The summons comes at dusk.

Not a request. A summons. Written on cream-colored paper in elegant script that probably costs more than my camera equipment.

Join me for dinner. We need to talk. —D

I stare at the note, turning it over in my fingers. The paper is thick, expensive. The kind of thing people use when they want you to know they have money and taste.

The kind of thing people use when they're about to tell you something you won't want to hear.

"Fuck," I mutter.

The massive bear lying across my doorway—because apparently I rate a full-time bodyguard now—lifts his head. Those amber eyes find mine, and I swear I see concern in them.

Or maybe I'm losing my mind. Maybe I've already lost it.

I've been talking to a bear like he understands every word. I've been dreaming about a man with amber eyes who kisses me like I'm oxygen. And now I'm being summoned to dinner with his brother, who looks at me sometimes like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve.

Or a tool he's trying to use.

"Your brother wants to have a chat," I tell Rowan. Because yes, I'm calling the bear Rowan now. Ever since the dream where he said his name, where he begged me to see him, I can't think of him as anything else.

The bear's ears flatten against his skull. A low rumble vibrates through his chest—not quite a growl, but close.

"Yeah, that's how I feel about it too."

But I go anyway, because what choice do I have? I'm still a prisoner here, no matter how comfortable my cage has become. No matter how much I've started to—

No. Not going there.

I change into the cleanest clothes I have—jeans that aren't stained with developer chemicals, a black thermal that doesn't have any holes. Run my fingers through my braid and immediately regret it when half my hair escapes in its usual copper chaos.

Rowan follows me through the compound, a silent shadow that draws stares from the other shifters we pass. They give us a wide berth, their eyes sliding away from the massive bear like he's something they'd rather not acknowledge.

Like looking at him hurts.

Maybe it does. Maybe seeing their alpha reduced to this—trapped, voiceless, more beast than man—is too painful to witness.

The thought makes my chest ache in a way I don't want to examine.

Declan's quarters are in the main lodge, up a flight of stairs that Rowan can't climb. The bear stops at the bottom, huffing in frustration.

"It's okay," I tell him, surprised by how much I mean it. "I'll be fine."

He doesn't look convinced. Neither am I, honestly.

But I climb the stairs alone, following the scent of pine and winter frost that grows stronger with each step. It mingles with something else—woodsmoke, wine, roasted meat. My stomach growls despite my nerves.

Declan's door is open.

He's standing by the window when I enter, silhouetted against the dying light. He's changed from his usual outdoor gear into dark slacks and a charcoal sweater that probably costs more than my rent. His hair is damp, like he's recently showered.

This isn't casual. This is deliberate.

"Isla." He turns, and his ice-blue eyes catch the lamplight. "Thank you for coming."

"Like I had a choice?"

A slight smile. "You always have a choice."

"Right. And my other option was what, exactly? Staying locked in my room?"

"You're not locked in." He moves to a small dining table set for two. Candles. Wine. Two covered plates that smell incredible. "You haven't been for days."

"Just because the door isn't locked doesn't mean I'm free."

"No," he agrees quietly. "It doesn't."

The honesty surprises me. I expected deflection, pretty lies. Instead, he's watching me with an expression I can't quite read—something raw beneath his usual control.

"Sit," he says. "Please."

I should refuse. Should demand answers while standing, keep the power dynamic in my favor. But the food smells too good and I'm tired of fighting every single battle.

Pick your wars, Isla.

I sit.

Declan pours wine—red, rich, probably obscenely expensive—and removes the covers from our plates. Venison with roasted vegetables, wild rice, some kind of berry sauce that makes my mouth water.

"You cook?" I ask.

"God, no. We have a chef." He settles across from me, close enough that I can smell his scent over the food. Pine and frost and something darker underneath. "I'm many things, but domestic isn't one of them."

I take a bite to avoid responding. The venison melts on my tongue, perfectly seasoned. I have to suppress a moan.

Declan notices anyway. His eyes darken slightly.

"Good?"

"You know it is."

We eat in silence for a few minutes. I keep waiting for him to speak, to reveal why he's orchestrated this intimate dinner. But he seems content to watch me, his gaze heavy and assessing.

Finally, I can't take it anymore.

"Why am I here, Declan?"

He sets down his fork with careful precision. Takes a sip of wine. When he looks at me, something has shifted in his expression—the mask is cracking.

"Because I owe you the truth."

My pulse kicks up. "About?"

"About why you're really here. About what we need from you." He pauses. "About my brother."

The way he says brother makes my chest tighten. There's so much in that single word—love and grief and guilt and something else I can't name.

"I know about the curse," I say carefully. "That he's trapped. That he can't shift back."

"Do you know why?"

I shake my head.

Declan leans back, wine glass cradled in his hands. The candlelight catches the sharp planes of his face, and for a moment, I can see the resemblance to the man in my dreams. Same strong jaw, same intensity.

But the eyes are wrong. Storm-gray, not ice-blue.

"Three years ago, a witch came to our territory. Morgana Thorne." His voice is carefully neutral, but I hear the hatred underneath. "Beautiful. Powerful. Dangerous. She wanted Rowan—not just physically, but completely. She wanted him to bind himself to her, to give up his clan, his life, everything."

"He refused."

"He refused." Declan's grip tightens on his glass. "Rowan was—is—a good man. Loyal. Honorable. He would never abandon his people, especially not for someone who demanded he become something he's not."

Past tense slipping into present. The grief is palpable.

"So she cursed him," I finish.

"She cursed him." He drains his wine, pours more. "Trapped him in his beast form. Took his voice, his ability to shift, his humanity. Condemned him to watch himself become more animal with every passing day."

I think of the bear's amber eyes, the intelligence burning in them. The way he understands everything I say.

The way he's fighting so hard to hold on.

"There has to be a way to break it," I say.

Declan's laugh is bitter. "Oh, there is. Morgana made sure of that. She's not completely cruel—just obsessive."

He leans forward, and suddenly the space between us feels too small. I can smell him—pine and frost and desperation.

"True love," he says. "Someone has to love him as he is. Not the man he was, but the beast he's become. Completely. Unconditionally. Enough to break through the curse."

My stomach drops.

"That's why I'm here."

"That's why you're here."

The words hang between us like a confession. Like a sentencing.

I push back from the table, chair scraping against wood. "You kidnapped me to—what? Throw me at your brother and hope I fall in love with a bear?"

"We didn't know what else to do." Declan stands too, and he's too close, his scent overwhelming. "He's dying, Isla. Not physically, but everything that makes him him is slipping away. In another year, maybe less, there won't be anything left but the beast."

"So you decided to use me."

"We decided to give him a chance." His voice roughens. "You're different. From the moment you arrived, he's been more present, more himself than he's been in months. The way he looks at you—"

"Stop."

But he doesn't. He steps closer, and I'm trapped between him and the table.

"He dreams of you," Declan says quietly. "Did you know that? He can't speak, can't shift, but he can dream. And every night, he dreams of a woman with copper hair and green eyes who sees past the monster."

My breath catches. "How do you know that?"

"Because I'm his brother. Because we share blood and bond and I can feel his emotions even if I can't hear his thoughts." His hand comes up, hovering near my face but not quite touching. "Because I see the way he watches you. Like you're hope made flesh."

I should step away. Should put distance between us. But I'm frozen, caught in those ice-blue eyes that are suddenly too intense, too hungry.

"Before the curse," Declan continues, voice dropping lower, "Rowan was magnificent. Brilliant and commanding and kind. He led our clan with strength and wisdom. He was everything an alpha should be."

He's describing the man from my dreams. The dark-haired, amber-eyed man who touches me like I'm precious.

"He had shoulder-length hair, dark as midnight. Storm-gray eyes that could see right through you." Declan's hand finally makes contact, fingers ghosting along my jaw. "A warrior's build. Scars from protecting his people. A smile that could light up a room or promise violence, depending on what was needed."

His thumb brushes my cheekbone, and my skin ignites.

"He would have loved you," Declan whispers. "The real you, not just what he needs you to be. He would have courted you properly, shown you what it means to be cherished by an alpha."

"Declan—"

"But he can't." The words are anguished. "He can't speak, can't touch you as a man, can't tell you everything you make him feel. He's trapped in that body, screaming silently, and I can't—I can't save him."

His control shatters. I watch it happen, watch the careful facade crack and crumble.

"I've tried everything," he says, voice breaking. "Every witch, every healer, every ancient text. Nothing works. The only way to break the curse is for someone to love him, and how can anyone love a beast? How can I ask that of someone?"

"So you took the choice away from me."

"Yes." No apology, just raw honesty. "I took your choice because I'm desperate and selfish and watching my brother disappear is killing me."

His hand is still on my face. His scent is everywhere, making my head spin.

"I need you to save him," Declan says. "I need you to look at that bear and see the man inside. I need you to love him enough to break the curse."

"You can't force someone to love—"

"I know." His thumb traces my lower lip, and heat pools in my belly despite everything. "But I can hope. I can give him every chance. I can put you in his path and pray that whatever magic brought you here is strong enough to save him."

I should be furious. I am furious. But underneath the anger is something else—unwilling compassion, terrible understanding.

Because I know what it's like to lose someone you love. To watch them disappear and be powerless to stop it.

My sister's face flashes through my mind. The fabric I found yesterday burns in my pocket.

"What if I can't?" I whisper. "What if I'm not enough?"

Declan's expression does something complicated. His hand slides from my face to my neck, fingers resting against my racing pulse.

"Then we're all lost."

He's too close. His breath ghosts across my lips, and for one insane moment, I think he might kiss me.

But he doesn't. He just stands there, looking at me like I'm salvation and damnation wrapped in one inconvenient package.

"You feel it too," he says. Not a question. "The pull. The connection. That's the mate bond trying to form."

"With Rowan."

"With Rowan," he confirms. But his hand tightens slightly on my neck, possessive and wrong. "Though bonds can be... complicated. Especially when curses are involved."

Something in his tone makes warning bells ring in my head.

"What does that mean?"

"It means the curse affects everything. Rowan's bond, his ability to claim you, his very nature." Declan's eyes search mine, and I see something dangerous lurking in their depths. "It means there are other possibilities. Other ways this could end."

"Declan—"

"I could love you." The words are barely audible. "If you can't love him, if the curse can't be broken that way, I could—"

I pull away, putting the table between us. My heart is hammering against my ribs.

"That's not how this works."

"Isn't it?" He doesn't follow, but his gaze holds me captive. "True love breaks the curse. It doesn't specify whose love. And if you could love me instead, if I could make you happy, wouldn't that save him too?"

The logic is twisted, desperate. Wrong.

But looking at Declan's face, I see he believes it. Or wants to believe it. Or has convinced himself to believe it because the alternative is watching his brother fade away.

"You're talking about betraying him."

"I'm talking about saving him." Declan's voice hardens. "By any means necessary. If that makes me a monster, fine. I'll be a monster. But I won't watch him die."

I'm shaking. From anger, from fear, from the horrible realization that I'm not just a prisoner here—I'm a pawn in a game I don't understand.

"I need to go."

"Isla—"

"Let me go, Declan."

He does, stepping aside with visible effort. But as I move toward the door, his voice stops me.

"Loving Rowan might be your only path to freedom."

I turn back. "What?"

"The curse is tied to this territory. If it breaks, if he becomes human again, he could help you leave. Could escort you safely out of our lands." Declan's smile is bitter. "But if it doesn't break, if he stays trapped... then you stay trapped too. Because I can't risk you exposing us, and without Rowan's authority to overrule me, you'll remain here indefinitely."

The threat is delivered softly, almost gently. But it's a threat nonetheless.

"So my options are fall in love with a bear or stay prisoner forever."

"Your options are save the man you're already dreaming about, or accept that this is your life now." He pours himself more wine, and his hand is steady again. The mask is back in place. "Choose wisely, Isla. Time is running out for all of us."

I leave before I do something stupid like throw the wine bottle at his head.

Rowan is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, pacing. He sees me and immediately moves closer, pressing his massive head against my stomach.

I bury my fingers in his fur without thinking.

"Your brother is an asshole," I tell him.

A huff that might be agreement.

"And I'm apparently supposed to fall in love with you to break your curse."

The bear goes very still.

"Which is completely insane, right? You can't force love. You can't manufacture it. You can't just decide to feel something because it's convenient or necessary or—"

Rowan pulls back to look at me, and those amber eyes are devastating.

I see the man from my dreams in them. The dark-haired, storm-eyed man who whispers my name like a prayer.

You know. You've known since the moment you saw me.

"Fuck," I breathe.

Because maybe you can't force love.

But I'm terribly afraid it might be happening anyway.