Chapter 4

The room cracked open.

Whispers erupted. The candidates pressed against the walls stared with open mouths. Servants exchanged glances. Even the King's composure slipped. The Queen leaned toward him. Whatever she murmured, his reply was a curt nod.

I stood frozen with my palm flat against the wolf's translucent muzzle. Its energy pulsed against my skin — cold and warm in alternating waves. The wolf's eyes drifted shut. It exhaled, and the blue glow around its body softened to something that looked almost peaceful.

My hand was shaking. I couldn't tell if it was terror or something else. The Head Omega stepped forward. A muscle jumped in her jaw, but her voice was blade-sharp and steady.

"The candidate from Shadow Creek has passed the test. She will serve as the Prince's surrogate and hold the title of Luna Princess."

...

Within the hour, my new life was explained to me in terms that made my stomach turn and my face burn.

The Head Omega brought me to a private chamber and sat me across from a medical specialist — an older woman with reading glasses perched on her nose, a clipboard in her lap, and no apparent awareness that I was a person. She described the process of conceiving with an unconscious mate the way someone might describe assembling furniture.

Hormone cycles. Optimal days. How the Prince's body could be physically stimulated to produce what was needed, even in a coma. Positioning. Duration. The importance of remaining still afterward to maximize the chances.

"Involuntary physical responses are normal," the specialist said, as if she were discussing the weather. "The body functions independently of consciousness. You should not be alarmed when the Prince reacts."

I stared at the table and willed the floor to swallow me. My face was so hot I was surprised my hair hadn't caught fire.

"Any questions?"

I shook my head. My voice had abandoned me three sentences ago.

My next duty was simpler but no less mortifying. The Head Omega informed me that changing the Prince's clothes was now my responsibility. The Queen had done it herself. Now it fell to me.

She left me alone in the chamber with a stack of clean garments and the unconscious Lycan Prince.

I stood over the bed and looked down at him. Up close, without the distraction of the glowing wolf and the noise of the crowd, the Prince was — I didn't have a polite way to think about it. He was beautiful. Sharp cheekbones. Dark lashes against pale skin. A jaw cut from granite. Broad shoulders beneath the silk sleep shirt. Even still, even silent, he commanded the room.

I unbuttoned his shirt with shaking hands.

His skin was warm. Warmer than I expected. Up close, he smelled like cedar and something clean underneath — frost, maybe. Winter air trapped in skin. I pulled the shirt from his shoulders and saw the planes of his chest, the ridges of his abdomen — a warrior's body, maintained by whatever magic kept him alive. My wolf pressed against her cage, straining, and something fluttered low in my stomach that had nothing to do with nerves.

I admit, my fingers lingered a beat too long on the collar of his shirt.

Then I jerked my eyes back to the buttons. Professional. Keep it professional.

I was easing the clean shirt over his arms when his brow furrowed. A crease between his eyes, a tension in his jaw — there for a second, then gone. Like he'd felt my touch and disapproved.

My breath caught. But his face smoothed out, and I told myself I'd imagined it. I'd imagined it before. I was good at imagining things.

I was pulling the hem down past his waist when my hand slipped.

My knuckles grazed his hip bone. Then lower. My fingers brushed across the front of his sleep pants, and I felt him — hard and unmistakable — pressing against the fabric.

I yanked my hand back so fast I knocked the stack of clean clothes off the nightstand.

My face was on fire. My brain short-circuited between the specialist's clinical instructions and the very real reality of a sleeping prince's body reacting to my accidental touch.

This was what they wanted me to do. This was the whole point of why I was here.

I pulled the blanket up to his chest and stepped back.

Not today. Absolutely not today.

A knock on the door nearly launched me through the ceiling.

"Luna Princess?" A servant bowed. "You have a visitor."

I smoothed my dress, wiped my face with the back of my hand, and walked to the receiving room, grateful for any excuse to leave this room and the warm, impossible body in it.

Calvin was leaning against the far wall.

My stomach plummeted. I spun on my heel.

"Lily. Wait." His voice was soft, careful — the voice he used when he wanted something. "Please."

I kept walking. But he was faster. Two long strides put him between me and the door, and he nodded to the servants in the hallway. "Give us a moment. Future Alpha business."

They hesitated. They looked at me. They looked at Calvin. Then they bowed and withdrew.

He had authority here. His father was Alpha of Shadow Creek — one of the King's thirteen pack leaders. Of course Calvin could clear a room. Of course he could make people leave. I'd been stupid not to expect this.

"What happened at Maren's room—" He stepped closer, and his expression shifted to something soft and earnest and apologetic — the face I'd trusted for three years. "That wasn't what it looked like."

"It looked pretty clear."

"She came onto me." He ran a hand through his hair — a gesture I'd seen a thousand times, and it used to make my chest tighten with affection. Now it just made my skin crawl. "You know how Maren is. She's been circling me for months, and I was weak. I'm sorry, Lily. I'm so sorry."

He moved closer. His cologne reached me — cedar and something sharper underneath.

"I haven't stopped thinking about you since the moment you left. I came all this way because I need you to know — I still love you."

He reached for my face. His fingertips brushed my cheek.

I slapped his hand away. Hard. The crack echoed off the stone walls. My palm stung.

"Don't touch me."

The softness drained from his face like water through a crack. His jaw tightened. His eyes went flat.

"You told Maren I was stupid," I said. My voice was steady now, and that surprised me. "You told her I'd come back crippled. You laughed."

"I was performing—"

"You planned it with my father. You sold me."

He stared at me. The mask slid another inch, and underneath it was something I'd never seen before — not love, not even hurt. Calculation. The kind of look a man gives a chess piece that's moved to the wrong square.

I turned for the door. His arm locked around my waist from behind, hard, fast. Something cold and damp pressed over my mouth and nose before I'd finished drawing breath. The room turned to water. My wolf screamed somewhere deep in my chest.

Calvin's mouth was warm against my ear.

"You always did have to make everything difficult," he said softly.

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