Chapter 3

Roxie's POV

The royal residence sat on the north edge of the capital — a sprawling estate behind gilded iron gates, all white stone facades and floor-to-ceiling glass. The SUV passed through three security barriers before pulling up to a grand portico with polished columns.

Beta Asher led me through the main entrance — a vaulted foyer with crystal chandeliers, gleaming marble floors, and oil paintings lining the walls in heavy gold frames. Every surface was immaculate. The air smelled faintly of cedar and money.

We'd barely made it past the east wing corridor when Asher's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and his expression tightened.

"Miss Bluemoon — the prince. His wolf just took over again." His pace quickened. "It happened shortly after I left. The Healers are with him now."

From somewhere ahead, something crashed. Then a snarl — deep, guttural, and wrong. Not the sound of an angry wolf. The sound of a wolf tearing itself apart from the inside.

Two servants hurried past us, pale-faced. One muttered to the other: "Head Healer Marcus can't get near him. Jennifer's still trying, but it's getting worse—"

"How long?" I asked.

"About an hour."

An hour of feral rampage. In my previous life, I'd spent three years working in Vincent's pack medical unit — treated curse victims, rogue injuries, dark-magic aftereffects. I'd published research on feral-state reversal that three regional clinics had adopted. I knew exactly what an hour of uncontrolled shifting did to a wolf's body — and how much worse it would get if no one intervened soon.

I forced my voice steady. "Take me to him."

Asher hesitated. "With respect, the palace Healers have—"

“Please, Asher,” I said. “Let me try—before it’s too late.”

He opened the double doors at the end of the hallway.

The room was destroyed. Furniture overturned, claw marks gouged into walls, curtains shredded to ribbons. In the center of it all, pacing in a tight agitated circle, was a massive black wolf.

He was enormous — easily the largest wolf I'd ever seen. His fur was matted with sweat and his own blood, his eyes burning an unnatural amber that pulsed with dark-magic energy. Every few seconds his body convulsed, and a snarl ripped from his throat like something inside him was trying to claw its way out.

Three palace Healers stood pressed against the far wall, hands raised in defensive positions. Faint green healing light flickered from their palms. It wasn't working.

Closest to the wolf stood a tall woman in a pristine white coat. Pretty face, sharp features, dark hair pulled into a tight bun. She was murmuring a calming incantation, one hand extended. The wolf didn't even acknowledge her.

She turned when the door opened. Her eyes landed on me and narrowed.

"Who are you?"

"Roxie Bluemoon," I said. "The prince's future Luna. I'd like to check on his condition."

Her lip curled. "Jennifer Whitfield. Royal Healer." She looked me up and down with a polite smile that had edges. "I appreciate the concern, but this is a highly specialized medical situation. Perhaps Luna should focus on settling in? We'll send an update once the prince is stabilized."

One of the other Healers nodded. "Jennifer's right — dark-magic treatment requires years of specialized training. With all due respect, Luna, this really is best left to the professionals."

The wolf slammed into the wall. Plaster cracked. Everyone flinched except me.

"The prince's condition can't wait any longer. I'll take responsibility for my results," I said. "Move."

Jennifer opened her mouth to argue. The wolf snarled again — louder, claws scraping stone as it paced toward the Healers. Two of them scrambled backward.

I stepped past Jennifer, past the others, and walked straight toward the wolf.

Every instinct screamed at me to stop. The dark-magic energy radiating off him was thicker than anything I'd dealt with before — cold, oily, like something alive writhing beneath his skin. But I recognized this energy.

In my previous life, I'd treated three wolves with dark-magic corruption in their final stages. Two of them survived. The technique required sustained physical contact — channeling Healer energy directly into the wolf's core to burn out the parasitic magic before it consumed the host.

It also required the wolf to let you touch it.

I knelt down. Extended my hand slowly.

The wolf's head whipped toward me. Those amber eyes — violent, barely sentient — locked onto mine. A growl built in his chest, low and dangerous.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I said.

My hand made contact with the fur at his neck. The dark magic recoiled against my Healer energy like oil hitting water. For one long moment, the wolf's entire body went rigid — every muscle locked, every hair standing on end.

Then something shifted.

The amber in his eyes dimmed. The growling tapered off. The muscles beneath my hand softened by degrees until the massive body sagged sideways. His breathing slowed. His eyes — still lupine, but calmer now — blinked once, twice.

Something else registered. My Healer energy wasn't just suppressing the dark magic — it was soothing the wolf itself. I'd treated countless patients in my previous life. None of them had ever responded to me like this. Whatever connection existed between my power and his wolf, it went beyond anything I'd encountered before.

The room went dead silent.

Jennifer's face had drained of color. The other Healers stared with their mouths open.

"That's impossible," one of them whispered. "We've been trying for an hour—"

"She was in there five minutes," said another.

I kept my hand on the wolf's neck, monitoring the energy flow. The dark magic wasn't destroyed — only suppressed. But the wolf was stable, breathing normally. The crisis was over.

Jennifer recovered first. She smoothed her white coat and stepped forward with a professional smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"Well. Now that the immediate situation is handled, I should conduct a full diagnostic. I'll take over from here — you can wait outside—"

"Everyone out."

The voice came from behind me. Low. Commanding. The kind of voice that made a room go quiet — though a faint rasp clung to its edges, a reminder of how much his body had endured.

I turned.

The wolf was gone. In its place stood a man.

Tall. Dark hair falling across his forehead, damp with sweat. Bare-chested, his torso covered in scratches he'd clearly inflicted on himself during the episode. His eyes — human now, amber — swept the room with the sharp, cold focus of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question.

"I said everyone out." His gaze landed on me. "Except her."

Jennifer's composure cracked. "Your Highness, I really should stay to monitor—"

"Out."

She left. The others followed. Through the narrowing gap of the closing door, I caught Jennifer's glare — cold, hard, and personal.

The door clicked shut.

Silence. Just the two of us.

The prince rolled his shoulders, shaking off the last of the shift. He took one step toward me. Then another. Before I could move, his arm shot past my head and his palm slammed flat against the wall behind me.

He leaned in close. I could feel the heat coming off his skin, smell something underneath — sharp, clean, almost electric. Up close, he was striking. High cheekbones, strong jaw, those intent amber eyes fixed on mine like he was trying to read something written on the inside of my skull.

My pulse picked up against my will. I shoved it down.

"You're the one they're sending me," he said. Not a question. "My future Luna."

I nodded.

His eyes narrowed. Not angry — calculating.

"Then tell me." His voice dropped low. "Who exactly are you? Why could you calm my wolf when no one else could?"