Page 62 of Claim Me


Font Size:

King Kaspian?Issy asks.

Only it’s not Issy.

I know it’s not Issy.

And yet, I feel compelled to reply,Yes.

“Please stop hurting her.” My fingers go into my hair, tugging at the strands. “Please.”

There are voices murmuring around me, all males, their concern palpable. But I ignore them in favor of the link inside my mind.

I’m waiting for a reply. For her to speak. Foranything.

It feels as though an eternity passes, my face buried in my knees while I tremble almost violently. Issy’s name is a repetitive prayer in my mouth.

I need her to be okay.

I need the patriarchs to leave her alone.

“I need to free her,” I say to myself. “Issy…”

How did it come to this? With me a continent away while she suffers for my supposed sins? It’s not fair. It’s not—

The council will be in touch,she says suddenly.Remember your loyalty, Fallon Doyle. Behave and you may be rewarded.

A quake works its way through me in response, my instinct to sob nearly suffocating every other urge I possess.

My world feels out of balance.

Tilted.

Broken.

A hand grips my nape, squeezing it. “Who’s Issy?”

“Issy?” I repeat, confused by the touch accompanied by that deep male voice.

“Yes. Tell us who Issy is,” he demands, his accent familiar. His touch is less known, though. However, it’s not unwelcome. It’s… it’s actually quite warm. Anchoring.Tender.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Tell us who Issy is.”

I swallow, my head starting to shift back and forth in the negative. Something about the request isn’t right. “I… I can’t say.” I’m not supposed to talk about Issy. I don’t want to reveal that she’s alive. “I have to protect her.”

“Why?” he presses, his grasp tightening a little on my nape.

It should feel threatening, but it doesn’t. If anything, it soothes me. Makes me feel safe.Protected.

“Why do you need to protect Issy, love?” he asks, his English accent caressing the endearment. “Who is she?”

“My…” I blink a little, my vision out of focus. Everything seems so much lighter here. So unexpected. Solively.

“Your…?” he prompts softly, his thumb brushing the column of my throat.

My brow crinkles a little bit, my confusion beginning to subside as reality pierces through the fog of my mind.

I’m no longer in the death plane.

I’m… I’m in Gold and Garnet territory.