Chapter 45

Stella

I"d always thought reverence was my due. When I"d walked through the streets of the Crossroads, I mostly saw fear. They knew what Uziah would do to them if he was displeased. Walking through the grand corridors of the Panthera palace, the people I passed bowed deeply, their voices a chorus of "Your Highness." I might have always thought royalty was my due, but hearing it made my shoulders hunch upwards.

It was a title that felt foreign on my ears, a mantle that didn"t quite fit. Their eyes, wide with a mix of awe and curiosity, followed me as I moved through the halls. It was clear they were eager to attend to my every need, yet it only added to the surreal quality of this new life.

"Your Highness, may we fetch you anything?" a young attendant asked, her eyes lowered in a sign of respect.

That was the other thing; no one looked directly at me. As soon as I came in view, their eyes lowered, their voices hushed. I hadn"t made a single friend in the two days I"d been here. Hadn"t had a substantive conversation with a soul that wasn"t trying to see to my every need.

For the first couple of hours, it was great. Probably because I was still fuming from what I"d learned about Oz and Dion. The anger masked the hurt of the betrayal. What I really needed was a girlfriend to talk to. But inter-world communication was still spotty as the new portal settled.

Queen Dani had sent word that Tori and Niamh were safe, though she hinted that Tori had some stories to tell about her adventures after she went through the portal with an Army general from Tartarus. And Niamh she said was fine but didn"t have any other details for me, other than she was safe. Unfortunately, Dani hadn"t been able to talk much either. The connection, which had been staticky to begin with, cut off just as she was asking after me.

The attendant asking if I needed anything wasn"t a gabber. The other day I"d tried to talk about Dion and was met with wide eyes and zipped lips. I hadn"t gotten anything out of anyone. The older woman who had recognized my father in me had insisted I wait until the king"s return to get any more details about my past.

While I waited, everyone just sat around smiling and asking if I needed anything. The attention, though well-meaning, was overwhelming. I wasn"t used to this level of deference, this eagerness to please. It was as if they saw me not as a person but as a symbol of something greater, something I was still struggling to understand.

"I appreciate your kindness." I forced a smile. "But I"d really like some time alone to... to think."

The woman exchanged hesitant glances with others standing in alcoves and shadows, clearly unused to such a request. As they retreated, I took a deep breath, the weight of their expectations still lingering in the air.

The tension between my new role and my own desires was a constant undercurrent, a reminder that I was in a world where I was still finding my footing. I wasn"t actually sure what my new role entailed. My partner in this venture still hadn"t returned. My escort into this new world had abandoned me.

Okay, not abandoned. I did reject him. But I didn"t like to think about that. I didn"t like to remember the way his face fell. The way I felt his heart come to an abrupt stop along the mating bond.

That bond wasn"t real. Or it was just one-sided. Actually, I don"t know what it was. It wasn"t like I had anyone to talk to about it.

As I meandered through the ornate halls of the palace, my eyes caught a glimpse of a portrait hanging regally on the wall. It was a painting of Dion, the panther king. My future mate.

I paused, my gaze drawn to the image, studying the brushstrokes that captured his commanding presence. His eyes in the painting held a depth of wisdom and strength. His posture exuded a noble aura. I searched my heart, looking for a spark, a sign of a connection that should be there.

I did feel a sense of safety envelop me. It was the same kind of security his real presence provided in the brief moments that I"d been in his company. But as I scrutinized my feelings, I realized that the heat of desire, the flutter of excitement that should accompany the sight of a fated mate was absent. I told myself it was something that would grow with time, a connection that would deepen as I accepted my role in this new world.

Then my eyes drifted to another portrait beside Dion"s, and my breath caught in my throat. It was Oz, standing loyal and steadfast at Dion"s side. The painting captured him perfectly, the intensity in his eyes, the slight tilt of his head, a subtle indication of his protective nature.

I did feel heat as I looked at Oz"s portrait. I felt desire prick at the sensitive places all over my body. My heart twisted painfully, remembering the connection we'd shared, a connection that felt so right.

But hadn"t I felt that way with Ken? With Allan? How had I gotten it wrong again?

I stood there, transfixed, memories of our time together flooding my mind. Each moment spent with Oz, each laugh, each touch, came rushing back with an aching clarity. The portrait brought him to life in my mind, so vivid, so real, that it felt like he was right there with me.

All that was left of the bond was an ache in my chest. Constant pain when I paid it any mind. There was a persistent lump in my throat. Every other second, tears threatened as they burned behind my eyes.

My past breakups never felt this way. The pain had been superficial. This cut was deep.

I wanted it to stop. I needed a break. I needed to run. Then I realized that I could.

I headed down to the garden level, having to ask servants for directions on the way down. They happily guided me, thankful that I'd finally asked them to do something.

When they left me outside, I found an alcove and took my clothes off. The dress was too nice to have it torn to shreds with the change. Then I let the jaguar have me.

I focused on my inner self. That"s all it took for the change to begin. It was an intense, consuming sensation, like a fire igniting in my core. My body trembled, caught in the throes of transformation. Muscles contorted, bones realigned, and skin rippled as if waves were coursing beneath it.

My fingers elongated into sleek, powerful paws, tipped with sharp, retractable claws. My senses sharpened exponentially—the rustling of leaves became a symphony, the scents of the garden a kaleidoscope of fragrances, each distinct and vivid.

Fur like the golden sun sprouted across my skin, a luxurious coat that shielded me and connected me to my new identity. My face elongated into a feline muzzle, my teeth transforming into formidable weapons, perfectly designed for a predator.

As the transformation completed, I stood on all fours, my body a perfect embodiment of feline grace and power. Forgetting the old adage of you have to crawl before you can run, I took off at top speed. The world appeared different from this perspective—more vibrant, more alive. I heard the subtle rustling of small creatures in the underbrush, the distant beat of a bird"s wings, the soft gurgling of the stream.

In my jaguar form, I felt a freedom I"d never known as a human. It was a liberation from the constraints of society, of expectations, a return to something pure and untamed. My heart beat with a new rhythm, one that echoed the wildness of the forest, the untamed spirit of the animal I"d become.

I prowled through the gardens, each step a testament to the strength and power I possessed. The sensation of the earth beneath my paws, the brush of leaves against my fur, the wind caressing my whiskers—it was an exhilarating experience, a communion with nature.

I wanted to go farther. But when I crossed the boundary outside of the gardens, I heard a low growl. Looking up, I saw a dark panther in my way. There was blood on his side, and his golden gaze was trained on me.