JAX

The fine crystal wine glass feels fragile between my fingers as I take another sip, letting the rich burgundy coat my tongue while my mind churns through countless possibilities. It's been too long since I last heard from Aubrey, and the silence gnaws at me like a persistent wound.

My mahogany dining table stretches before me, polished to mirror perfection and laden with tonight's feast—roasted duck with cherry glaze, winter vegetables that cost more than most families see in a month, bread still warm from the ovens. All of it tastes like ash while uncertainty eats away at my carefully constructed plans.

Has she seduced Knox as I commanded? Is she gathering the intelligence I need to bring down that bastard's defenses?

The blade of my dinner knife catches the candlelight as I methodically cut another piece of duck, each slice precise and controlled. Control—that's what this is all about. Control over Aubrey, over the mission, over the ultimate destruction of everything Knox holds dear.

But doubt creeps in like poison. What if she's allowing sentiment to cloud her judgment again?

The thought makes my jaw clench so hard I'm surprised my teeth don't crack.

She belongs to me. The conviction burns through my chest like wildfire. I saved her. I shaped her. I made her into what she is.

"My, such dark thoughts for such a lovely evening."

Avery's lilting voice cuts through my brooding, and I look up to find her gliding into my private dining room. Emerald silk clings to her curves like liquid fire, her golden hair cascading over one shoulder in perfect waves. Those violet eyes sparkle with the kind of mischief that usually means she's about to deliver news I won't like.

I set down my knife with deliberate calm, though inside my pulse quickens with anticipation. "What do your crows have to report?"

Her smile widens, revealing perfect white teeth that somehow look predatory in the candlelight. "Oh, your little weapon has been quite busy. She did exactly as you commanded—slept with Knox, accepted his proposal, even charmed the entire royal family."

Satisfaction blooms in my chest, warm and vindictive. Of course she did. Aubrey has never failed me when it truly matters.

But something in Avery's tone sets my teeth on edge, a note of amusement that doesn't match the triumph I should be feeling. "But?"

"But perhaps you should see for yourself what your 'devoted' spy has been up to." She waves her hand with theatrical flourish, dark magic coiling through the air like smoke.

The space above my dining table shimmers, reality bending until a viewing portal opens like a window into another world. Through the magical connection, I see Knox's private chambers—and my blood turns to ice.

There she is. My Aubrey. My perfectly crafted weapon.

And she's writhing beneath Knox like a bitch in heat.

The sound that escapes my throat is barely human, somewhere between a growl and a roar of pure rage. My wine glass shatters in my grip, crystal fragments and burgundy liquid spraying across the polished table, but I barely notice the sting of glass cutting my palm.

This isn't the cold, calculated seduction I expected. This isn't Aubrey using her body as a weapon while her mind remained detached and focused on the mission.

She's arching into Knox's touch with genuine pleasure, her lips parted in breathless moans that make my vision go red. When he kisses her throat, she tilts her head back to give him better access, her hands tangling in his dark hair like she can't get enough of him.

"Knox," her voice drifts through the magical connection, breathy and desperate and completely, utterly real. "Please, don't stop."

"What the fuck is this?" The words tear from my throat like broken glass.

Avery's smile is sharp as a blade. "Your perfectly crafted instrument, discovering what it feels like to actually enjoy her mate's touch."

The viewing portal shifts, showing me more moments I wish I could unsee. Aubrey laughing at something Knox said, her eyes soft with genuine affection. Knox bringing her flowers, and her face lighting up with pleasure that has nothing to do with manipulation. The two of them training together, and the way she looks at him when she thinks no one's watching—like he hung the fucking moon.

She's supposed to be using him.

The thought screams through my mind as I watch Knox's hands map every inch of her body with reverent care. Every caress, every kiss, every whispered endearment drives the knife deeper into my chest.

"Not falling for him?" Avery's voice drips with cruel amusement. "Oh, darling, the mate bond is a powerful thing. Perhaps more powerful than your years of careful conditioning."

I round on her, fury blazing through my veins like liquid fire. "You told me you could control this. You said the memory manipulation would keep her focused on revenge."

For the first time tonight, Avery's confident smile falters. "I did manipulate her memories—replaced the true face of her family's killer with King Alexander's. I've been sending her nightmares to reinforce the hatred, to keep her focused on vengeance against the royal family."

"Then why is she acting like a lovesick fool?" I slam my fist on the table, making the crystal candlesticks jump.

"Because," she says carefully, and I catch the note of uncertainty in her voice, "the mate bond is proving stronger than my magic. Her wolf recognizes Knox as her true mate, and it's fighting against everything I've implanted."

The admission hits me like a physical blow. All my careful planning, years of shaping Aubrey into the perfect weapon, and it's all unraveling because of some mystical bullshit connection?

No. I won't allow it.

I force myself to breathe, to think, to approach this like the strategic problem it is rather than the personal betrayal it feels like. "Double the nightmares. Send them every night if you have to."

"And if that's not enough?"

"Then we move to more... direct methods of ensuring her compliance." My voice drops to something dangerous, the tone I use when lesser wolves need reminding of their place. "The binding ceremony is our only chance to position her perfectly. She WILL complete this mission."

Avery nods, her violet eyes gleaming with dark anticipation. "As you wish."

She glides out of the dining room with feline grace, leaving me alone with the ruins of my dinner and the viewing portal still showing Knox holding Aubrey like she's something precious.

The sight makes me want to burn down the entire fucking kingdom.

A sharp knock at the door interrupts my murderous thoughts. "Enter," I growl, not bothering to dispel the magical portal.

Kirill steps inside, his scarred face carefully neutral as he takes in the destroyed glassware and the magical viewing window. He's learned not to ask questions about my methods.

"The manor warriors are progressing well, my lord," he reports, standing at attention. "Their combat skills have improved significantly, and morale remains high."

"Good." I lean back in my chair, watching Knox kiss Aubrey's shoulder with nauseating tenderness through the portal. "And their loyalty?"

"Unwavering. They understand what we're building here, what we're working toward." Kirill pauses, then adds, "They're ready for whatever comes next."

I nod, satisfied. At least something is going according to plan. "Continue their training regimen. I want them sharp, disciplined, and prepared for anything."

"Of course, my lord," Kirill says and leaves.

After Krills leaves, I stare into the dancing flames of the fireplace, my jaw clenched with barely contained emotion. The viewing portal finally fades, but the images remain burned into my mind—Aubrey's face soft with pleasure, her body responding to Knox's touch like she was made for him.

The need to contact Aubrey personally gnaws at me, growing stronger with each passing second. Just to remind her of her mission, I tell myself. To make sure she remembers who saved her, who owns her.

But the truth cuts deeper than I want to admit. I need to gauge her feelings toward Knox. I need to know if what I witnessed was genuine emotion or just exceptional manipulation on her part.

The possessiveness burning in my chest is undeniable—a primal, consuming rage that has nothing to do with strategy. I can't stand the idea of her falling for that royal bastard. I can't stand the thought of her choosing him over everything I've given her, everything I've made her into.

She belongs to me, the conviction burns through my mind like fire. And perhaps it's time she remembered that fact.