Chapter 116 116
Daevir's POV
I intend to lose control today.
The field is quiet when I step into it, and the grass is still wet enough to darken my boots.
I prefer it this way. When Ezriel gets loose, I prefer that he doesn't hurt anyone.
Zephyr is already there.
He stands at the far end of the clearing, arms folded, posture loose but watchful. He always pretends he's relaxed, but I know better. Every muscle in him is ready to react if I slip.
"You're late," he calls.
"I'm not," I reply, rolling my shoulders. "You're early."
A corner of his mouth lifts. "Shift."
No greeting. No wasted words. I appreciate that, old man.
I step farther into the field until the scent of him is faint and the only thing in my lungs is cold morning air. My fingers flex once at my sides. Twice. I close my eyes.
Ezriel stirs immediately.
He is never asleep.
Finally, he murmurs in the back of my mind.
You kept me caged all night.
"You're not caged," I mutter under my breath. "You know better than that."
A dark huff of amusement echoes through me.
Shifting is no longer the ripping agony it once was. It still hurts, yes. My bones don't rearrange themselves gently, but the pain is familiar now, like the burn of a blade you've learned to wield. My spine tightens first, heat crawling up each vertebra. My jaw strains, teeth pressing, lengthening. My skin prickles as fur threatens to break through.
I let it happen.
The world sharpens. Scents explode into clarity: wet earth, crushed grass, Zephyr's steady heartbeat across the field. I hear the flutter of distant birds, the skitter of a small animal beneath a bush somewhere beyond the hill.
Ezriel pushes harder.
My hands twist, fingers curving into claws. My stance lowers without thought. The urge to run, to chase, to dominate floods my veins like fire.
Then comes the second pull.
The deeper one.
The lycan.
The first time I reached it, I nearly killed Amarien. I still remember the fear in her eyes.
I draw on it now.
My body surges larger, heavier. My vision tilts as the world becomes prey and territory instead of landscape. My heart slams against my ribs, demanding action.
Zephyr's scent grows louder.
Too loud.
Ezriel snarls inside me.
He watches you like a threat.
"He's not," I argue internally, though my lip curls.
He doubts you.
That sparks something dangerous. My gaze snaps to Zephyr. He hasn't moved, but he has shifted his weight slightly, bracing.
Is that a challenge? Ezriel sniggered.
The lycan in me surges forward.
A growl rips from my throat before I realize it's mine. My foot digs into the soil, ready to launch. Ready to close the distance between Zephyr and me and crush him. Ready to prove I rule the world! I rule everything!
"Wait…" I tried to catch myself. Whose thoughts are these?
But my body and instincts were already wild, screaming that Zephyr is a threat. It was so powerful that I carefully remember who this old man is.
Zephyr doesn't reach for his weapon. Instead, he stood there unflinching and certain.
And that, more than any show of force, cuts through the red haze.
Because he isn't looking at a monster.
He's looking at me.
"Daevir," he says, calm and firm.
And suddenly, the memories came gushing back at me with a raging force.
The sound anchors me like a chain around my ribs.
I drag in a breath that feels like swallowing knives. Ezriel resists, thrashing against the hold I try to place on him.
We can take him! Ezriel insists. We can prove our mighty strength!
"We're not here to prove," I push back. "We're here to control, Ezriel."
My lycan form trembled.
Yet, Zephyr doesn't move.
Trust.
He's giving me trust.
That realization douses the last spark of frenzy.
I pull.
It's like hauling a raging river back into its banks. My bones compress, my height lowers, fur recedes. The shift back is faster but heavier, like gravity doubles on the way down. My knees nearly buckle when my human form settles into place.
Air rushes into my lungs. Real air. Not the sharp, predatory intake of the beast.
I straighten slowly.
Zephyr nods once. "Better," he says.
Shut up, old man, Ezriel spat.
"Barely," I reply, wiping sweat from the back of my neck.
"You didn't snap."
"I almost did."
"But you didn't."
Any man who saw that would have died on his feet. I am indeed impressed by Zephyr.
Every time I stop short of losing myself, he was there to snap me back to control.
I'm not trying to silence Ezriel anymore. I'm learning to stand beside him without letting him steer.
Weeks ago, I thought dominance meant forcing my wolf into submission. I was wrong.
Connection is what grants control.
I feel Ezriel now, pacing but calmer. Watching through my eyes instead of fighting for them.
"You're learning," Zephyr says.
"So is he," I answer.
I look at my hands. They're steady.
That alone would've been impossible a month ago.
"I can feel the difference," I admit quietly. "Before, it was like drowning in him. Now it's… sharing space."
Zephyr hums. "That's how it should be."
I glance at him. "You make it sound simple."
"I made it sound necessary, Daevir. There's a difference."
Necessary. He's right.
Because the world isn't getting safer. Borders are restless. Rival packs test limits. Humans are now joining forces with Theron, an Alpha who can't master his own wolf and is a liability.
I won't be a liability.
Not to my people.
Not to them.
My thoughts drift to my son. My two young pups, who look at me like I am a god: Ares and Drathen.
They deserve a leader who doesn't fracture under pressure.
Ezriel stirs again, but this time it's not aggression. It's an acknowledgment.
You do this for your pups, he says.
I roll my neck, easing the last tension from my shoulders. The urge to shift again lingers, but I don't chase it.
Zephyr starts toward the edge of the field, signaling the session is done. He trusts me to follow without spiraling. That trust is its own kind of reward.
I nodded at him with a smile.
Zephyr bowed, "The palace awaits, Your Majesty. There's news for you."