Page 116 of Revealing Fate

Karrick searched her face. “What’s going on?”

Imogen’s conviction wavered. She cleared her throat. “One of the Fated Mothers has entered her cycle. She is…” The saliva on her tongue evaporated. Her throat constricted. “She awaits your attentions. Inside.”

Karrick’s focus snapped to the closed entryway, and Imogen knew he was considering her part in this. Her lack of forewarning. She saw the moment he understood it was cowardice, not incumbency, that had prevented her.

The flash of betrayal that twisted Karrick’s features flayed her. “No.”

Imogen released a shuddering breath.

“The choice isn’t yours, slave,” one of the guards growled. “We have our orders.”

Karrick’s chest filled with a snarl.

Prestyn Gore deftly positioned himself between Imogen and Karrick. Karrick’s black gaze fixed on the young Lieutenant with malice. She needed to diffuse the situation before it blew up in all their faces.

Imogen stomped on her inner turmoil, shouldered forward, and snatched Karrick’s chain from the mouthy guard. “You males forget yourselves.” She eyed each of them in turn, meeting Karrick’s glare last. “This is a sacred act we perform in preparation for our Prima. I am charged with accompanying this male to his Fate. I will do so.” Imogen cut a firm look at Lieutenant Gore. “Alone.”

She pivoted toward the lead guard and held out her hand. “Keys.”

He wavered only a moment before handing them over.

Before the rest of them could collect their bearings, Imogen wrenched open the door to the ceremonial chamber, grabbed Karrick’s chains—an act that thoroughly abhorred her—and pulled him across the threshold.

When the door was firmly shut behind them, she allowed herself a shaky exhale. Imogen fumbled with the keys in the darkened entryway. Karrick’s large hands stilled hers. “What are you doing?” he said low enough for only her to hear.

“Trying to unlock this fucking collar,” she muttered back.

“I think we’ve established that handling keys is not among your talents.” Karrick plucked the correct key from her flustered grasp and fit it into the lock at his neck with sure fingers. His restraints fell away, clanking to the floor. “Now,” he said, taking both of her hands. “What are you doing, Gen?”

Imogen hated the petulant dread in her tone. “We don’t have a choice, Karrick. She’s fertile. I couldn’t⁠—”

“Elder Imogen?”

Imogen closed her eyes, the sound of Railah’s singsong voice like a death toll to her spirit. Curse it all to the fucking depths of the damned. When her lids reopened, Karrick was staring at her, his face an unreadable mask. “I’m sorry,” Imogen whispered. She swore under her breath. “Be gentle.”

Then she turned and strode into the chamber.

Railah stood in the center of the room next to the monstrous bed that occupied it, hands clasped demurely in front of her. Crisp white sheets covered the mattress, sprinkles of wombwillow dotting the bleached linen. Railah had shed her heavy Fate’s cloak, and the sconces’ flickering amber lights cast tantalizing shadows over her long, slender body. Or rather, they would have been tantalizing had Imogen not found them so appalling.

Imogen felt the prickle of sweat bead on her brow. She could do this.

Too late to back out now, wench.

Then Imogen felt the heat of Karrick’s body at her back, heard his breathing over her head as he scented the female before them. A rumble of warning reverberated in his chest, the vibrations dancing along her spine. She didn’t need to look to know he’d shifted to second form.

Railah’s eyes widened in surprise, and Imogen allowed herself a moment of sympathy for the young Fate. She hoped Karrick was capable of the same level of self-control he’d shown during their first coupling, even though the thought of witnessing it extended to another woman sent the banshee in her wailing with jealous rage.

Railah’s shock lasted only a beat, then she bent at the waist, hands folded at her breast as though in prayer. “I am honored,” she murmured. When she straightened, she looked to Imogen for guidance. “How shall I position myself to receive his holy seed, Elder?”

The banshee screeched and railed inside Imogen’s cage of composure. But it was Karrick who answered in a gravelly command, to both females’ surprise. “Turn around.”

Railah nodded and dropped her robe, standing before them unabashedly nude for a breath before slowly turning her back to them.

Imogen ground her teeth. Karrick shot an irritated glare at her and padded forward.

Oh, as if this was her fault? Imogen’s spirit was a withered, dying thing, and he looked at her like that? She turned her head away.

Karrick growled as he passed her. Whether in disappointment for her cravenness or anger at their circumstance, she didn’t know. Imogen was supposed to oversee this servicing. She was supposed to guide Railah. It was her damned duty as an elder. But she wasn’t an elder, not really. Inside, she was a fractured woman, battered by fear and trauma, who’d been forced to make impossible decisions and left to stand among the ruin they wrought.