6. Sam

When the car pulls up to the driveway, I’m clasping my hands so tightly that my knuckles blaze white. I try not to betray my inner restlessness, but surely fail. Gavriil wants to see me in the study. That can only mean one thing—he wants something from me. This is no warm fraternal reunion. The tender brother I knew growing up died a year ago. I hardly recognize this stern-eyed man who calls himself my sibling, the Ursa King.

At twenty, I’m just one year shy of coming into my full power as a witch. Gavriil knows this, though he’d never admit it aloud. He also knows full well I’ll be a formidable spellcaster. My magic has astonished us both more than once. Yet, in the end, titles matter more than gifts. He’s King, and I the subordinate younger sister who must bend to his decrees, no matter how much I might wish to resist.

Rattled, I turn to Mila next to me in the backseat, gazing dreamily out the window as she hums a lilting tune. So whimsical, her mind ever-wandering to realms only she can see. We’ve been inseparable since childhood, brought together by our brothers’ close bond.

“Mila,” I say sharply, breaking her reverie.

She blinks, focusing on me. “Hmm? What is it?”

I bite my lip, fighting to keep my voice calm. “Give me your jeans,” I demand, unable to break the centuries-old tradition of our clan, where everything is an order instead of a request.

Mila’s nose scrunches in confusion. “What? Why?”

“Your jeans,” I repeat impatiently through gritted teeth. “Now!”

Her scowl deepens as she contemplates her limited options. “But then, what will I wear?” she protests.

“I’ll give you my skirt!” I say, my voice hoarse with frustration. She’s not getting it, is she? “I can’t have Gavriil see me like this. You know how he gets.”

“Sam...” she whines, not realizing the gravity of the situation.

“Mila!” I exclaim, widening my eyes in urgency. “I would do it for you, you know that.”

Understanding dawns on her face, followed by resignation. “Ugh... fine,” she sighs, wriggling out of her jeans.

“Dima,” I bark at our bodyguard, giving him a stern look as he sits quietly behind the wheel. “Not a word of this to Gavriil!” Immediately, my hand flies to my mouth in a futile attempt to stifle my laughter. It’s not like me to be so short with Dima—after all, he’s an Elite member of my brother’s Royal Guard. But maybe it’s the martinis talking. Or maybe, this whole absurd situation is just too damn funny.

His eyes lock on mine through the rearview mirror. Dima simply smiles forgivingly. Mila’s older brother has been immune to our foolishness for as long as I can remember.

I turn back to Mila, struggling to keep a straight face. “Oh, and by the way...” I whisper conspiratorially. “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

“Oh my gods, Samara!” Mila’s face contorts with disapproval as she glares at me. “TMI!” she exclaims, throwing her hands up in front of her.

Dima shuts his eyes and shakes his head. “For the love of Chernobog… Why me?” he grumbles under his breath, clearly annoyed by our antics.

I unzip my skirt and hand it over to Mila, her eyes clenching in disgust as she tosses me the pair of jeans. “Keep them!” she says with a grimace.

A giggle escapes me as I slip on the denim piece. “I will,” I tell her playfully.

“Alright,” I heave a sigh, flipping my dark hair back. “I’m ready.”

I’m not.

Laughter fades tounease as I approach the manor. My neck prickles, my skin feeling suddenly exposed. But Gavriil will not see me falter. We Ursa bow to no one, least of all each other.

Each step takes me closer to Gavriil’s haven—his private study filled with books that serve as his escape. He’s traded axe throwing for reading. A safer pastime, all things considered.

My mouth goes dry as I reach the ornately carved doors. “Be calm… Be strong,” I quietly intone, but my nerves thrum within me like a poorly tuned violin.

My eyes shut tightly as I mentally prepare myself to face my brother, praying to all the gods that he’s in a good mood. Lately, it’s always a gamble with him. The last thing I need is for us to fight right now. My head is swimming from the martinis I downed earlier. Dear gods, please don’t let him notice.

Keep your distance and you’ll be fine.

I nod to myself. That frantic voice speaking in my mind often tells me to behave, but I rarely listen. Some people might call it a conscience. I call her Brenda. And tonight, she’s all I’ve got.

The sudden memory of the gorgeous guy from the nightclub floods my mind… I can’t help but ache for his touch, his skilled fingers tracing patterns on my skin, igniting a fire within me.

No. Focus. My brother awaits behind the door and I must be ready for whatever he expects from me.

I knock, albeit less than thrilled. The door creaks open, revealing none other than Gavriil’s loyal friend and Enforcer. “Sasha,” I greet him with a curt nod.

Seeing him here only sets me further on edge. His sly smile and raised blonde eyebrow scream that he’s learned of my nighttime activities. Damn it. But how much does he know? Does he just know I snuck out to a club, or does he know about Hot Guy? My blood runs cold at the mere thought. No, he can’t possibly know about him. No one saw him, except for Mila, and I trust her completely.

“Welcome back,” Sasha purrs with an obnoxious all-knowing tone, ice-blue eyes boring into me, seeing straight through my soul. I bite back the urge to roll my eyes at his smugness, knowing that in this clan, there are no secrets or privacy. Welcome back, indeed.

Gavriil stands stiffly at the window, his stare fixed outside towards the driveway. Panic courses through me—did he witness my arrival moments ago? No, I remind myself, the dense foliage obscures most of the view. He couldn’t possibly see through it. But what about Dima? Did my friend’s brother call and expose my secrets? Now anger brews inside me, my mind racing wildly with endless possibilities.

But the pandemonium only breaks on the inside. Outside, I remain cool as an iceberg. I may not possess my brother’s ability to physically shift into a bear, but I’ve learned to adapt and shift in other ways. Gavriil has forced that upon me. I pray this ordeal will be over soon.

Our gazes lock through the pane’s reflection and a shiver dances down my spine. Since the loss of his mate, shadows cling to Gavriil that no light can pierce. The permanent eclipse of grief darkens his countenance. This meeting will be no easy conversation between siblings.

“Samara...” Gavriil says in a low, chilled voice that makes me shudder.

My heart jolts into a gallop. I will be fine as long as he doesn’t touch me. As if I didn’t have it bad enough, my brother is a freaking empath. One brush of contact and he’ll sense my roiling anxiety. I must keep my distance.

I manage to stammer out, “You wanted to see me,” despite my dry mouth.

“You weren’t easy to find...” he retorts in a low growl. At last, Gavriil turns from the window, hands clasped rigidly behind his back. His broad shoulders are taut beneath his dark suit jacket.

When his hooded eyes lock on mine, gooseflesh shoots up my arms. The oppressive darkness hovering over him has become his steadfast companion since Luciana’s loss.

He frowns, taking a moment to arrange his thoughts with meticulous care. Then his piercing maroon gaze fixes on me once more. “We’ve been summoned to a séance.”

I glower at his pronouncement, but quickly master my features to neutrality. “A séance,” I repeat evenly. Never openly question the Ursa King’s decrees, even if he is your brother, warns the Brenda-voice in my head. Grudgingly, I heed her advice.

“On Samhain eve,” Gavriil adds, resuming his restless pacing before the imposing desk. The massive bear pelt draped over the chair is his prized trophy, claimed after defeating Grisha, our fiercest enemy, and his mate’s murderer. He treats the ghastly grisly spoils as a makeshift throne, a symbol of hard-won dominion.

My brother stops between the desk and the chair, facing me.

I remain silent. Samhain is my lone night of freedom, my chance to escape these suffocating walls. To maybe cross paths again with that alluring stranger from the club…

Gavriil’s eyes narrow, somehow sensing my unease. It’s as if he can scent the disappointment radiating off of me. He leans forward onto the desk, shoulders tensing beneath his jacket. “You seem... displeased by this news,” he notes, a dangerous undercurrent in his deceptively mild tone.

I meet his stare directly, refusing to cower. We’ve been in Paris for over a year now, our sole intention to woo the most influential coven of witches. Gavriil plans to marry into the family. It’s madness. I know he doesn’t truly care for Cassandra Deveraux, the heiress. This is all just political maneuvering.

He remains silent, but the twitch in his jaw gives away his true feelings. He despises this hollow charade as much as I do. But now that he’s unattached and vulnerable, his advisors’ constant demands weigh heavily on him.

He presses on. “Is there something you’d like to say?”

My breathing picks up. Now is not the time for defiance, warns the ever-cautious Brenda-voice. Bow your head and obey. Bow, Samara!

But submission does not come easily tonight. I’m scared to death, but I push through the dread. “I can’t go,” I blurt out before I can restrain myself.

Gavriil stills, hands braced on the desk as he spears me with an icy glare. Barely leashed fury smolders in his maroon eyes.

“Samara,” he warns, his quiet voice strained with mounting frustration. “This is not a request. The Deverauxs have summoned us to a ritual, and we are going.”

Of course he’d leap at their command, never pausing to consider my wishes. “I have plans,” I tell him, determined. Where does this audacity come from? The booze. I blame the booze for giving me the courage to stand up to Gavriil for the first time in my life.

He sets his jaw tight, shutting his eyes and letting out a sharp breath. “Change them,” he all but mutters.

His fingers spread on the slab of maple wood and his broad shoulders flex, no longer stooped over the desk but ready to pounce over it. My heart races as I wonder if he will shift into his bear form right here in front of me.

I quickly glance around the room, searching for Sasha. But he’s gone, leaving me alone with an unpredictable shifter. Fear creeps into my bones as I realize I may be in more trouble than I anticipated.

Even then, I won’t back down. “Since when do the Ursa serve at the beck and call of any clan?” I clench my fists, feeling my nails dig into my palms as I take a step forward, emboldened by my own words.

Gavriil’s head snaps up, eyes wide with shock as they fix on me. “You’ve been drinking,” he states, clearly stunned.

“No,” I force out, trying to sound more convincing than I feel.

His face flares red. “Don’t lie to me!” he thunders, fist striking the desk with a resounding crack.

My shoulders jump a little, but I don’t step back. I’ve had enough of his foul moods. I’m taking a stand. And if that gets the bear out of him, then so be it.

“I can scent the alcohol seeping from your pores,” he growls, temper rising as he straightens. “Don’t even think about trying to deceive me.”

I rally my courage. “My personal habits are none of your concern, brother,” I retort scornfully. “You may be the Ursa King, but you do not own my life. I can do whatever the hell I want!”

Years of simmering vexations now boil over, refusing to be contained. I am no longer a child to be scolded and commanded.

His eyes smolder with outrage, jaw clenched tight. “Watch yourself,” he warns, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “You’re still underage.”

“Don’t play the age card on me!” I hiss, an inch closer to the desk. Apparently, I have a death wish. “Next year, I’ll come into my full power. And I promise you, Gavriil, you will never see me again!”

Shock cracks through his anger. The muscles in his neck stiffen. Slowly, he leans forward over the desk. “I will never allow that,” he says in the lowest, deadliest voice. Ice skitters down my nape at his tone.

“I am the Ursa King,” Gavriil declares, pronouncing each word like a death sentence. “I give the orders around here.” He takes a deep breath, mastering his fury. “Not. You.”

Unshed tears burn behind my eyes as I push the words out through a tight throat. “What happened to Luciana was not my fault.”

The Ursa King flinches. “What did you just say?” he asks, his tone laced with disbelief.

I press on recklessly. “You blame me for her loss.” My voice trembles but does not break. “I know you do.”

His fierce stare meets mine. “Samara…” he warns me in a whisper. “Don’t.”

But I won’t give in. “You blame me for not finding her with my scriving. You refuse to accept that there are limits to my magic.”

Gavriil’s lips curl into a sneer. “Yet within weeks of losing her, you found our missing brother in a forsaken cabin in the woods,” he murmurs, tone dripping with disdain. “Your magic certainly did not fail you then.”

I was not ready to hear it, my brother’s pain and bitterness. His words pierce me like a knife. My breath hitches, memories flooding back in an instant—Gavriil shattered with grief, pleading for me to locate his mate’s body, consumed by his desperate need to honor our clan’s traditions... and I couldn’t give him that.

I failed him.

“I loved Luciana!” I choke out, hot tears brimming my eyes.

His response comes in a broken whisper, “No more than I do. Believe me.”

Gods. The way he talks about her, it’s like she’s still here with us. A pang of wistfulness hits me at the thought.

For an endless moment, we stare at one another, the gulf between us never wider. He eyes me as if seeing me truly for the first time.

Gavriil’s chest heaves, nostrils flaring with each agitated breath. His arrogant manner crumbles as rage gives way to profound grief. He slumps into the chair, a hand pressed against his creased brow, gaze suddenly distant and hollow. My heart aches at the sight of such raw pain etched on his face.

I’ve wounded him deeply by raising Luciana’s memory, however unintended. All I want is the tender brother I once knew returned to me. But he’s trapped reliving that tragic day, trapped in anger and blame instead of allowing himself to heal.

“Dusk. Tomorrow,” he finally grits out.

A tear slips down my cheek. “Gavriil…” I whisper, reaching out a hand to him, but knowing it would be useless. He won’t let anyone near.

“Go now,” he exhales, no longer my brother but my clan’s king.

With a heavy heart, I nod silently and turn away to leave the room.