Taming the Wild Beast of Alamina

Sylvia finished the scans and refused to hear the results.

That was perhaps not the most responsible decision she had ever made, but her responsibility had taken a severe injury somewhere between the third glandular map and the phrase "new pheromonal pathway integration."

Seven had started explaining something about endocrine strain.

Sylvia had looked him directly in the eyes and said, "Am I dying?"

"No."

"Am I about to explode?"

"No."

"Can Thomas see the report?"

"Yes."

"Can Dean understand it?"

"Unfortunately."

"Then tell them. I am done."

Seven had stared at her for a long moment.

Then, with the grave disappointment of a physician robbed of an unwilling lecture victim, he sent the results to more capable people.

That was how Sylvia ended up in a quiet recovery room beside the scan wing, wrapped in a blanket, with her nape protected by a soft medical collar and her body feeling like it had been rewritten by someone with beautiful handwriting and no consent form.

She was alone for exactly four minutes.

Then the door opened and Nero stepped in.

Sylvia blinked.

He looked terrible.

Not Thomas-level terrible, because Thomas had decided to test the integrity of his ribs against beasts, corridors, and stupidity. But Nero looked pale enough that the white walls made him seem almost translucent. His lip was split, though already healing. There was dried blood near one nostril, a medical patch at his throat, and a dramatic expression that suggested he had escaped supervision through talent, violence, or being deeply annoying.

Possibly all three.

Sylvia stared at him. "Should you be standing?"

"No."

"Should you be here?"

"Also no."

"Does anyone know you are here?"

Nero smiled faintly. "Hale does."

"That sounds like a yes with consequences."

"It is. I came before Dax and Chris devour me alive."

Sylvia stared. "Your parents?"

"My executioners, if you prefer emotional accuracy."

"You are very dramatic."

"I am Sahan royalty. It is cultural."

Despite herself, Sylvia almost smiled.

Nero crossed the room and stopped at a careful distance, which she noticed because every dominant who had come near her since waking seemed aware of the air between them. His scent was held tight, not pressing against her new, untrained field.

He looked at the medical collar around her nape, then at her face.

"How do you feel?"

Sylvia pulled the blanket closer around herself. "Like someone turned me into a report."

Nero smiled in an odd way, Sylvia couldn’t quite read it, but there wasn’t guilt in it.

"That is an accurate stage of medical trauma."

"I did not ask for a stage."

"Mhmm..."

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Sylvia looked down at her hands. They looked the same, after everything, her fingers should have had the decency to appear different.

"I do not want to know what the scans said," she admitted.

Nero tilted his head. "Wise."

"That is not what doctors said."

"Doctors believe knowledge improves compliance. They have never met Sahan royal families."

Sylvia gave a small laugh, then stopped when her nape throbbed.

Nero noticed immediately.

"It will ache for a while," he said, tilting his head.

Her eyes lifted. "You know?"

"I know enough."

The room tightened around the words.

Sylvia swallowed. "Is it... real?"

Nero did not pretend not to understand.

"Yes."

Sylvia looked away. "That is disturbing."

"Yes."

"No, I mean..." She gripped the blanket tighter. "It is disturbing that I am a copy of Andrea’s dominance."

Nero’s expression changed. The last of the mocking light left his face.

"You are not."

Sylvia’s throat tightened. "You took it from him."

"I took a structure from him," Nero said. "A command pattern. A pheromonal engine he had twisted into control. I tore it out before it killed more people. Then your body accepted what it could survive."

"That does not sound better."

Nero took one slow step closer, then stopped again. "You are not Andrea Vale copied into a different body. You are not his echo. You are not his spare vessel. You are not his continuation."

Sylvia’s eyes burned.

He continued, his voice colder now, sharper in the way only truth could be sharp. "Andrea is alive only because we need what is left in his head. Who trained him? Who knew? Who else can touch beasts and infection through pheromonal command? When he stops being useful, he stops being relevant."

Sylvia stared at him.

"And me?"

"You are the original now."

The words hit her hard.

Nero’s mouth curved faintly, though there was no cruelty in it. "Whatever he had was forced, hidden, and rotting under borrowed usefulness. What you have is inside you now. Your body is building around it. It is responding to Thomas because you are responding to Thomas. Your scent will appear soon, and then everyone will have one more inconvenient proof that the world has to accept what you are."

Sylvia let out a shaky breath. "What if I hate it?"

"Then hate it."

She looked at him.

Nero shrugged, then immediately looked as if shrugging had been medically unwise. "It is yours. You are allowed."

"That is your comfort?"

"It is excellent comfort. Very honest."

"It is terrible comfort."

"Also honest."

Sylvia wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand. "Thomas will try to make it sound like nothing changed."

"Thomas will lie badly because he loves you well."

That startled a laugh out of her.

Nero looked pleased.

"There," he said. "My last entertainment before I die."

"You are not going to die."

"You have not met Chris when worried."

"I have."

Nero paused. "Fair. Then you understand."

"Chris will not kill you."

"No. He will mother me at high volume, which is worse because I must survive it and be grateful."

Sylvia looked at his split lip. "And Dax?"

"Dax will say very little."

"That sounds better."

"It is not, he usually talks a lot. When he doesn’t, it is bad."

She believed him.

Nero glanced toward the door, where distant footsteps and clipped voices moved through the hospital wing. "I should go before Hale sells my location for medical approval."

"You came here just to tell me I am not Andrea?"

"Yes."

The answer was so immediate that Sylvia did not know what to do with it.

Nero’s expression softened by the smallest degree. "I put something into your body that should never have been there."

Sylvia’s fingers curled in the blanket.

"But you should know," Nero said, "that he does not own any part of you."

Her nape pulsed with pain so real that she doubted it was anyone’s but hers.

Sylvia nodded once. "Thank you."

Nero looked vaguely uncomfortable. "Do not make this emotional. I am wounded and pre-executed."

"Pre-executed?"

"My family is efficient."

The door opened before Sylvia could answer.

Hale stood there.

His expression suggested that Saha had invented several new treason laws in the last thirty seconds.

"Your Highness."

Nero closed his eyes. "Too soon."

"Queen Christopher is asking why your bed is empty."

Sylvia winced.

Nero looked at her solemnly. "Remember me kindly."

Hale stepped aside. "Move."

Nero sighed, then looked back at Sylvia one last time. "Do not listen to every detail today. Let the clever people suffer for you."

"I was already planning to."

"Good. Excellent survival instinct."

Then he allowed Hale to shepherd him out with the dignity of a prince and the complexion of a man about to be loved violently by his parents.

Sylvia sat alone again, aching beneath the blanket.

Outside the room, physicians carried her results to people who could understand them.

Sylvia leaned back, closed her eyes, and decided that if she was not dying, not exploding, and not Andrea’s echo, then the rest could wait.

For one hour, at least.

Maybe two, if Seven could be bullied.