39
Evelyn Lee died fighting the Wolf Queen of North America.
She fought, and she lost, and now her body—her soul —is gone.
With each pounding step, I repeat the words to myself like a mantra. It spurs me forward. Over the bridge, charging through shadows, ignoring any cars that might be on the road. Let them see me. Let them see the werewolf. I will not cower. I will not hide from this.
I throw myself through Castle Severi’s massive, ice-blue doors. I don’t stop to breathe—I take off like a rocket, past the chandelier-lit foyer and into a hall of painted portraits depicting the regents of old.
The sight of black eyes in every single one makes me snarl.
“Halt!” Instructor Shepherd leaps into my path, his mouth twisting into a severe frown. “Who are…” He pauses and sniffs the air. “Miss Hart ?”
I glower at him with flaring nostrils and gleaming teeth.
My claws burrow into the tile, chipping at the antique flooring recklessly.
Instructor Shepherd must sense it—that I’ve abandoned my sensibilities.
That my rage has fully taken over. He flexes his muscles, and claws rip from his fingers.
“Miss Hart, whatever you’re doing, I’m telling you to reconsider. ”
But he is a Beta. He cannot tell me to do anything.
I snap my jaws at him, and he barely manages to leap out of the way.
Evelyn Lee is dead. His future queen is dead.
I snarl again. The portraits on the wall quake.
The two most recent ones crash onto the floor—canvases splitting open.
Frames breaking. I stomp on Queen Sybil’s face, claws slicing through what remains, and dark butterflies spring from the remnants of her gaze.
Instructor Shepherd tilts his head. He raises placating hands, as if expecting me to lunge.
As if he isn’t prepared to fight until I do.
But I won’t. I just need someone to listen .
“What happened?” he asks. Though I slam my paw down again in answer, his eyes still narrow in confusion. I growl. “Miss Hart, if you are looking to communicate, you need to shift.”
Shift. Shifting makes me weak. I shake my head, but his voice hardens. “Miss Hart, I will not ask you again.”
My hackles rise, and, like frostbite needling my skin, his tone burrows into me.
Instructor Shepherd is one of the strongest werewolves in this castle.
I don’t want to fight him. I want him on my side.
I need to speak to him. And if I want him to listen—if I want all of them to listen—I cannot explode with rage.
Months of advice rush through my ears, the lethal riptide of a hurricane, and I hear the snapping of Evelyn’s neck as if it’s happening again.
Vanessa, there is order to our laws.
There are orders, rules, and expectations.
I need to be smart. I am not the strongest, the fiercest, or the fastest here.
But I have the most evidence. I nod in agreement, and Instructor Shepherd finds a discarded robe in a closet, then allows me time to shift back on my own.
The closet is tight, dark. I can’t see even the claw in front of my face. My wolfish body shudders.
I have to transform , I think. Otherwise, no one will understand.
My bones snap and mend, but I don’t feel it this time. Grief smothers the pain as I slowly break back into my body. Evie… Evie … My heart races. I stumble into a row of forgotten coats, and dust powders the air. But I don’t care. About any of it. Evie died. I watched her die.
Why is it always my fault?
I swallow a wave of panic. Another. I have to get out of here. I have to tell them what happened.
Shrugging on the long silk robe, I tie it tight around my waist before meeting Instructor Shepherd in the hallway. “She’s dead,” I say, forcing the tremor from my voice. “Evie. At the beach. The Wolf Queen… She snapped her neck and fled with her body. I saw the whole thing happen.”
Instructor Shepherd stares at me, then glances behind him. Three guards have appeared, all wearing the sash of their queen. And if I have to choose between them—between the instructor who fancies my closest friend or the guards who report directly to the villain—I know exactly who is safest.
Grabbing Instructor Shepherd’s hand, I say quietly, “You have to listen to me. I know what I saw. A big beast with black eyes grabbed Evie and ran off. I watched her die . I fought three other wolves… I couldn’t save her.
I tried. And Sin and Calix—they were there too.
But they ran off. And Eric…” Oh god. Eric.
I hadn’t thought about Evie’s brother. He doesn’t know yet, and—and someone will have to tell him.
My stomach roils, but I won’t puke. I need Instructor Shepherd to listen to me.
Frown deepening, he drags me down the hall on silent feet, into an alcove where the guards won’t see us, though I’m sure they’re still following. They’re going to tell the queen I’ve returned. My ribs threaten to burst from the pressure building in my lungs.
“You said Evelyn Lee is dead?” Instructor Shepherd asks.
I nod fervently. “Yes.”
“And you think Queen Sybil was behind it?”
“Not behind it. She was it. She killed her. I—I recognized her scent, and I saw her eyes —” My voice rises at the last word, takes on a frenzied tone before I can smother it, but Instructor Shepherd shakes his head.
“That’s not possible.”
A growl rips from my throat. “Why the hell not?”
“Queen Sybil would not break her bargain—”
“Evie dying is the only way she could break it,” I implore.
“She has one way to ensure the Lees don’t control both Asia and North America, and that was by murdering their daughter.
Which she did. In front of me .” I clench my teeth, grinding out, “Don’t tell me what I saw, Instructor.
She was there. If you had my gift, you would know that I’m telling the truth . ”
He contemplates this, his amber gaze venomous, and I can sense he wants to believe me. This is his queen, however. This is his court, his life. At last, his jaw hardens. “I am an instructor here, Miss Hart. I am not part of the queen’s pack. Just what do you expect me to do with this information?”
I throw my arms into the air in frustration. “I don’t know! The Princess of the Asian Court has just been murdered . We need to do something —”
“What you need to do”—he grips my arm, forcing me deeper into the shadows of the alcove—“is be smart. Think. Like I’ve said in our lessons, every move you make should be deliberate.
Court is no different than battle. If what you’re saying is true,” he says, his voice lower still, “tearing through the castle in a mindless rage won’t help. ”
We stare at each other while the truth of his words washes over me.
I need to be smart. I need to think. In order for this court to understand the depths of Queen Sybil’s treachery, I need to tell them.
All of them. For months now, I’ve believed the only path to vengeance lay with Evie’s death, but that isn’t true.
Her death hasn’t fixed anything. And her life—it was only a symptom of the greater disease. Evelyn Lee was never the villain here.
It’s been Queen Sybil all along.
This could be my only chance to make it right.
“Would you be able to gather the court somewhere secret?” I ask, unwilling to waste another second. “Or as many of them as you can?”
He releases my arm and steps back. “They’ve already been summoned to the throne room.”
“For what? By who?”
“Lord Allard.” He clears his throat uncomfortably before looking away. “There was a skirmish between the Countess of Montana and the Earl of Alberta. The pack relations within the North American Court are becoming… fraught.”
Of course they are. We are all being led by a tyrant, and the bruises of her torment are beginning to show. I take a deep breath. Though nerves threaten to consume my anger, I do my best to ignore them. This isn’t the time to hesitate. This is the time to act . “I need to speak with them.”
His gaze snaps back to mine. Doubt flickers in his amber eyes. “Do you know what you’re doing, Miss Hart?”
No. Not even a little bit. “Y-yes,” I whisper instead.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Sin and I planned to do this together —to do it at the Ascension Rite, surrounded by the most powerful leaders in the world rather than simply the Countess of Montana and Earl of Alberta.
Sin isn’t here , however, and Evie’s death has tipped the scales too far. The queen cannot get away with this.
So… so I will go alone. I will make them listen.
I straighten my spine, and—voice stronger now—I repeat, “Yes. I know what I’m doing.”
That same wooden door greets me from my first night as a werewolf—massive, with gilded bolts and a large, rose-shaped knob—but this time I approach it without the overwhelming haze of uncontrolled rage, instead using the anger inside my chest to anchor me.
To complete me. I hate the queen. I hate her, but I will make this right.
The cold of the handle bites into my palm, and I turn it with one more sharp inhalation, glancing back at Instructor Shepherd.
He gives a terse nod—his only indication of support—before pivoting on his heel and marching away.
It’s now or never.
The guards behind follow my every movement, but they don’t steal me away from the throne room. They allow me to open the door. I do so quickly, revealing a dozen or so courtiers and…
And the queen.
My feet lurch to a halt, my claws nearly emerging as I spot Queen Sybil lounging on her obsidian throne. She smiles at me, a gown of rippling black covering her arms, her legs, lace hiding her neck. But she can’t hide the scarlet on the corner of her mouth.
A speckle.
A dot.
But the closer I walk down the aisle, the more I smell it. Blood. Evelyn’s blood.