Chapter 17 Casimir's Suspicions (Casimir's POV)
The scent hits me mid-sentence.
I'm discussing security protocols with Sorin in the hotel suite, reviewing arrangements for this afternoon's meeting with Thalia, when something in the air changes. It's subtle… a shift in the complex tapestry of London's pack markers that most wolves wouldn't notice. But I've been hunting specific scents for five years. I notice everything.
" …additional guards at the perimeter should suffice," Sorin is saying, oblivious. "Morrigan's penthouse has its own security, but I'd recommend… "
"Excuse me." I move to the window, breathing deep, analyzing.
There. Faint but unmistakable. Thalia's scent, but transformed. The chemical markers of Morrigan's suppressants are gone, replaced by something wild and potent that makes my wolf sit up and take notice.
She's shifted.
"Casimir?" Sorin joins me at the window. "What is it?"
"Nothing. Just checking the street." I turn away before he can read my expression. "Continue with the security assessment."
He gives me a long look but returns to his tablet. "As I was saying, perimeter guards should suffice, but we need to consider… "
I'm not listening anymore. My mind is racing through implications and timelines, adjusting calculations I've been making for months.
She shifted earlier than I anticipated. The suppressants have been out of her system for what, maybe a week? Less? Most wolves in her position would take two, three weeks minimum before their first transformation. Some never make it through the process at all… the shock to the system after years of suppression proves too much.
But not Thalia. Of course not. She's a Convergence. Rules don't apply the same way.
"Casimir." Sorin's voice cuts through my thoughts. "You're not listening."
"I'm listening." I force myself to focus. "Perimeter guards, secondary protocols, communication channels. I heard you."
"Then you heard me say we should postpone this afternoon's meeting." He sets down the tablet. "You're distracted. Whatever you're thinking about is clearly more important than wedding venues."
He's not wrong. But I can't tell him what I'm thinking about… not yet. Not until I understand what this means for the larger plan.
"The meeting proceeds as scheduled." I move back to the desk, pulling up my own files. "Thalia and I need to maintain the appearance of normalcy. Public courtship, wedding preparations, all the traditional displays."
"Even though nothing about this arrangement is traditional." Sorin's tone is dry.
"Especially because nothing is traditional." I scan through documents without really seeing them. "The more conventional we appear, the less anyone questions what's happening beneath the surface."
"And what is happening beneath the surface?" He moves closer, lowering his voice. "You've been acting strange for days. Ever since the engagement announcement, you've been… "
"Focused." I close the files. "I've been focused, Uncle. There's a difference."
He studies me with those seer eyes that sometimes see too much. "The futures are shifting. Branching in ways I haven't seen before. Something has changed."
Yes. Something has definitely changed.
"Your visions are always in flux," I say dismissively. "That's the nature of prophecy. Multiple possibilities, no certainties."
"This is different." He's still watching me too carefully. "The paths are narrowing. Converging toward specific outcomes. And in most of them… " He stops, shaking his head. "Never mind."
"In most of them, what?"
"Nothing. Just seer paranoia." But he smells like concern mixed with something that might be fear. "You should rest before the meeting. You look exhausted."
I am exhausted. The genetic condition is progressing faster than I want to admit, even to myself. Some mornings I wake up and can barely move, my joints screaming protest, my muscles weak from the cellular degeneration that's slowly killing me.
But I can't afford to rest. Not when everything is finally falling into place.
"I'm fine." I dismiss him with a gesture. "Two o'clock. Make sure the car is ready."
He leaves, reluctance in every step, and I'm finally alone.
I move to the safe hidden behind the hotel artwork… expensive but meaningless abstract that screams "luxury accommodation" …and enter the combination. Inside are files I've been collecting for years. Research on the Convergence prophecy. Historical documents about the last one, the civil war she started, the assassination that ended her reign. Genetic analyses. Bloodline charts. Everything I've gathered in my obsessive quest to understand what Thalia is and how to control it.
Control. Such an inadequate word for what I'm attempting.
I spread the documents across the desk, reviewing information I've memorized but need to see physically. Proof that I'm not insane, that this plan isn't the desperate gambit of a dying man grasping at shadows.
The Convergence appears once every five generations. Always female. Always carrying latent ability to command all three bloodlines through sheer force of will. The last one tried to unite the packs under her rule 153 years ago. When that failed, she tried enslavement instead. Thousands died in the resulting war.
My great-great-grandfather helped kill her. Blessed silver blade through the heart… the only weapon that can end a Convergence permanently. He kept detailed journals about the experience, about the power she wielded, about the mistakes they made in trying to oppose her directly.
I've read those journals so many times I could recite them verbatim.
The key isn't opposition. It's direction. Give the Convergence a purpose, a goal that aligns with your own, and that immense power becomes an asset rather than a threat.
Thalia doesn't know what she is yet… not fully. She's just discovered her wolf, likely terrified by the transformation and the abilities that come with it. She's vulnerable right now. Confused. Desperate for guidance and answers.
That's what I can provide. Answers wrapped in manipulation. Guidance that serves my purposes. Control disguised as support.
My phone buzzes. Text from the contact I've been cultivating in the Voss pack: "Target completed bond. Escalating timeline. Six days."
Six days until Ravenna invokes the blood curse. Six days until Lucien Voss and his entire bloodline turn feral unless he completes his mission or finds another solution.
I type back: "Understood. Maintain position."
The Voss connection was expensive to establish and dangerous to maintain, but it's provided invaluable intelligence. I know about Lucien's deadline. About the mate bond he's trying to hide. About Ravenna's ultimatum and the growing desperation in the Voss pack.
I know everything. And everyone thinks I know nothing.
It would be amusing if the stakes weren't so high.
I pull out another file. This one isn't about Convergence prophecies or genetic research. This one is personal.
Elara smiles at me from a photograph taken three months before she died. Twenty-three years old, beautiful, full of life and hope and plans for the future. She's standing in the gardens at our family estate, sunlight catching in her dark hair, one hand resting on her slightly swollen belly.
She was six months pregnant in that photo. Happy. Glowing with that contentment pregnant women sometimes have, despite the scandal, despite knowing the father had abandoned her, despite everything.
She believed the baby would be worth it. That love could overcome pack politics and ancient feuds.
She was wrong.
I close my eyes and I'm back in that room. Blood everywhere. Elara's face pale as snow, her hands gripping mine with desperate strength as she begged me to save her child. The baby coming too early, too fast, something wrong with the delivery that the doctors couldn't fix.
"Promise me," she'd gasped. "Casimir, promise you'll protect my baby. Promise… "
But there was no baby to protect. The infant died minutes after birth, too premature to survive, and Elara bled out watching her child die in my arms.
I was twenty-three years old and I watched my twin sister die because some Voss wolf couldn't keep his fucking pants on.
I've spent five years tracking him down. Five years of careful investigation, of paying informants, of following threads that led nowhere until finally… finally… I narrowed it down.
Three suspects. All high-ranking Voss wolves. All with opportunity and motive to have seduced a Dragomir heir. One of them is Elara's killer, even if he didn't strike the blow himself.
And once I have the power I need… once I control Thalia and the child she'll eventually bear… I'll have access to Voss pack intelligence. I'll be able to identify which one destroyed my sister. And then I'll extract justice in ways that make Ravenna's blood curse look merciful.
The engagement isn't just about power. It's about revenge.
A knock at the door interrupts my thoughts. "Mr. Dragomir? Your car is ready."
Already? I check my watch. Two PM. Time moves strangely when you're drowning in memories and rage.
I gather the files and lock them back in the safe, then check my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The face that stares back looks older than twenty-eight. Tired. Lines around the eyes and mouth that weren't there a year ago. The genetic condition is visible now, to anyone who knows what to look for.
I have two years. Maybe less if the disease progresses faster than expected. Two years to secure my legacy, to unite the packs under Dragomir control, to find Elara's killer and watch him suffer.
Two years. It has to be enough.
I straighten my tie, smooth my jacket, and put on the mask I've been wearing since I was eight years old and found my parents dead. Cold. Controlled. Utterly unreadable.
The ride to Thornewood's penthouse is twenty minutes through London traffic. I use the time to review talking points Sorin prepared about wedding venues and ceremony traditions, meaningless details that matter to Morrigan's sense of propriety but mean nothing to me.
The wedding itself is irrelevant. It's the legal binding that matters—the contract that gives me claim to Thalia and any children she produces. The rest is theater for the packs.
Morrigan's security screens me at the penthouse entrance with the thoroughness I've come to expect. They're professional, efficient, and completely unaware that I could kill most of them before they realized the threat. I'm dying, yes. But I'm still an Alpha. Still trained in combat since childhood. Still dangerous.
They escort me to a private sitting room where Thalia waits.
And the moment I enter, I know my suspicions were correct.
She's trying to hide it… sitting with perfect posture, hands folded calmly in her lap, expression serene. But her scent is completely different. The suppressants that used to mask her natural wolf scent are gone, replaced by something that makes my breath catch.
Pine and rain and wildflowers, yes. But underneath, there's power. Raw, unfiltered, absolutely intoxicating power that calls to every instinct I have.
This is what a Convergence smells like. What they're meant to smell like without nineteen years of chemical suppression distorting everything.
She's magnificent. And she has no idea.
"Casimir." She stands, offering a polite smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Thank you for coming."
"Thalia." I take her hand, raising it to my lips in the courtly gesture she expects. Her pulse is elevated… nervous or excited, I can't tell which. "You look lovely."
"You're very kind." She withdraws her hand smoothly. "Please, sit. I understand we're discussing wedding venues?"
Professional. Distant. Playing her role as the dutiful fiancée while smelling like barely contained wildfire.
I settle into the chair across from her, watching carefully. Her eyes are different too… brighter, more amber than hazel, with flecks of gold that catch the light. She's not wearing the suppressants anymore because she can't. Her wolf has emerged and there's no putting that particular genie back in the bottle.
Morrigan must be losing her mind.
"Before we discuss venues," I say carefully, "I wanted to check that you're feeling well. I heard you were ill last night."
Something flickers in those golden eyes. Wariness? Calculation? "Just a stomach bug. I'm fine now."
She's lying. Not about being fine… she probably feels better than she has in her entire life now that she's finally whole… but about the stomach bug.
"I'm glad to hear it." I pull out the tablet Sorin prepared. "Shall we look at options? There are several traditional venues that would suit the alliance, but I wanted your input."
We spend the next hour discussing locations I don't care about for a wedding that's just legal necessity. Thalia plays along perfectly, asking appropriate questions, making diplomatic suggestions, maintaining the fiction that this is a normal courtship.
But I'm not watching her reactions to venue photos. I'm watching how she moves. How she controls her strength… there's a careful precision to every gesture that speaks of someone still learning their own power. How her attention sometimes drifts, like she's hearing or smelling something I can't detect.
She shifted recently. Within the last day or two, if I'm reading the signs correctly. And she's still adjusting to the dramatic changes in her sensory input and physical capabilities.
Perfect. She's exactly where I need her to be… powerful enough to be useful, inexperienced enough to be guided.
"This one." She taps a photo of an estate in the Scottish Highlands. "It's neutral territory, large enough for all three packs to attend, and historically significant. It sends the right message."
"Convergence Hall." I nod approval. "Appropriate choice. That's where the first attempts at pack unification happened, before the schism."
"I know." She meets my gaze directly. "I've been reading about pack history. Thought I should understand what I'm marrying into."
Smart. She's educating herself, trying to understand the world she's been kept ignorant of.
"What else have you been reading?" I ask casually.
"Bloodline histories. Prophecies. The civil war 153 years ago." She tilts her head slightly. "Interesting how the Convergence is always portrayed as the villain in Dragomir records. I imagine Voss and Thornewood histories tell similar stories."
She's not just educating herself. She's researching what she is.
"History is written by survivors," I say neutrally. "The Convergence lost that war, so naturally she's remembered as a villain. If she'd won, she'd be celebrated as a unifier."
"Or a tyrant who enslaved three packs under her will." Thalia's voice is still polite, but there's steel underneath. "Power doesn't automatically confer righteousness."
"No. It doesn't." I close the tablet. "But it does confer ability. And ability properly directed can accomplish what righteousness alone never could."
"Properly directed by whom?" She's watching me too carefully now. "The person with the power, or the people trying to control them?"
Ah. There it is. The question underneath all the wedding venue politeness.
"That depends on whether the person with power knows how to use it responsibly," I reply. "Or whether they need guidance from those with more experience."
"Guidance. Is that what you call it?" She stands, moving to the window with that new controlled grace. "I've had nineteen years of 'guidance,' Casimir. Forgive me if I'm skeptical about anyone's motives in offering more."
I join her at the window, close enough to smell the power radiating from her but not so close that I'm crowding. "Your mother's guidance was about suppression. Control through limitation. That's not what I'm offering."
"Then what are you offering?" She turns to face me. "Be honest for once. What do you actually want from this marriage?"
Honest. She wants honest.
I could lie. Probably should lie. But there's something about the directness of her gaze, the confidence in her stance, the power barely leashed beneath her skin that makes me reconsider.
Maybe partial honesty is the better strategy here.
"I want legacy," I say simply. "I'm dying, Thalia. The same genetic condition that killed my father is killing me. I have perhaps two years left, maybe less. This marriage, this alliance… it's not about love or companionship. It's about building something that outlives me."
She doesn't look shocked. If anything, she looks satisfied, like I just confirmed something she already suspected. "Sorin told me about the condition."
"Of course he did." I should have known my uncle couldn't keep that particular secret. "Then you understand why timeline matters to me. Why I need heirs quickly."
"Heirs." She turns the word over like she's tasting it. "Children to carry on your legacy. To rule the packs after you're gone."
"Yes."
"Children you would control. Mold. Shape into whatever serves your purposes." Her eyes flash gold. "Just another form of suppression, Casimir. Prettier wrapping, same cage."
"Or freedom from the chaos that comes with unlimited power and no direction," I counter. "The last Convergence tried to rule alone. She failed catastrophically. But a Convergence with the right support, the right resources, the right guidance… "
"Could be your perfect weapon." She finishes. "A tool you use to reshape the werewolf world according to your vision before you die."
She's not wrong. But she's not entirely right either.
"A tool we both use," I correct. "Your power, my experience and resources. Partnership, not subjugation."
"Partnership implies equality. We both know this marriage is anything but equal."
"Then help me make it more equal." I take a calculated risk. "What do you want, Thalia? Really want? Not what Morrigan wants for you or what Lucien Voss promises or what anyone else has decided. What do you want?"
She stares at me for a long moment. Then, softly: "Freedom. Understanding. The right to make my own choices."
"I can give you all three." I move closer. "Freedom from Morrigan's control. Understanding of what you are and what you're capable of. And choices… real choices, not false ones designed to manipulate you into compliance."
"In exchange for what?"
"In exchange for heirs. For public compliance with the marriage. For using your abilities when I ask, for purposes we agree on in advance." I hold her gaze. "I won't lie to you or suppress you or treat you like a child who can't be trusted with truth. But I need you to fulfill certain obligations."
"Children who would legally be yours. Power you would direct. Public legitimacy for whatever you plan to build." She doesn't look away. "That's a high price for freedom that comes with conditions."
"Yes. It is." I won't insult her intelligence by denying it. "But it's better than the alternatives. Better than Morrigan putting you back on suppressants. Better than Ravenna trying to have you killed. Better than being torn apart by pack politics while everyone fights over who controls you."
She's silent, considering. I can see the calculation in her eyes, the weighing of options and outcomes.
Finally: "I need time to think about it."
"You have three days." I step back, giving her space. "Same as my original offer. After that, circumstances will force decisions neither of us want."
"The blood curse." She says it matter-of-factly. "You know about Ravenna's ultimatum."
Of course she knows. Lucien must have told her.
"I know about many things," I say carefully. "Including the fact that you and the Voss operative have complicated feelings that go beyond assassination and politics."
"You're very well-informed."
"I'm thorough. There's a difference." I move toward the door. "Three days, Thalia. Decide what you want. But decide knowing that I at least respect you enough to be honest about my motivations."
"Three days," I repeat. "Make your decision."
Then I leave before she can ask any more questions that cut too close to the bone.
In the car back to the hotel, I finally allow myself to process what just happened. Thalia is more formidable than I anticipated. Smarter, more direct, less susceptible to manipulation than I'd hoped.
Which means I need to adjust my approach. Less control, more negotiation. She responds better to honesty than lies… probably because she's had a lifetime of lies from Morrigan.
My phone buzzes. Sorin: "How did it go?"
I type back: "She shifted. Recently. She knows what she is."
The response is immediate: "That changes everything."
"No. It just accelerates the timeline."
I close my eyes and see Elara's face again. Hear her voice begging me to save her child. Feel the weight of that tiny body going still in my arms.
I will find who killed you, I promise silently. I will make them pay for what they took from us. And I will build something from the ashes of your death that ensures it never happens again.