Later that morning, while the stronghold rearranged itself around Leena’s death, another kind of breaking began inside the adjoining guest suite.
Veya shook on the bed, half upright, her fists knotted in the sheets as though she could tear herself free of her own skin.
Her chest rose and fell in a frantic rhythm. Her altered body no longer needed the air with the urgency her mind remembered, but panic continued forcing the habit through her lungs.
Rhen stood several feet from the bed like a verdict waiting to be delivered.
His hands had eventually been scrubbed clean, though dried blood remained embedded in the cuffs and seams of his shirt. The scent lingered beneath the smoke and stone of the room.
Leena’s blood.
Whatever humanity Leena alone had insisted remained inside him had withdrawn behind grief and violence.
His face offered no apology.
No reassurance.
Nothing Veya could use.
Her eyes moved wildly around the chamber, searching the reinforced door, the covered windows, and every stretch of stone between them.
“Let me go.”
Her voice cracked.
“Please. I know what you told me. I know the words. Vampire. Transition. Tether.”
Her fingers dug harder into the sheets.
“I still don’t understand how this can be my life.”
Rhen did not move.
“Understanding is irrelevant.”
“I don’t want this.”
“Want has nothing to do with it. Not anymore.”
Veya pushed herself from the bed.
Her legs failed almost immediately.
Rhen crossed the distance before she struck the floor. One hand closed around her upper arm, hard enough to hold but not bruise, and returned her to the mattress.
He released her at once.
“Your body has changed faster than your mind,” he said. “Fighting it will not reverse anything.”
“You expect me to accept it?”
“I expect you to control it.”
“I can’t even breathe properly.”
“You do not need to.”
Her breathing quickened despite him.
