Page 4

Everything disappears. There’s only me, the cell, and a metal gurney shoved against a wall, restraints dangling over the edges. That feeling in my chest that brought me down here takes over. It pulls and pulls and pulls and⁠—

—SNAP.

My Beast howls, low and long and mournful. Before I even understand what’s happened, he’s at the far wall, claws scraping gouges in the stone, lips curled back from his teeth, muzzle dripping with saliva, every fucking muscle straining and salivating for death because that scent⁠—

That fucking scent.

Honey and wildflowers and smoked vanilla and Omega and mine, mine, fucking MINE⁠—

It’s here. It’s down here. In this torture chamber of metal beds and leather straps and iron chains covered in the smell of piss and fear and hopelessness where it doesn’t fucking belong because it’s mine!

My Beast is losing his mind, raging and snarling at anything his senses tell him is a threat, which, right now, is every-fucking-thing. I know on some level that I have to get control back from him. I have to rein him in, because if I don’t and he goes feral, there’s nothing he won’t destroy to get to her.

Fates, there’s nothing I won’t destroy to get to her, either.

Our Mate. Our Scent-Matched Mate. She was here.

And now she’s not.

I give myself a second to adjust to my new reality, letting him sniff around the cell for her scent before forcefully yanking him back and reasserting control. It’s not easy. For the first time in seventy years, the fucker actually fights me for it. I focus, asserting my dominance until he whines and slinks back, devastated and confused and desperate to fix this.

My Beast isn’t normally like this. He’s sensible. Hell, I’m normally sensible. But fuck… we aren’t sensible now. Not when I can feel that pull in my chest pulsing with its own heartbeat, reaching out, desperate to anchor itself to the other half of our soul. I can see it in my mind’s eye— a bright, shimmering gold thread unfurling from my soul and searching for its counterpart with a ferocity I’ve never felt before.

It keeps reaching, searching, but it won’t find anything. Not yet. Not until she scents us back. And I already know, I’ll spend the rest of my life—my entire fucking existence— searching until I find her.

Right now…

Right now, I need to plan. I need to consider my options and next steps, and for that, I need the human side of me more than the primal side of the Beast.

The shift tears through me. Bones snap, muscles shift and lengthen, veins and arteries and sinew rearrange themselves to accommodate my two-legged form. Fur gives way to skin and hair. My long blond strands hang over my shoulders, the sides braided back and out of my face. My eyes—a darker green than my Beast’s peridot—need only a moment to adjust.

A snarl of rage tears out of me when I take in the nightmare of this place with new eyes. My Mate was here in this fucking hellscape. And I had no idea.

Worse, I don’t even know who she is. I don’t know anything about her. I don’t know if she’s hurt, or scared, or in pain. And until her side of the Bond snaps into place, I won’t have access to her at all. I’ll be completely in the dark, with no way to get a read on her mental or physical well-being at all.

That’s a fucking problem. For me, but especially for the primal instincts of my Beast.

I force myself to take a final look. To make sure I haven’t missed anything before hightailing it back up the stairs, my boots thudding against the stone at a fevered pace.

The moment I step back into the foyer, I pull out my phone, hesitating before I unlock it as I take in the horror surrounding me. It’s hard not to look at the aftermath of whatever happened here with new eyes. Hard not to imagine what went down without the lens of fear for my Mate coloring every possibility.

Was she here for the unknown events that led to this bloodbath? Was she scared? Did she fight? Did she cry, hide, and pray someone would save her?

Fates, I have got to get my shit together.

I take a deep breath, unlock my phone, and with a swipe of my finger, I call the one person I know can help.

My dad answers on the first ring.

“Son.”

One word and my chest feels like it’s about to crack open.

“Dad.”

In an effort to choke back my emotions, I stupidly try to distract myself from my fear by letting my gaze roam around the foyer.

In my human form, with nothing more than the muted light of the Mother to illuminate the scene, every dark puddle of blood and burgundy handprint smeared across the floor and walls adds a new layer of horror to this macabre nightmare.