His head snapped towards the door. It took a split second for his brain to register that the scream belonged to Kira.

Instinct didn’t just kick in; it exploded. Leo surged forward beneath his skin; coarse black fur rippled along his forearms, his claws burst through his fingertips, ready to tear anything apart as he bolted from the study and took the stairs three at a time.

He burst into the bedroom to find Kira thrashing wildly underneath the sheets, her voice raw with terror.

"No! No! Untie me!" she wailed, her hands clawing at the sheet that had tangled around her. "There’s fire... fire! It’s burning! Please!"

Leo receded instantly as Derek realised there was no physical threat to fight. The monster was inside her head. She was trapped in a night terror.

He crossed the room in two strides, peeled the sheets away from her and caught her flailing wrists before she could hurt herself. "Hey, hey, hey," he said, voice low and steady. "Kira. It’s me. You’re safe."

"No! Let me go! Untie me!" she pleaded, sobbing.

"Shh. You aren’t tied, little wolf. You’re safe. It’s Derek." He eased himself onto the mattress, drawing her trembling frame against his chest. "You’re in the beach house. There is no fire. Nothing is burning."

He wrapped one arm firmly around her shoulders, his other hand smoothing slow circles through her tangled hair. Her breathing was ragged, her fingers clutching his shirt with a white-knuckled grip as if it were the only thing keeping her from drowning.

Gradually, the violent trembling began to subside. Her body softened against him, shuddering breaths turning into quiet, hiccupping sobs.

"It was just a dream," he murmured into her hair, his own heart finally beginning to slow.

Kira pressed her face harder into his chest, her tears dampening his shirt. "It felt too real... like... like a memory."

Derek didn’t stop the soothing motion of his hand. "A memory?"

Kira nodded weakly. The nightmare had been too visceral, too detailed to be a simple trick of the mind. It felt like a piece of her past, like a suppressed memory clawing its way to the surface.

"There was a storm that day," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rain.

"Which day?"

"The day my room caught fire. I... I’m scared of the storm."

Derek went still, recalling the snippets from Kai’s report about the "fire accident" she had barely escaped as a child. Something about the storm must have acted like a key, unlocking a door she had kept shut for years. He glanced toward the window. Lightning flickered again, painting the room in stark white. Thunder growled a few seconds later, and he felt her grip on his shirt tighten again.

"You don’t have to be scared anymore," he said quietly, surprising himself with the sincerity in his voice. "I’m here. Nothing is going to touch you while I’m here."

Kira lifted her head just enough to look at him. Her eyes were glassy, red-rimmed, impossibly vulnerable in a way he had never seen before, not even the day he had taken her from Moonfang. Back then she had worn defiance like armour. Tonight, the armour was gone. She looked small and fragile, like a lost child.

"Are you sure?" she breathed.

He exhaled through his nose. "Of course. You’re my queen. It’s my duty to protect you."

She searched his face for a long moment, then nodded once and let her head drop back against his chest. They stayed like that while the storm raged outside, rain lashing the windows, wind moaning around the eaves. Eventually, her breathing evened out, her fingers loosened their grip on his shirt, and her body went heavy and lax in his arms. Derek waited until he was certain she was deep under. Very carefully, he lowered her back onto the pillows and pulled the duvet up to her chin.

When he started to rise, her hand shot out and closed around his wrist.

"Don’t go," she whispered, eyes still closed. "Please."

He stilled. For several heartbeats he didn’t move, his mind warring with his instincts. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he kicked off his shoes and slid under the covers beside her, lying on his back, arms stiff at his sides, staring up at the shadowed ceiling.

A few minutes later her breathing deepened into the soft rhythm of sleep. Then, a tiny, unladylike snore filled the quiet room.

Derek lay rigid, acutely aware of the warmth radiating from her inches away. The faint, sweet jasmine of her skin curling into every breath he took, muddling his thoughts.

He tried to force his mind back to business, to the Volkov deal. He was going to dismantle the Volkovs, and whoever was working with them, piece by piece, for this betrayal. He turned his head just enough to look at her.

In sleep, she looked calm and peaceful, her chest rising and falling in slow, even waves. No defiance, no quick retorts, no bright, maddening cheer. Just... her.

But she was a puzzle with too many missing pieces. She had saved him from something worse tonight, but was that enough to earn his trust? Was this a genuine act, or was she playing the long game, just as her father had played his? Who was her mother? Why was her wolf suppressed? And who, exactly, was trying to kill her? And why?

He exhaled and turned his gaze back to the ceiling, his jaw tightening. So many questions with no answer in sight. Could all these be a routine designed to make him drop his guard? She must know how much a Lycan’s emotions could be used against them.

Maybe I made a mistake, he thought. Maybe Rolf is more dangerous than I realised.

Maybe he should have just killed Rolf, instead of playing this long game. But killing the man without a legal pretext would violate the High Council’s laws and put his coronation in jeopardy. He couldn’t risk the throne. Not now.

Just a few more months, he reminded himself. He would wait. He would play the part. Once the crown was firmly on his head, he would deal with Rolf, and anything connected to him—

Ouch!

A small foot suddenly jammed into his ribs. Hard.

Did she just kick him?