Rhen entered the adjoining warded suite and closed the door behind him.
The room was dim, heavy with firelight and old stone. The flames shifted in the hearth, sending shadows across the reinforced shutters and the carved symbols surrounding the threshold.
The woman lay motionless beneath the sheets.
The woman carrying his blood.
Her breathing was shallow but steady. No human heartbeat sounded beneath it now. The transition had passed that threshold while he was with Leena.
The tether stirred the moment he entered, a slow, intrusive pull beneath his ribs.
Rhen ignored it.
He remained near the foot of the bed, several feet between them, his posture controlled and his hands loose at his sides.
Her eyelids moved.
The tether tightened.
“Wake up,” he ordered.
Her brow creased.
“Now.”
Veya’s eyes opened slowly.
For several seconds, they remained unfocused and glassy. Then they found him.
Fear struck through the tether before her expression fully changed.
She recoiled against the pillows, both hands flying to her chest. Her fingers pressed beneath her ribs, searching.
Nothing answered.
Her breath came faster.
“Where am I?”
Her voice was little more than a rasp.
“A clan compound outside New Orleans.”
“What clan?”
Rhen said nothing.
Her hands remained against her chest.
“I can’t feel my heart.”
“No.”
The single word sharpened her panic.
“What did you do to me?”
“You were dying. I gave you my blood.”
