Seraphina's POV
The knife slashes toward my heart.
I move without thinking. My body drops low—wolf instincts taking over—and the blade whistles over my head.
The cloaked creature hisses, its yellow eyes glowing in the darkness. "You can't run forever, priestess!"
"Get out!" Caelan's voice thunders through the room. "This is my domain! You have no right—"
The creature laughs, a sound like breaking glass. "Your curse can't touch us, princeling. We're already dead."
It lunges at me again. I scramble backward, my hand closing around Mother's silver dagger in my bag. The moment my fingers touch the moon-shaped handle, it blazes with white light.
The creature screams and recoils. "Blessed silver! She has—"
"I said GET OUT!"
Something explodes across the room. A wave of pure power that makes my hair stand on end. Caelan has ripped off his gloves, and black smoke pours from his bare hands. His silver eyes glow with rage.
The creature tries to dodge, but Caelan is faster. His hand closes around its throat.
The thing's scream cuts off. Its body goes rigid, turning gray like stone. Then it crumbles into ash, falling to the floor in a pile of dust and empty robes.
Silence.
I'm breathing hard, clutching my silver dagger. Caelan stands there with his bare hands still smoking with that black power. We stare at each other across the room.
"What," he says slowly, "are you?"
"I could ask you the same thing." My voice shakes. "That wasn't just a curse. That was power."
His jaw tightens. "You need to leave. Now. Before—"
"Before what? Before more of them come?" I step over the pile of ash. "They've been hunting me for three weeks. They killed guards at my house. They chased me through the forest. They followed me here." I meet his silver eyes. "I'm not leaving. I have nowhere else to go."
"Then you're a fool." He's pulling his gloves back on, his movements angry and sharp. "Do you have any idea what I am? What I can do?"
"You can kill with a touch. But you're also a wolf shifter, like me." The words tumble out. "I can smell it on you. We're the same."
He goes very still. "You're a shifter?"
"I didn't know until three weeks ago. I changed for the first time when those creatures attacked my house." I show him my hands, remembering how they grew claws. "I can't control it. Sometimes I shift without meaning to. My mother left me a note saying I'm something called a Luna Priestess and—"
"Luna Priestess?" His voice turns sharp. "That's impossible. They all died twenty years ago."
"My mother was one. She hid me with a binding spell." I pull out Mother's note and hand it to him, careful not to touch his gloved fingers. "She said to trust the wolf with silver eyes. That's you, isn't it?"
He reads the note quickly, his face getting paler. When he looks up, something has changed in his eyes. Fear, maybe. Or hope. I can't tell.
"Your mother was Mirelle." It's not a question.
"You knew her?"
"She served my family when I was young. Before..." He stops, his gloved hand touching his chest. "Before I was cursed."
"What happened to you?"
For a long moment, I think he won't answer. Then he walks to the window, keeping distance between us.
"I was thirteen. At my coronation ceremony, assassins attacked. A dark witch tried to kill my father. She failed, but as she died, she cursed me." His voice is flat, empty. "The Touch of Death, she called it. Anyone whose skin touches mine dies instantly. My little sister ran to comfort me after. She was the first to die. In my arms."
My heart breaks for him. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't." The word is harsh. "Don't pity me. I'm a monster. I've killed seventeen women who tried to serve me. Good women who didn't deserve to die. I didn't want any of them here, but my uncle keeps sending them, trying to prove I'm too dangerous to rule." He turns to face me. "So you see? This job is a death sentence. Leave while you can."
"I already told you. I have nowhere to go."
"Then find somewhere!" His control is cracking. "I don't want another death on my hands! I don't want—" He stops, breathing hard. "I've been alone for fifteen years. Completely alone. Do you understand what that's like? No touch. No comfort. No one who can stand close to me without dying."
"But I'm different," I say quietly.
"Are you?" He laughs bitterly. "Those seventeen women thought they could be careful. Thought they could keep their distance. They all died anyway. A brush of fingers when serving food. A accidental touch when changing sheets. One woman tripped and grabbed my arm to steady herself. She was dead before she hit the ground."
I think of Helena. Of Marcus. Of Viviane throwing me out like garbage. Of three weeks starving in alleys while people walked past me like I didn't exist.
"I've been alone too," I say. "Maybe not for fifteen years, but I know what it's like to be treated like you're nothing. Like you're disposable. Like no one would care if you disappeared." I take a step closer to him. "I'm not leaving. I need this job. Room and food in exchange for serving you. I'll be careful. I promise."
"Careful isn't enough!" His voice rises. "Don't you understand? I'm trying to protect you! I—"
The door slams open.
A woman in armor strides in, sword drawn. She's tall and fierce, with dark hair pulled back tight. Her eyes sweep the room, landing on the pile of ash.
"I felt the power surge," she says. "What happened?"
"Lyra." Caelan sounds tired. "Another assassin. A shadow creature. It attacked the new servant."
Lyra looks at me. Really looks at me. Her eyes narrow. "You're still alive."
"Barely," I mutter.
"No." She steps closer, her sword still out. "You're standing in the same room as the prince. After a fight. With his gloves off." She points at the floor. "You walked through the ash cloud from the creature he killed. That cloud is still charged with curse energy. Anyone else would be dead just from breathing it in."
I look down. There's still black smoke swirling around my feet. I didn't even notice.
"Impossible," Caelan whispers.
Lyra sheathes her sword and grabs my wrist before I can stop her. She drags me across the room—right up to Caelan.
"Wait—" he starts to say.
But Lyra pushes my hand toward his gloved one.
"Don't!" Caelan jerks back. "You'll kill her!"
"If she dies, she dies. But I need to know." Lyra's voice is hard. "Your Highness, if she's what I think she is, this changes everything."
"What are you talking about?"
Lyra looks at him. "Take off your glove and touch her hand."
"Are you insane?" Caelan's eyes flash with anger. "I'm not murdering another woman to satisfy your curiosity!"
"Trust me." Lyra's voice softens. "Please. Just this once, trust me."
The silence stretches. Caelan stares at his gloved hands, then at me. I can see the war in his eyes—hope battling against fifteen years of knowing he's deadly.
"It's okay," I hear myself say. "If I die, at least I tried."
"That's not comforting," he snaps.
But slowly, so slowly, he pulls off one glove.
His hand is pale and perfect. It doesn't look deadly. It looks like it should be holding someone, comforting someone, touching someone.
He reaches toward me, his hand shaking.
I don't pull away.
Our fingers touch.
Skin to skin.
I wait for death.
Nothing happens.
Caelan's eyes go wide. "No. No, this isn't—"
"Touch her palm," Lyra orders. "Full contact."
He presses his palm against mine. His hand is cold, like it's been alone too long.
Still nothing. No pain. No death. Just the feeling of another person's skin for the first time in three weeks.
"Impossible," Caelan breathes. He's staring at our joined hands like he's seeing a miracle. "You're not dying. Why aren't you dying?"
"Maybe," I say quietly, "I'm not supposed to."
Lyra laughs—a sharp, amazed sound. "Do you know what this means? For fifteen years, no one could touch you. And now—"
A bell starts ringing. Loud and urgent. An alarm.
"What's that?" I ask.
Lyra's face goes hard. "Intruder alert. Multiple contacts on the grounds." She looks at Caelan. "They're not here for you, Your Highness."
"They're here for her," Caelan says, still holding my hand like he's afraid to let go. Like if he releases me, I'll turn out to be a dream.
The window explodes inward. Glass rains down. Three more cloaked figures drop into the room, their yellow eyes glowing.
"Found you," one hisses.
Lyra's sword is out instantly. Caelan pushes me behind him, forgetting for a moment that he can actually touch me.
"You dare enter the Cursed Prince's chamber?" Lyra snarls.
"We don't fear the dead prince," the lead creature says. "We only want the girl. Give her to us, and we'll leave your palace standing."
"Never," Caelan growls.
The creatures smile with too many teeth. "Then you'll all die together."
They attack.
But this time, something's different. When the first creature lunges at me, my body reacts on pure instinct. Power explodes from my hands—white light, pure and burning.
The creature screams and turns to ash.
Everyone freezes. Even the other creatures look shocked.
"She's awakening," one whispers. "The binding is fully broken. We need to take her NOW before—"
My skin starts to burn. Not painful, but like fire is trying to break out from inside. My hands glow brighter and brighter.
"What's happening to me?" I gasp.
"The full moon," Lyra says, looking at the window. "It's tonight. I thought we had three more days, but—"
"Time moves differently in the cursed lands," Caelan finishes. "It's tonight. And if she doesn't complete the awakening ritual, the power will—"
"Consume her from the inside," one of the creatures finishes with a cruel smile. "Let her burn. We'll take what's left."
The light gets brighter. Hotter. I'm burning up.
Caelan grabs my shoulders—skin to skin, not caring about his curse anymore. "Listen to me. You need to shift. Let the wolf out. It's the only way to channel the power before it kills you."
"I don't know how!"
"Yes, you do. Your wolf knows." His silver eyes lock with mine. "Trust your instincts. Trust yourself. Trust me."
The light is blinding now. I feel my bones starting to break, to change. The wolf is coming whether I want it or not.
But this time feels different. Stronger. More dangerous.
Because when I shift, I'm not going to be a small white wolf anymore.
I'm going to be something else.
Something the creatures really should fear.
My scream turns into a howl as my body explodes with light—