Page 124 of Hunt Me

“The physician. When I found him, he was babbling about serums and Beta David—absolute drivel if you ask me.”

“That sounded like something important.”

“For you, perhaps. I don’t care what Dr. Blackwood does to him. Draven must pay for what he did to those innocent children.”

“I shall see to it.”

Matilda’s breath stuttered and she clutched her stomach.

“What ails you?” Luka asked. He was on high alert. Their child was growing swiftly, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the child came any day. He dreaded the day and prayed the gods would slow time and that their baby would be patient, because the day the child came into the world was the same day his beloved would leave it.

“I think I will retire early,” she said, regaining her composure.

“I will call Dr. Blackwood.”

“I’m fine. It’s nothing,” she said, wincing at the pain.

He cared not for her bravado and immediately ushered her to their quarters. They ran into Ezra, who promptly sought out the doctor. By the time the physician arrived, Matilda was propped against her pillows, attempting to ignore the pain that radiated across her stomach to her back.

“Please excuse my delay,” Dr. Blackwood apologized as soon as he entered the room. “I came as soon—”

“I believe she is in labor,” Luka said, interrupting his apology. “But it is too soon.”

“Too soon is a myth. Children come when they are ready, not when we are ready for them. My Queen? The pain? What would you compare it to?”

Ezra gently grabbed Luka by the elbow and steered him away while Dr. Blackwood completed his examination.

“You must prepare the grave, my King,” Ezra gently reminded him. “Time is not on our side.”

Luka shrugged Ezra off and approached the bed, stricken with grief. He knelt and whispered in Matilda’s ear.

“I shall return. I have a task to complete.”

“Go. I will be fine,” she insisted, barely paying attention to him.

Luka and Ezra’s boots echoed through the halls—fast and clipped. They stopped by the stables, grabbed a lantern and two shovels, then hunted for the sacred spot. They’d ventured behind the castle, eventually arriving at the royal gardens. Luka found a site bathed in moonlight and stabbed the shovel into the frozen dirt. He disrobed until he was left in britches and boots. He dropped to his knees and chanted a prayer to the gods beneath the moonlight until he fell into a semi-conscious trance.

Ezra stood by as a witness, bracing against the arctic winds that whipped through the trees, creaking the branches, threatening to snap. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, praying the process would move along.

Minutes later, Luka’s eyes snapped open. They were as black as the midnight sky, and Ezra was pleased that the first step was complete.

46

The Future of Night Falls

The first thrust into the ground was steady. But the second hit hard, and the third felt more permanent than death. He tamped down the urge to negotiate, the impulse to keep her a delicate, sweet-smelling human and slaughter all who opposed them, but that wasn’t the answer. There would be challenge after challenge for her right to the throne. Matilda was fierce, but she wasn’t invincible, and she would’ve fallen to Alaria if it weren’t for the wolf dust. Turning her would give her a better chance of survival.

Soon, he no longer dug like a noble king, but like a man who was trying to outrun fate.

The soil was stubborn and damp from the night air, and dirt clung to the shovel, his boots, and his hands. Every shovelful felt like something was being taken away from him.

But he didn’t stop. His breath fogged in the cold air, each exhale harsher than the last. His muscles burned, but he welcomed the pain. It kept him from thinking too much—from imagining her face when he had to do the unthinkable.

He gripped the handle so tightly the wood creaked. His eyes stung, but he kept digging while speaking under his breath.

“This is for life. Not death,” he repeated as a comforting reminder, forcing himself to keep going.

The hole deepened, and the walls took shape as the earth piled around him like a dark halo. Sweat beaded along his brow despite the chill in the air. His hair clung to his temples, and his muscles ached to the bone.