Chapter 3 The Fever Breaks

The air in the East Wing had turned suffocating. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky didn't just darken-it bruised, turning a deep, violent purple that seemed to pulse in sync with the throbbing in Elara's shoulder.

She paced the length of her room, her skin feeling three sizes too small. Every sound was magnified: the settling of the house sounded like a bone snapping; the wind against the glass sounded like a whispered name. Elara... Elara...

By midnight, the fever hit. It wasn't a sickness, but a searing heat that started at the base of her spine and radiated outward. She stripped off the emerald silk gown, her hands trembling as the fabric pooled at her feet. In the full-length mirror, her reflection looked like a stranger's. Her eyes were wide, the pupils blown so large that the iris was a mere sliver of blue.

And then, the moon cleared the clouds.

A bolt of agony shot through her, and Elara collapsed onto the thick rug. Her bones felt like they were being ground into powder, only to be forged into something sharper, stronger. A scream tore from her throat, but it didn't sound human. It was a raw, guttural sound that was answered instantly by a chorus of howls from the forest.

The door to her suite burst open.

Silas stood there, but he was no longer the polished billionaire in a tailored suit. He was shirtless, his skin glowing with a light sweat, his muscles rippling with a terrifying, latent power. His eyes were no longer grey; they were twin suns of molten gold.

"Get... out..." Elara wheezed, clawing at the carpet.

"I can't do that," Silas said, his voice dropping to a register that made the floorboards vibrate. He crossed the room in a blur of motion, dropping to his knees beside her. "Your transition has been suppressed for years with silver-laced suppressants. Your father didn't just gamble you away, Elara. He kept you drugged so you wouldn't realize what you are."

He reached out, and this time when he touched her, the heat didn't burn-it cooled. It was the missing piece of a jagged puzzle.

"I am a monster," she sobbed, her fingernails digging into his forearms.

"No," Silas whispered, pulling her into his heat. "You are a Lunar Wolf. The rarest bloodline in the Western Pack. And you are my mate."

As the transformation took hold, Elara's vision shifted. She could see the heat radiating off Silas's body, see the heartbeat fluttering in his neck. The "debt" suddenly felt like a joke. He hadn't bought her to be a slave; he had bought her to bring her back to life.

"Look at me, Elara," he commanded.

She lifted her head, and for the first time, the memories hit her like a tidal wave. A forest fire. A man with golden eyes holding her as she cried. A vow whispered in the dark. I will find you. No matter how many years it takes, I will find you.

"Silas," she breathed, the name finally tasting familiar.

He growled, a sound of pure, possessive triumph, and leaned in. "Remember it all, Little Wolf. Because tonight, the debt isn't paid in gold. It's paid in blood and moonlight."

Outside, the pack went silent. The King and Queen were finally reunited.