Chapter 6

“Just… be careful.”

The low, velvety voice stopped me cold. I turned, my breath catching in my throat. Prince Lysander “Lys” Shadowmere stood behind me, moonlight catching the sharp angles of his face. His amethyst eyes, so often narrowed with arrogance or disdain, now shimmered with something else—an emotion far softer… regret, perhaps?

My heart betrayed me, thundering in my chest at the flicker of vulnerability I glimpsed in his gaze.

I gave a slow nod, unable to speak past the knot in my throat. With a graceful pivot, Lysander brushed past me. But as we descended the steps, I noticed something strange—he slowed his stride, subtly matching mine. And though he didn’t say a word, his body always stayed a half-step ahead, as if shielding me in case I stumbled again.

The moment we reached the bottom of the stone staircase, he led me through two towering glass doors. What lay beyond stole the very breath from my lungs.

A garden stretched before us, bathed in the golden blush of twilight. Weeping willows whispered secrets into the breeze, their silken leaves dancing above a crystalline brook that wound through the flower-laced grounds. The air was fragrant, and everything shimmered under the violet kiss of the setting sun.

Lysander opened the door and inclined his head, a silent invitation. I stepped forward, drawn into the garden as if by an unseen tether. The warmth of the sun’s last rays lit the garden in a dreamy haze, brushing the blooms with amber light.

Then I saw it.

A single flower stood tall amid the wild beauty—its pink stem coiled gracefully, leading to periwinkle trumpet petals. A lunasylvane, rare and sacred to the Crimson Moon Pack. The flower of my home. Of my childhood.

Emotion rose fast, thick and unexpected. I bit my lip, blinking hard. But it was no use—the tears came anyway.

“Hey,” Lysander murmured from behind me, closer than I expected. His hand found my shoulder, firm but gentle, and he turned me toward him.

My vision blurred. I stared up at him, ashamed and yet too overwhelmed to hide it.

“What is it?” His voice was softer now, lower. “Why are you crying?”

I could see it in his face—genuine concern. Something real. Something raw.

“The flower…” I gestured weakly. “It—it grows only in my homeland. In the meadows near the ancient springs. I haven’t seen one since…” My voice broke.

“Since you left,” he finished, not unkindly.

I gave a broken laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

Tears now ran unchecked down my cheeks. I dropped my gaze, embarrassed. I was the heir of the Crimson Moon Pack. Daughter of Queen Celeste and King Fenris. I’d been raised for strength, for duty. I wasn’t supposed to unravel over a flower.

But here I was.

A rough hand cupped my cheek. I flinched—then leaned into the warmth before I could stop myself. His thumb brushed under my eye, catching a tear.

“There’s no shame in missing what made you,” Lysander said, his words echoing through me like a vow.

I closed my eyes, a whisper leaving my lips. “Thank you.”

Something shifted in the space between us. A fragile, electric thread of connection. My inner wolf stirred and stretched within me, purring under his touch. She wanted this. Him. Us.

I should’ve pulled away.

But I didn’t.

When his hand finally left my skin, the absence was like winter, flooding my veins. I opened my eyes to find him watching me with a look I couldn’t decipher—torn between restraint and something far deeper.

Then the quiet was broken by a distinctly wolffish sound.

My stomach growled—loudly.

Lysander’s brow rose. He scanned the area like he was preparing for a threat, until his eyes landed on my traitorous belly. He smirked.

“I see someone’s hungry.”

I groaned and ducked my head. He laughed—a deep, rich sound that rumbled from his chest.

“Come on,” he said, extending his hand. “I’ll have the cooks prepare something.”

I hesitated. His fingers were long, elegant, impossibly warm.

“You want me to—touch you?” I asked, staring.

His smile vanished. “Just this once,” he said stiffly. “You wolves need contact to soothe your emotions, right?”

“How do you know that?”

“I make it a point to study my enemies.”

I arched a brow. “So that’s what I am to you?”

He didn’t answer.

My wolf growled at the indecision. She clawed at me from within, demanding the contact. The longer I hesitated, the worse it got.

Fine. Just this once.

I took his hand.

He laced our fingers. The shock of it hit me like lightning—warmth, tingles, an undeniable rightness that made my wolf roll with satisfaction.

“Let’s be clear,” I said. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Crystal,” he muttered. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Princess.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“It’s your title,” he said dryly. “Or would you prefer ‘fur-ball’?”

I growled low in my throat. He chuckled, guiding me through the Nightshade Court’s winding halls toward the dining chamber.

We arrived at a long obsidian table glittering with candlelight. The moment I sat, a shadow loomed behind me.

“So this is the wolf everyone’s whispering about.”

The voice was silk and spice—and deeply irritating. I turned to find a tall male shadow fae with gleaming ruby-red eyes and midnight hair that brushed his broad shoulders. He grinned down at me, fangs barely visible.

“Prince Darius,” Lysander said coolly from across the table.

Ah. His brother. The one from the summit.

Darius dragged his talons across the back of my chair, clearly trying to provoke. “Didn’t think your tastes ran to wild, snarling wolves, brother.”

Lysander’s eyes darkened, violet flames licking at the corners. The air grew thick with magic—protective, territorial. My inner wolf preened.

Still, I didn’t need protection.

I bared my claws and smiled sweetly at Darius. “Touch my chair again, and I’ll relieve you of your jewels.”

His eyes dropped to my hand… to the claws. He paled.

With a choked curse, he retreated, muttering something under his breath and slinking to Lysander’s side.

My wolf purred. Pleased.

Across the table, Lysander’s shadows receded. Our eyes met—and he winked. I flushed and looked down, pushing food around my plate to hide the way my lips curved.

The dish smelled exotic—grilled meat and something spicy. My tongue tingled after one bite.

“What is this?” I asked, blinking at the unfamiliar but delicious flavour.

“Chicken Shapala,” Lysander said.

“I like it.”

He gave me a small smile. Just a twitch at the corners of his mouth. But it was real.

Then she entered.

A tall, sinuous female with amber eyes and a stormy aura. Her hair was dark silk, and her outfit was—revealing. All curves and attitude.

“Why the hell are you holding your cock?” she asked Darius, arching a brow.

I choked on my drink.

“She threatened to remove it,” Lysander said flatly.

“Lys!” I cried, horrified.

The female laughed. “I like her.”

Darius glared. Lysander didn’t even blink. “Don’t be such an ass, Darius. It wouldn’t happen if you behaved.”

“I am behaving,” Darius muttered.

The three of them launched into playful bickering, sharp jabs masked in sibling love. I watched, stunned.

They were fae—ancient, powerful, and terrifying. But here… like this? They felt almost normal.

I thought of Rowan—my brother. How we used to laugh during training, tease each other when no one was looking.

My chest ached.

I looked across the table and found Lysander watching me again.

Something warm passed between us.

And for the first time since I’d arrived in this cold, strange place…

… I didn’t feel so alone.