9. Sam

“Welcome back!” Mila’s sweet voice echoes down the grand foyer as she sweeps towards me, verdant skirt swishing around her legs. With each step, her auburn curls bounce in perfect rhythm. I open my arms to embrace my dearest friend, instant warmth flooding my heart. Gods, it’s good to be home.

The pack hovers in the driveway, tense with anticipation for my brother’s arrival. Unlike our united departure earlier, Gavriil insisted I take a separate car home while he traveled alone. Despite my protests, he persisted and assured me it was for my own safety. The weight of Bram Draken’s wrath hung heavy in the air after the tense séance, and Gavriil, ever vigilant since the attack on his mate, would take no chances.

Our clan is hungry to hear updates about Gavriil’s impending branding ceremony with the Deveraux heiress. And I can sense Mila’s curiosity burning just as brightly.

“How did the seance go?” Mila asks with no demure.

I affect an air of mystery, hiding my grin. “More thrilling than I imagined,” I tease as I drop my coat on a nearby chair.

“Really?” Mila tugs my arm eagerly as we stroll towards the library. “You must tell me everything! I’m dying to know!”

I catch a trace of cherry woodsmoke as we enter the cozy, book-lined room. Expensive stuff, cherry. But oh, so worth the aroma.

We creep into the reading nook, our steps barely making a sound on the plush carpet. I sink onto the luxurious tufted leather couch, feeling its warm embrace. “So...” I slide off my high heels and tuck my legs underneath me. My gown cascades around me in delicate folds, resembling a midnight flower in full bloom.

“You look every inch the gothic princess tonight,” Mila compliments.

I smile ruefully. Gavriil would have me look my best this evening. Any outing with my brother is far from trivial, and tonight’s event was no exception. It wasn’t an ordinary soiree. Not only was it a crucial opportunity to carve our mark on the lives of the Deveraux witches, but a chance to assert the Ursa’s unshakable might to the most influential members of our supernatural world.

And it worked. When Bram Draken tried to claim the seat at the head of the table, Gavriil put him in his place with a single glance. The dragon may huff and rage, but the bear remains the true alpha.

I chuckle at the memory of the dragon’s thwarted rage. “No one dominates a room like my brother…” I muse in dark delight.

Oblivious to my remark, Mila leans forward eagerly. “Is it true then?” she asks. “The Grand Witch has returned?”

I nod, the electric atmosphere of the séance room flooding my mind once more. “Oh, yes. Juliette Deveraux is back. More powerful than ever.”

A thrill courses through me as I recall the witch’s stunning demonstration of magic. But I pause for effect, drawing out the suspense. “Yet even she paled next to the spirit we called forth...” My eyes widen in undiluted awe as I look back on what occurred just a few moments ago.

Mila gasps, hands flying to her mouth. “A real spirit? Describe everything!”

I grin, thrilled by her rapt attention. “No parlor tricks—this was the real deal. The entity filled the air with menace. But Gavriil controlled it masterfully.”

As I describe my brother’s impressive feat, Mila listens with eyes full of wonder. “There’s no question about it. He’s the greatest warlock of our time,” she proclaims loyally when I finish.

“None can match his gifts,” I concur with pride. After a pause, I add more quietly, “Although... I did meet an intriguing vampire tonight.”

Mila frowns. “Oh, Sam… You know how Gavriil feels about vampires. Tread carefully.”

We Ursa kin do not associate with vampires. Blood drinkers are our sworn enemies, a feud that has spanned centuries. They are no different than the ruthless Drakens. Our worlds are divided. There is no room for comradeship or even the slightest glimmer of friendship.

“Don’t worry, Mila,” I assure her as I fidget with my gown’s hem. “He’s no match for my mysterious Hot Guy.” I can’t stop myself from blushing as I bring him into the conversation. “No one is.”

“Do you mean the guy from the club?” she whispers in confidence.

I nod, a sly smirk playing on my lips. “Gods, yes. Let’s talk about Hot Guy…”

No sooner have I spoken than the doors burst open, shattering the library’s peaceful atmosphere. In strides my brother, his face twisted in a rage beyond anything I’ve ever witnessed. Gavriil’s expression is fierce and untamed—his bear ready to thrash in full-blown berserker mode.

Hurriedly, he sheds his ebony fur coat and slams it down onto the desk. His fingers grasp at his necktie, yanking it off in a fit of frustration before discarding it carelessly. As he loosens his shirt’s collar, I catch a glimpse of the corded muscles in his neck and the pulsing veins beneath... My stomach drops at the wrath scorching his face. I hold my breath, fearing he may shift into a raging beast at any given moment.

Gavriil turns fast and faces whoever is standing beyond the doorway. “How dare you set a foot in my house!” he roars.

My gaze snaps to the entrance, but I can’t see past the door. Who is capable of igniting such rage in my brother?

“You’ve gone too far this time, Ursa devil!” a man growls menacingly as he steps into the room.

Ice skitters down my spine at the sight of him—a man I have just met minutes ago at Deveraux Manor. A man foolish enough to track us down here.

“Bram Draken,” I breathe, aghast. Here, in the heart of Ursa territory? Impossible. This is completely unheard of… and outrageous.

“You dare to steal from me? To rob me of my hard-earned position in the Deveraux lineage?” Bram’s tirade fills the room, but my thoughts drift elsewhere. What madness possesses this Draken heir? Why would he recklessly enter my brother’s domain and challenge him to a fight he will surely lose? Is he so desperate for death to sweep him off this earth?

Gavriil’s chest heaves, fury burning through him like lava in his veins. His jaw clenches with crushing force, the muscles of his neck cording dangerously.

He spears me with a scorching glare that makes me shrink back. “Samara, Mila—leave. Now.” Although spoken in the lowest of voices, each word snaps like thunder. In his rage, I glimpse the bear inside straining against its human cage, claws poised to slash and maim.

I rise from the seat and take a bold step forward, palms raised beseechingly. “Brother, don’t...” I plead, fear clawing at my heart. The mere thought of him slaying the warlock and reigniting the ancient feud between our families terrifies me to my core.

Sasha appears soundlessly beside me, gently grasping my arm. “Come, my princess,” he murmurs. When our eyes meet, I read a calm certainty in him that helps smother my panic. His lips remain sealed, but his gaze speaks volumes. It whispers, ‘I’m here, Sam. Fear not.’

I slip on my shoes and let Sasha guide me into the hall, but linger at the threshold as Mila scurries away. Gripping Sasha’s sleeve, I hiss urgently, “Do not let it end in bloodshed. Please.”

He smiles with infuriating tranquility. “Trust me.” And with that, he slips inside and pulls the doors shut, sealing me out.

I stare helplessly at the carved wood barrier, muffling but not fully concealing the escalating confrontation within. Never have I felt so powerless in my own home, my fists clenched tight with frustration.

A deafening clamor erupts from the foyer, sending shockwaves of anger and chaos through the clan. Without hesitation, I sprint towards the disturbance, my heart pounding with urgency.

“You!” Dima growls at someone, his voice reverberating through the expansive hall. “Wait outside!”

“I am not leaving him,” a man’s voice interjects with resolute calm.

“You’re not getting past us either!” says another of my kin.

Slowly, I push through the gathered onlookers to find Dima confronting a broad-shouldered stranger, warning him away with a dangerous growl.

“Get out of my way,” the man demands, unfazed by the imposing figures of my brothers. It takes guts to stand up to a pack of seven-foot-tall bear shifters.

But I can’t let this escalate. There will be no bloodshed in our home.

Before violence can erupt, I step between them, gently pulling Dima’s arm down. As I turn to face the defiant intruder, the air leaves my lungs in a rush.

No, it cannot be.

Yet here he stands—the man from the club, his piercing azure eyes unmistakable. Heat floods my veins at the sight.

Hot Guy.

Hot Guy is in my home.

“You…” I breathe in wonder, the rest of the world fading away. Only he remains in sharp focus.