INTERROGATION IN THE STUDY

sylvie had survived dinner, prevented a public humiliation, and somehow ended up in Alpha Valen Vance's arms.

Now she was expected to walk into his private study voluntarily.

She considered running away.

Unfortunately, Captain Rourke was standing beside the carriage with the patience of a man who had personally escorted several people to their executions.

"Does the Alpha often summon women to his study after dinner?" she asked.

"Only when he has questions."

"Comforting. And here I thought he wanted to discuss the weather."

Rourke opened the carriage door.

Sylvie climbed inside.

Five minutes later, she stood outside a pair of imposing oak doors while a servant announced her arrival. The study beyond was larger than her old apartment, with dark bookshelves, a fireplace, and a massive desk covered in documents.

Valen stood beside the window, his jacket discarded and his sleeves rolled to his elbows.

He looked annoyingly good without the formal uniform.

Sylvie immediately reprimanded herself.

This is not a romance. This is a survival exercise.

"Come in," he said.

She entered.

The doors closed behind her.

Valen didn't offer her a seat.

Sylvie didn't ask for one.

He studied her for several seconds before speaking.

"Who are you?"

She blinked. "Sylvie Vane. We've established that."

"Don't insult my intelligence."

"I wouldn't dare. I'm beginning to suspect it's the only thing in this room you like."

His expression hardened.

Sylvie mentally slapped herself.

Excellent. Insult the most powerful werewolf alive. That should improve your life expectancy.

Valen walked toward his desk.

"Yesterday, you possessed restricted herbs. Today, you approached Lyra without provoking her, publicly humiliated Kaelen, and interfered with Lord Harrington's attempt to embarrass her."

"When you list it like that, I sound productive."

"You've spent months harassing Lyra."

"I've also spent months embarrassing myself over a man who doesn't want me. We all have our weaknesses."

His jaw tightened.

"You're avoiding the question."

"Which question? You've asked about four."

"Who are you working for?"

Sylvie stared at him.

For the first time, she realized he wasn't merely suspicious of her motives. He genuinely believed something was wrong with her.

And, technically, he wasn't entirely mistaken.

"I'm not working for anyone."

"Then explain your behavior."

"I decided to stop being unpleasant."

"People don't change overnight."

"Apparently, they do. You're watching it happen."

He moved around the desk.

"You're either being controlled by someone, or you're an exceptionally convincing impostor."

Sylvie's stomach tightened.

There it was.

The possibility she'd been dreading.

In this world, shape-shifters and magical disguises weren't bedtime stories. The original novel contained an entire subplot about rogues infiltrating noble households.

If Valen decided she wasn't Sylvie, he wouldn't simply send her home.

He would investigate.

And she had no believable explanation for why Chloe, a struggling novelist from another world, was occupying the body of his former obsessive admirer.

"I assure you, I'm the same woman you met yesterday."

"Then why has your scent changed?"

Her pulse stumbled.

"My scent?"

"You no longer wear the perfume you used to drown yourself in."

"I developed a headache."

"You also speak differently."

"Perhaps I finally listened to how ridiculous I sound."

He stopped in front of her.

"Look at me."

"I've been doing that all evening. You're difficult to miss."

His eyes flashed.

Before she could take another breath, he caught her wrist and pulled her toward the desk.

Sylvie stumbled. The backs of her thighs struck its edge, and his other hand landed beside her hip, blocking her escape.

She froze.

Valen leaned closer, studying her face.

His silver eyes searched hers, moving from one pupil to the other. Then he inhaled slowly near her cheek.

Sylvie's entire body went rigid.

This was not how she had imagined spending her evening.

Actually, she'd imagined eating leftover cake in her bedroom, but apparently the universe had other plans.

"Are you examining me," she asked carefully, "or preparing to eat me?"

His gaze snapped to hers.

"Do you find this amusing?"

"Not particularly. Your interrogation techniques could use some work."

His hand tightened around her wrist.

She felt the strength in his grip and the frightening ease with which he could hold her still. Whatever advantages this body possessed, she had no intention of testing them against him.

"Release my wrist," she said.

"Answer my question."

"I have answered every question you've asked."

"Not truthfully."

"Then perhaps ask better questions."

For a moment, his expression became so cold that she regretted every word she'd spoken.

Then he leaned closer.

"You don't fear me the way you used to."

Sylvie swallowed.

She did fear him.

She feared the man who would eventually discover the truth, the man whose approval could determine whether she lived another day, and the fictional plot that seemed determined to drag her toward disaster.

But she couldn't let him see that.

"Would you prefer me to faint?"

"I'd prefer you to stop pretending."

"Then we're both disappointed."

Something shifted in his expression.

Not anger.

Interest.

It was worse.

He released her wrist but remained close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.

"Your eyes are clear," he murmured. "No signs of an illusion spell."

"Wonderful. Can I go now?"

"Your scent is inconsistent, but not entirely unfamiliar."

Sylvie's mouth went dry.

He straightened.

"Tell me what happened to you."

For one dangerous second, she considered telling him everything.

Not because she trusted him, but because she was exhausted from lying. She wanted someone to explain why she had woken in this body, why her memories were tangled with Sylvie's, and why every decision she made seemed to create another problem.

Instead, she rubbed her wrist.

"Nothing happened to me. I got tired of being someone I don't particularly like."

Valen watched her.

"That sounds suspiciously like an excuse."

"It sounds suspiciously like a personal matter."

"You understand that I cannot allow a possible infiltrator to move freely through my territory."

"And I understand that being an Alpha Prime has probably ruined your ability to have a normal conversation."

His eyebrows rose.

Sylvie pressed on before her courage abandoned her.

"Everyone around you agrees with everything you say because they're afraid of losing their positions. You mistake that for being right. Now you've decided that because I don't behave as expected, I must be an enemy."

"You're very comfortable criticizing me for someone standing in my study under suspicion."

"I'm trying to make the most of the opportunity."

Silence settled between them.

Then, unexpectedly, Valen laughed.

It was brief and quiet, as though the sound had escaped him without permission.

Sylvie stared.

He noticed.

"Something wrong?"

"No. I'm just wondering whether I should inform the physician. That sounded dangerously close to amusement."

His expression returned to its usual severity, but something in his eyes had changed.

"You may leave."

She didn't move immediately.

"Seriously?"

"Would you prefer to stay?"

"Not even if you paid me."

"Careful, Lady Sylvie. I might take that as a challenge."

She stepped away from the desk.

"Good night, Alpha."

"One more thing."

She stopped with her hand on the door.

"Tomorrow, you'll attend the council's morning briefing."

Sylvie slowly turned around.

"Why?"

"Because I want to observe you."

"Have you considered taking up gardening? Plants are much less complicated."

"Eight o'clock."

He dismissed her with a glance.

Sylvie left before he could invent another reason to keep her there.

She made it halfway down the corridor before allowing herself to breathe properly.

Her wrist still tingled where he'd held it.

She hated that she remembered how carefully he'd examined her eyes. She hated even more that she'd noticed the moment his suspicion had shifted into curiosity.

Curiosity was dangerous.

Especially in a man who had an entire army of people capable of digging up her secrets.

---

Back in the study, Valen returned to his desk.

He had nearly convinced himself that Sylvie was simply attempting a new form of manipulation.

Then he noticed something beneath the edge of the desk.

A folded sheet of paper.

He picked it up.

The handwriting was unfamiliar, hurried, and unlike the elegant script on Sylvie's love letters.

Across the top, someone had written:

PACK DEFENSE WEAKNESSES.

Valen's expression changed.

He unfolded the page.

The notes listed guard rotations, blind spots along the eastern perimeter, and the exact interval between patrols near the northern gate.

Some details were incomplete.

Others were precise enough to get his guards killed.

At the bottom, beneath a line about the council's security arrangements, was a final sentence.

The eastern gate will be unguarded for eleven minutes during the Blood Moon ceremony.

Valen stared at the words.

That information had never been made public.

He reached for the communication device on his desk.

"Rourke," he said when the captain answered. "Seal the eastern gate. Quietly. No one enters or leaves the estate without my authorization."

A pause.

"Yes, Alpha. Is there a threat?"

Valen looked toward the closed study door through which Sylvie had disappeared.

"I believe there is."

He folded the paper and slipped it inside his jacket.

Then he gave his next order.

"Bring Sylvie Vane back to me. Now."