edges of my vision. Shouts rang out.

Harper. I had to get Harper to safety. Because she wasn’t safe from me.

Fire licked at my ribs. Blood and sweat stung my eyes. I swung around, peering through the gathering darkness. Knives of pain stabbed at me. My bones continued to snap, my body caught between forms. The stench of wet fur invaded my lungs.

I opened my jaws to bellow for Arlo. Instead, I vomited a stream of blood and bile onto the grass.

A woman cried out. Honeysuckle caught in my nostrils. I lurched toward the scent, my consciousness slipping.