"He's younger, and his omega status and his wolf make the bond more essential to his being." Makim reached for Nero's wrist, checking his pulse with practiced efficiency.
"Omega status?"
"It's a wolf shifter designation that Doran has taken full advantage of. Casteel hates to fight, but he feels defeat and guilt exponentially more. He needs someone to genuinely care for him."
Nero didn't reply, but it felt like a slap. "And I'm suffering the same?"
"Your heart races, your skin burns."
"Then take me to him," Nero demanded.
"Doran has forbidden it, and the guards would stop me." Makim's mouth tightened with barely contained rage. "He believes this punishment will break your will."
Nero laughed, a harsh sound that ended in a cough. "He clearly doesn't know much about rebellion."
"No, but he knows the ancient magic better than he lets on." Makim prepared a draught similar to what he'd given Casteel. "He's counting on you to surrender before permanent damage occurs."
Nero accepted the medicine, swallowing the bitter liquid without complaint. "But I've seen shifter mates. One died—plenty died in the war—and yes, they were grieving as anyone who lost a wife or a husband, but the other mate didn't die."
Makim's weathered face grew solemn. "And one of them wasn't the silver wolf," Makim said.
The medicine dulled the worst edges of the pain, allowing Nero to think more clearly. "We both die? There must be another way."
Makim hesitated and Nero pounced. "What?"
"I've studied bond sickness for years. I hate to give you information you could use—"
"Use?" But fuck it, that was the point. They needed all the weapons they could get.
"AgainstCasteel."
Which shut Nero up, and Makim eyed him as if he was trying to come to a decision. Nero let him look. He had nothing to hide.
"Because you're not the wolf, and even less an omega wolf, I doubt the bond-sickness would kill you."
Nero opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it. He tried a second time. "Are you certain?"
"Unfortunately," he said. "I've petitioned the Council of Priests. Some are uncomfortable with Doran's methods,especially regarding sacred bonds. But the process takes time Casteel doesn't have."
Nero raked his fingers through his sweat-damp hair. "How long does he have?"
"At this rate?" Makim's clinical assessment held no comfort. "Casteel has perhaps until tomorrow's dawn before permanent damage begins. But that may be very optimistic."
The healer's words struck Nero like a physical blow. His own suffering he could endure—had endured worse during the rebellion—but the thought of Casteel slowly dying in that gilded chamber above turned his stomach to ice.
"Bring Doran to me," Nero said, the words ash in his mouth.
Makim's eyebrows rose. "You would beg?"
"If necessary." The admission cost him, but Nero forced it past his pride. "I didn't fight in the rebellion to kill an innocent because of a priest's ego."
Makim studied him, something like respect flickering in his aged eyes. "I'll convey your request. But prepare yourself—Doran will demand complete submission."
"Last question. Does Doran know it won't kill me?"
Makim shook his head. "I don't think so. His studies focused on the silver wolf only and his omega nature. Submission in particular. He has been trying to bring forward the silver wolf in many candidates since the rebellion ended. I believe he knows exactly how long Casteel has, and I don't trust what else he may have discovered."
After the healer departed, Nero sank onto the narrow cot, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. Through their tenuous bond, he reached for Casteel, trying to project strength, reassurance. The effort left him gasping, doubled over as fresh waves of pain crashed through him.
