I know this lioness.
She’s massive.
That’s the first thing—she’s bigger than I remember, or maybe I’ve just never seen her like this with something to fight for. Her coat is tawny gold in the moonlight. Her ears are flat against her head. Her tail rides low behind her, the tassel still, and her shoulders roll once with each step she takes toward us.
Her focus stays locked on the warlocks.
She moves the way a lion prepares to attack its prey.
“Mara?” I whisper.
She charges.
A roar tears from her throat, deep and primal, her teeth bared as she launches herself toward the warlocks. Her claws dig into the earth, propelling her forward, her body a blur of muscle and fury. My heart lurches with fear for her.
“No!” I shout, desperation tearing through me. “Mara, no!”
But it’s too late.
The warlocks cast their magic. I try to cast something—anything—to stop her, but my magic still isn’t working. Just sparks. Just useless, flickering light that dies against my palms. Helplessness crushes me, stealing my breath.
Mara’s lion leaps into the air, her body stretched long and powerful, ready to tackle them down. Her claws are extended, her jaws open, her roar splitting the night.
The magic slams into her mid-air.
She goes flying back, her body twisting violently as the spell hits her square in the chest. She crashes to the ground hard, and the moment she lands, she shifts. Her lion form blurs, fur receding, limbs reshaping, until she’s human again, naked, sprawled on her belly in the dirt.
“MARA!” I scream, running for her, my voice breaking with anguish. Every cell in my body strains toward her, desperate to reach her.
She weakly lifts her head, her amber eyes finding mine. She tries to pull herself up, her arms shaking, but she slams back down to the ground. Her tail goes completely limp. She starts to cough, and blood spills from her lips, dark and thick, staining her chin.
I watch the warlocks reach her, horror freezing me in place.
One of them, the younger one, kicks her in the stomach.
She rolls onto her back, gasping, choking, staring up at them with wide, terrified eyes. The sight of her pain tears something vital inside me.
“Please,” I beg, my voice breaking, tears streaming down my face. “Please don’t kill my mate.” The words come out raw, ripped from the deepest part of me.
She finally looks at me. “Aaron,” she chokes out, coughing, blood bubbling from her mouth. The love in her eyes, even now, shatters what remains of my heart.
The warlocks turn to me.
The white-haired one tilts his head. “You time traveled just to watch your mate die?” His voice is cold, mocking. “How sad.”
I try to use my magic again, desperate, frantic, pulling at it with everything I have. But nothing happens. Why is this happening?Why?Rage and despair battle within me, leaving me trembling.
The younger warlock raises his hand. Magic swirls around his palm, bright and violent, forming into a blade. It solidifies.
Then he slams it right into Mara’s chest.
Her eyes go wide.
She chokes, her body convulsing as the blade pierces through her. Blood pours from the wound, spreading across her chest,soaking into the dirt beneath her. Her hands reach up weakly, trembling, grasping at nothing.
I fall to my knees.
The mate bond screams inside me, white-hot agony ripping through me. My vision blurs, darkness creeping in at the edges. I can’t breathe. Can’t process what I’m seeing. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. Not my Mara.
