Sovereign of shadows

Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The Fever

I didn't sleep. I spent the night drifting between dreams of silver wolves and terrifying heat. Every time I closed my eyes, I smelled him—cedar and storm—and my body thrummed with violent energy.

When dawn crept through the windows, it brought no clarity. Weak light filtered through the canopy, casting skeletal shadows.

I sat up, head spinning. The "itch" had evolved—it was in my joints, my marrow, restless energy that made me want to scream. I looked at my hands. They appeared normal, but I felt silver humming beneath the surface.

"It's not going away," I whispered.

I forced myself from the massive bed. My legs were shaky, replaced by jittery, overcharged strength. I needed to escape before Ryder Blackwood convinced me I belonged here.

I caught my reflection. Ryder's black T-shirt hung off one shoulder. My eyes—usually muddy brown—now held a ring of iridescent silver.

"Sovereign," I muttered.

I found my clothes cleaned, bloodstains gone. I scrambled into them, the denim feeling like armor.

The estate was silent but not empty. I could feel the house breathing. I headed for the grand staircase.

A scent stopped me—forest fire drenched in rain.

Ryder stood in the foyer, speaking to a woman with steel-colored hair. He wore a crisp white shirt, collar open. Even from above, I felt heat rolling off him.

"The Syndicate is moving toward the docks," she said. "They know you have the Sovereign."

"Let them come," Ryder growled. "They'll find nothing but salt and ash if they touch what's mine."

The possessiveness should have disgusted me. Instead, warmth flooded my chest. My inner self—the eternal outsider—leaned toward that growl.

I gripped the banister, knuckles white. Control yourself, Selene.

I tried to retreat, but Ryder's head snapped up. His gold eyes locked onto mine, and the world narrowed.

The fever spiked. Dizziness washed over me, knees buckling.

"Selene!"

He was at the top of the stairs, hands on my waist, grip searingly hot. The contact was like a match to gasoline. A moan escaped—desperate relief.

"You're burning up," he said, pressing his hand to my forehead. His skin was scorching, yet it was the only thing that made the fire bearable.

"I need to leave," I gasped, trying to push against his chest, but my hands clutched his shirt. "I can't feel this."

"It's the transition," he whispered. "The bond is stabilizing your power, but you're fighting it. Surrender, or the fever will break you."

"I won't surrender to a man I don't know," I hissed, even as I leaned against his shoulder.

"Then surrender to the wolf," Ryder growled, arms wrapping around me, pulling me flush against his hard body until I felt every muscle, every scar. "Because he's already surrendered to you."

He carried me down through iron doors into a training ward with rubber floors and a circular pit.

"If you want to leave," Ryder said, "prove you can survive five minutes without me. Control the itch, or it will control you."

"You want me to fight? I organize books."

"You have the blood of the Lunar Sovereigns," he said, shedding his white shirt.

I stopped breathing.

His torso was a map of violence—broad chest, granite abs, skin a landscape of silver-white scars. He looked like a god of war, and the fever became an inferno.

"The power in the alley was instinct," he said, circling me. "But instinct without control is suicide. Hit me. Channel the heat and knock me down. Succeed, and my driver takes you anywhere in London."

It was a challenge. And it worked.

The anger rushed to the surface. Silver sparks danced behind my eyes. The itch became electric sting.

"Fine," I spat.

I lunged, throwing my frustration at him. Silver light flared around my arm. When my fist connected with his shoulder, it felt like hitting a mountain. Energy cracked against stone.

Ryder didn't move. But his nostrils flared, and a low vibration started in his chest—recognition.

"Better," he whispered. "But you're treating power like a weapon you hold. It isn't a weapon, Selene. It's part of you."

He caught my waist, pulled me flush against his bare chest, and spun us. My back hit the cool stone wall. He trapped me, hands flat against stone.

The heat was staggering. I was panting. The fever broke from dull ache into sharp craving.

"Look at me," he growled.

I looked. His eyes were molten amber, the beast staring out with hunger that turned my knees to water.

"You spent twenty-four years playing human," he said, face so close I felt the ghost of his lips. "You let the world tell you that you were small. Broken. But I see the Sovereign. The queen who could bring this city to her knees."

"I don't want to bring anyone to their knees," I breathed, hands finding his heated skin. "I just want to understand why I feel like I'm dying and being reborn."

"Because you're mine," he whispered. "And the bond won't let you rest until you accept that I'm the only thing that can handle your fire."

He leaned in, nose grazing my neck over my frantic pulse. He inhaled, a jagged sound that sent a shiver to my core.

"You smell like the moon," he murmured. "And I have been starving in the dark."

I should have pushed him away. But as his teeth grazed my neck, my head fell back. A moan escaped—an invitation.

My fingers dug into his back, tracing his raised scars. I wanted to know every story.

Ryder's hand left the wall, fingers tangling in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my throat. His eyes searched mine.

"If I touch you," he growled, voice thick with heat, "there is no going back. I'll be your world. Tell me to stop now, or I'll never let you go."

The itch was gone, replaced by desperate pull like gravity welding us together. I looked at this king of shadows and realized the archives were already a lifetime away.

"Don't stop," I whispered.

The world exploded.

His mouth crashed against mine—not with gentleness, but with starving ferocity. It tasted of coffee, smoke, ancient power. I met him with equal hunger, body arching into his heat until I couldn't tell where I ended and he began.

The silver light flared one last time—not as shield, but as bridge—and the room vanished. There was only heat, forest scent, and the realization that I was no longer an outsider.

I was his. And he was mine.