Silence descends as the commotion draws everyone’s attention. Fifty pairs of eyes watch as three burly soldiers tackle me to the ground. My chest thuds the hard earth, punching breath from my lungs. Fiery pain scours across my cheek as soil scrapes my face. The men must be Shifters because even with my extra strength, I struggle to push them off. Doesn’t stop me from trying.

“Keep him down. Keep him down,” someone orders.

One of them sits on my back. Another lies across my legs.

“Get the fuck off me.”

Be still, precious one. You have done well.

I stop my struggle, slumping flat while I draw in much-needed air.

“If you harm my own,” the prince says out loud, “you declare war, Lycan.” He doesn’t seem to shout, and yet his warning echoes across the field.

“He is not your own, Alexei,” Flanagan answers with a growl.

“So you say. And yet as you see, Michael rushes to be with his prince. He follows his true nature. He is Anlu’kyr.” A few gasps rise from the crowd of soldiers. Of course it’s news they have a part vamp in their midst.

I struggle to rise again, but the guy on my back pushes me to the grass.

“Michael has human heritage and the right to decide what he wants without your influence.” Flanagan must give some signal because I’m manhandled to my feet by two soldiers and half dragged toward the steps.

As I catch Alexei’s dark eyes across the lawn, recognition hits my chest like a starburst. Deeper than the memory of meeting him at the steelworks. It’s like I know the prince in my blood. In my bones. His ethereal beauty is somehow burned into my soul. I struggle against the soldiers’ hold, but with a downward flick of his hand, Alexei stills me.

Be ready.

The soldiers march me across the grass toward Flanagan. Quinton stands next to him, stock-still, leaning on his silver cane with both hands and staring at the witch on Alexei’s left. Fiery orange eyes pin Quinton from beneath the cowl. It’s Alyona. The vampire witch. A smile curves her pouty lips as she battles silently with the councilor. I may want my prince, but I have no desire to go near her.

On the other side of Alexei stands a male. I catch yellow eyes and thin lips from under his hood. Another vampire. The circle of witches on the terrace holds his attention.

When I reach Flanagan, a stony mask has replaced the humor of the training room. He inspects me from head to toe, I assume, for injury.

“Are you well, Michael?”

I look him in the eyes. “Let me go.”

He sighs. “Laasya?”

“She’s alive. So are the soldiers. I need to go to him, Flanagan.” I sound desperate, even to my ears.