Ella," my mate growls, as my tears begin to subside. I look up at him, sniffing, into his face, which is terribly dark with anger. His whole body is shaking—not trembling like mine was, but violently, as if he's struggling to restrain himself.

"You need to tell me, right now," Sinclair continues, his voice thick with the effort of not bursting from the room and hunting down the Prince, "what the hell just happened. I need to know whether or not I need to go murder someone." A dark laugh escapes me at this—at the casual way my gorgeous mate threatens murder—and his growl intensifies; he's perfectly serious.

I hastily shake my head no.

"No, Dominic," I say, pulling myself together and standing up straight. "It's not like that—it's…" I sigh, my eyes widening. "It's a lot, but he didn't do anything really bad."

To my surprise, Dominic snarls, whipping his head toward the door.

"Dominic, I just said—"

"You said 'not really bad,'" he snaps, implying that he did something bad. I reach up and place my hand on his cheek. Sinclair's temper, strangely, fortifies me, allowing me to pull myself together for both of us. "I'm going to need you to contain all of this," I say quietly, making him look at me. "Because you are not going to like what I have to say. But you have to hear it."

"Please, Ella," he murmurs, dropping his arms from around me and taking my face in his hands. "You're killing me. Please, please tell me what's going on."

"Not until you promise not to murder anyone," I say, dead serious.

He sighs, then nods, agreeing to my terms.

I take my mate's hand and lead him to the bed. I briefly peer into my baby's crib, my heart filling with joy at the sight of my sweet, darling baby boy. I send him a tiny pulse of happiness and joy down the bond, hoping it gives him sweet dreams, then turn to the bed, pull back the covers, kick off my shoes, and climb in fully dressed.

"What the hell?" Sinclair asks. "Ella, you're—"

"Just get into bed," I sigh, reaching for him. "Come on, bed is…it's where we're just us, where we have all our best talks."

Sinclair sighs, but seeing that I'm serious, he crawls over me to his side of the bed and slips under the covers. I immediately curl up next to him, tucking my head beneath his chin as he wraps his arms around me.

"All right, trouble," he murmurs, kissing the top of my head. I smile at the nickname; it tells me he's in a better emotional place to hear the news that I know will wreck him. "Tell me everything."

And I do.

I start at the beginning and don't hold anything back. I tell him how much Calvin and I were instantly drawn to each other from the moment I saw him, about the pulses of energy between us whenever we touched, about the genuine friendship and instant connection—how it felt immediately like talking to an old friend. Then I tell him about what happened tonight—the glow between us, the spark within me that I'm pretty sure he felt himself, the very literal energy that passed between our bodies when we were close.

Sinclair grows tenser and tenser, but he doesn't interrupt. I wind my arms tighter around him, not only because I'm grateful for him, but also because I think he needs it, needs to feel my body close so he doesn't race out of the room and hunt this man down.

But he breaks when I tell him Calvin's last words.

"And he said…Dominic, he said he thinks that I'm his mate."

The snarl that rips from Sinclair makes even me recoil. He pulls himself from my arms and throws himself out of bed, his chest heaving, his eyes on the door. His whole body trembles again, harder now, and he obviously restrains himself from shifting into his wolf and tearing through the palace. Rafe starts to cry in his crib at the sound, and I think the insane emotions pulsing from Sinclair at this moment are affecting him, but I can't even look at my baby; my eyes are only on my mate.

"Dominic!" I cry, reaching for him. "Don't—"

"What the hell am I supposed to do, Ella?" he growls, and I see his body begin to shift as he loses control, his shoulders hunching, his nails elongating into razor-sharp claws. "Just let this man live after he's tried to take you from me!?"

"He didn't—"

"He did!" Sinclair barks, then loses it, letting out a roar as he transforms fully into his wolf and sprints for the door. He bashes the handle with his paw, breaking it and ripping the door nearly off its hinges as he wrenches it open. And then I'm alone, jaw hanging open, sitting in bed in my black gown as my baby screams in the crib next to me.

It takes a long moment to pull myself together as I stare at the open door to the bright hallway. My mate is probably out there hunting a Prince, adding more fuel to the fire of war.

But then I turn to my child, who still screams with fear, shock, and sadness, and I know there's nothing I can do.

Slowly, I stand, move to my child, gather him into my arms, and shush him lightly as I move to the door, pushing it shut with my foot as I concentrate on my baby.

My heart feels torn to shreds. I'm livid because I need Sinclair with me tonight; I need to talk this through with him. And as much as I realize he's upset, I can't believe he just burst from the room in a murderous rampage.

But as I look down at my child and his crying face, I force myself to slow my breathing and center myself. Because as much as Calvin may think he's found his mate, and Sinclair might be rightfully freaking out because he thinks someone tried to take me from him…me? I'm steady.

I made my choice long ago, and as I look down at little Rafe—who looks so much like his father that it breaks my heart—I have no doubts.

I pass calm and feelings of safety down my bond to my baby, and he settles a little in my arms, though he still fusses, unnerved by the noise and the surge of emotions that woke him. I continue to bounce him, shushing and murmuring comforting nonsense. Keeping my attention on my baby, I move toward the window and turn to my wolf inside me.

"Well?" I say, a little pissed off. "You've been awfully quiet throughout all of this."

She whines, guilty, torn, and circles in confusion.

"Is he our mate?" I ask, tremulous, considering that she's perhaps been quiet because I've been pushing her away, not wanting to know.

She sits back on her haunches, lifts her nose to the sky, and lets out a confused howl. "I don't know," she says, hanging her head and lying down with her snout between her paws. "He is…he is something to us. But Dominic is our mate. This other one…he is important, but I don't know what he is."

I sigh in frustration, passing it to my wolf, who again whines, feeling guilty that she can't help me parse it.

I turn my face to the sky, my eyes immediately finding the moon. "Well, Mom?" I ask, shaking my head. "Are you happy now?" But of course, she doesn't reply, even though I continue to stare at her for a very long time.

I don't know how much time passes before Rafe falls back asleep. I turn from the window, heading back to my bed, taking Rafe with me because I'm exhausted, far from sleep, and want his company. I curl up in bed with my little baby, staring down at his beautiful sleeping face.

"Don't do anything you'll regret," I say to Sinclair down our bond, hoping he's close enough to hear it, and hoping my advice isn't too late.