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CHAPTER FOUR

ADOM

J orge and I had fought side by side for years. There wasn’t a battlefield I could remember where he hadn’t been at my back, his mechanical limb a blur of precision and strength. He'd risen quickly through the ranks, a feat for a mere human. His skill and cunning outpaced even the most vicious shifter. The man tore through trolls as though he had a personal vendetta against them. He was more than my second in command; he was my brother-in-arms, someone I trusted implicitly. Which is why I didn't stop him as he questioned my bride-to-be.

I'd seen him wrangle confessions out of hardened criminals. Sometimes with just his cheerful voice. Other times, he used his hand, which hid all manner of torture devices. The moment that hand reached out for the princess, something inside me snapped.

There was a tick in my left eyebrow. My incisors ground against one another. The claws at the end of my fingers felt like they were growing longer, slicing through more of my flesh.

The roar tore from my throat before I could stop it. I was on him before I processed moving. My claws left my palms and found Jorge's neck. I hauled him back, slamming him against the far wall. The impact cracked the wood paneling, sending a shudder through the room.

“Do not touch her.”

The sharp edge of Jorge's blade hand bit into my arm. The sting was immediate. Hot blood welled against my furred skin.

I ignored it. Pain was nothing compared to the rage roaring through my veins.

“Something isn’t right.” Jorge's voice was tight with strain as I squeezed his neck. His dark eyes darted to the veiled figure with her back pressed against the door. “Show yourself.”

I growled again. I didn't like Jorge talking to her. It pissed me off that he'd given her a command. He had the power to order my army around. But not her. She was mine.

It was that thought that had me loosening my hold on Jorge. She was mine ? Where had that come from?

From the corner of my eye, I studied her—my bride. The scent of her reached me first, soft and sweet, like the gardens after the rain. The veil obscured her face but couldn't hide the lavender hue of her skin. Nor the gentle curves of her figure outlined beneath the fine fabric. Her dark hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, a contrast to the pale lace that shrouded her features.

Shifters had no distinction between their human side and their animal side. We were one and the same. Unless they were like me and caught between the two. With the princess' scent in my nose, the human part of me lost its grip, and the beast stirred, restless and hungry. It wanted her—wanted to protect her, to claim her.

The princess had one hand clutching her chest and the other on the doorknob. “It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding," she repeated.

Her fingers tightened around the knob. I expected her to turn it and dash out the door and into the night. She didn't. One by one, her fingers released their hold. She took a determined step into the room.

"I was trying to honor your father's human customs.”

She held herself rigid, defensive. But she wasn't trembling. There was fear there, yes, but not panic. She wasn't afraid of me. She was trying to please me.

So she'd been prepared.

Both our families had known she would be mine since the day she was born. The Skykeepers had read the constellations and foretold that the Princess of Evergrove born on the Hunter's Eclipse would be bound to the Prince of Solmane. Our destinies had been written in the stars. Or rather, written by the moon. We could not escape each other.

Well, we could. We could defy the gods as my parents had done. But by her stance, I doubted Princess Charlotte would. Not when she was looking at the result of defying Avarix.

She wasn’t looking directly at me, but her gaze landed close enough. I forgot the veil. Forgot Jorge's suspicions. Forgot the curse and saw only her. Her composure. Her strength.

She hadn’t screamed at me. She had been frightened of Jorge’s aggression, not my presence. A strange sense of relief washed over me, unexpected and unwelcome.

“Leave us.”

Jorge hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Adom?—”

“Now.”

It seemed he might argue. Then he nodded stiffly. The faint hum of his prosthetics followed him as he stepped back. The mechanical parts of his body moved with a stiffness I'd never seen him display before. He cast one last look at her—sharp, searching—before exiting the room. The door closed with a soft click, leaving the two of us alone.

The veil shifted slightly as she moved, the lace catching the dim light. I caught a flicker of something beneath it—a glimmer of her eyes, watchful and assessing.

I couldn’t see her features clearly, but I knew the weight of someone’s stare. Hers didn’t feel heavy. It didn’t bear the usual burden of disgust or fear I’d come to expect. Instead, it felt… curious.

“I’m not going to remove the veil.”

“I’m not going to bite you.”

The faintest flicker of something crossed her stance—a hint of relief, perhaps. It couldn't have been humor. No one joked with me except Jorge. And most of the times it was him laughing at his own jokes.

Without thinking, I stepped forward. “Will you take my hand instead?”

The weight of her gaze shifted down to my hand. Her silence stretched long enough than was polite.

“Is there a problem?”

“Your nails. They could use a trim. May I?”

I just stared at her, caught off guard by the absurdity of the observation. I’d expected a flinch, perhaps even a shaky apology. “You want to trim my claws?”

“The tips are jagged. They might snare the fabric of my gown."

For the first time, I noticed she held a gown in her arms. It was the traditional yellow of a Lunaterran bridal gown in honor of the suns. The princess set the gown down on a chaise nearby. When she straightened, she took my hand in hers.

Her touch carried a faint hum of magic. It felt like the gentle flow of a brook. It was nothing like the wild, untamed power of the moons that coursed through me. I watched, fascinated despite myself, as the edges of my claws began to smooth and reshape. Her magic moved with precision. Each claw was polished to a perfect curve, the jagged edges disappearing beneath her touch.

When she reached the last one, she leaned back, inspecting her work. “There, that’s much better.”

I didn't look at my hands. I looked at hers. She had held my massive paws in her dainty lavender hands and tamed them. My claws were still claws—sharp, deadly—but now they were… Well, not pretty. They were clean and even. No one had ever touched me like that—deliberately, gently, without fear.

We were closer now. The firelight shifted enough so that she could see my features clearly. No shadows. No hiding.

When she looked up, she gasped. I waited, my jaw tightening, my chest coiled with anticipation. This was the moment where her mask of composure would shatter. Where she would scream.

She didn’t.

Instead, she gasped softly, her hand slipping from mine as she stepped closer. “That’s it.”

“That’s what?”

“Your hair. That’s the color my dress is missing.”

Her words were so unexpected that they silenced the growl rising in my chest.

The princess reached up. Her fingers brushed against my mane. Her hands moved through the coarse strands as though she were studying the texture.

As she turned my hair this way and that, trying to catch the light, her scent traveled up my nose. I'd never liked spirits much. As someone who wasn't in full possession of their body, I didn't want anything taking away any more of my control. She was an intoxicating blend of wildflowers and honey warmed by the sun.

The scent of her curled in the air like smoke from a dying ember or condensation clinging to glass on a cool night. It wrapped around me, a snake slithering closer to strike. Her bite was the poisonous drug I feared. I found myself helpless to resist and eager to indulge.

“The dress is going to be perfect with it,” she said softly, almost to herself. Her voice carried the kind of focus I’d only ever heard in warriors preparing for battle—or in craftsmen consumed by their work.

“You… need my hair?”

She nodded, still distracted, her fingers curling around a strand. “Just a few strands. It's the exact shade of Lyra's rays. The color is exactly what I’ve been missing. Do you mind?”