Page 188 of His Drama Queen

"Do you still... feel the same?"

I thought about it. About whether the "I love you" I'd said during heat still held true now that biology wasn't controlling me. Whether I'd meant it or if it was the bond talking.

"Yes," I said finally. "I still love you. Even though you're an idiot. Even though I'm still angry. Even though you made me feel like shit for three days."

"I'm sorry. I'll never—"

"I know. You promised." I turned to face him. "Keep proving it. Keep trying. That's all I'm asking."

"I will." He kissed my forehead. "Every day. I promise."

We lay there in the dark, wrapped together, the bond humming contentedly between us. The others in the house—Oakley coming home, heading to his room. Corvus finally leaving his office, walking past our door.

This was pack. This was home.

Tentative. Healing. Still testing whether it would hold.

But mine.

Finally, fucking mine.

And in two weeks, Vivian Strasberg would be watching. A casting director who could offer me everything I'd ever wanted.

The question was: could I have both?

forty-two

Vespera

ThecallcameduringAdvanced Movement class.

"Ms. Levine, you're needed in the administrative office."

I looked up from the floor stretch I'd been holding, my muscles protesting the interruption. De Scarzis raised an eyebrow but nodded permission. The showcase was six days away, and we'd been running full rehearsals every day, but apparently something was more important.

Campus security didn't pull you out of class unless it was serious.

My heart kicked into overdrive as I grabbed my bag and hurried across campus. Had something happened to Dad? To Robbie? Was this about the pack? Had Dorian's parents finally made good on their threats?

The bond hummed in my chest—sandalwood tinged with concern. Dorian had felt my spike of anxiety from wherever he was. I sent back a pulse ofI'm fine, I'll text youand kept walking.

The administrative building loomed ahead, all gothic stonework and stained glass. I'd been here exactly once, during orientation freshman year. Now I was climbing the steps with my stomach in knots, wondering what crisis had found me now.

The receptionist looked up when I entered. "Ms. Levine? Your father is waiting in Conference Room B. Down the hall, second door on the left."

My father.

Relief and confusion hit simultaneously. He was alive. But what was he doing here?

I found him standing by the window, looking out at the quad. He'd aged since I'd last seen him in person—more gray in his hair, deeper lines around his eyes. He still wore his usual uniform of jeans and a tech crew t-shirt, looking completely out of place in this expensive institution.

"Dad?"

He turned, and his expression crumpled slightly. "Vespera. God, look at you."

The hug was awkward. We'd never been physically affectionate, and the last few months had strained our relationship to breaking. But his arms around me felt safe in a way I'd forgotten I needed.

"What's wrong?" I asked when we pulled apart. "Are you okay?"