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This wasn’t at all how I foresaw our first meeting going. If someone told me a week ago I’d be voluntarily detained by the Bloodbound and watching over my Mate all night while she tossed and turned on a stone slab—I’d have laughed in their faces.

But that’s exactly how I spent the early morning hours—propped up against the cell bars, memorizing her features until they were imprinted in my soul. The curve of her cheek, the slight wave of her silver hair, the way she instinctively curled into a ball, which told me exactly what kind of life she led.

Her soft noises of distress made me fucking feral. I spent half my time talking down my Beast and Alpha, who were tag-teaming to convince me a war was totally worth ripping out a couple Bastard’s throats.

And fuck, I wanted to. Still want to. But there’s a reason why the man is in charge and not the Beast or Alpha. This situation is precarious at best, which means I have to play it smart.

I’m the Alpha Heir. Tearing the throats out of even one vamp would rock the foundations of both worlds. The repercussions would be swift, bloody, and widespread. Not only would I be throwing thousands of my own pack into a fight they never sanctioned, but we would have to involve the rest of the country’s packs—and probably some allies overseas, too.

With a single action, I’d throw our entire Species into a war with what should be tentative allies, costing hundreds of thousands of innocent wolven and vampires their lives.

So as much as I’d love to simply raise hell, I can’t.

I’m not even in the position to take my Mate and run without fighting. Even if I somehow made it out alive, my actions are a direct reflection on my father. I can’t bring strife to his door—and, by extension, the Packs—needlessly.

Besides, bigger issues are at play here. The claims of Idril’s abilities can’t simply be brushed aside. Exploding wood beams and fire that reacts to her emotions? I don’t know anyone who’s ever heard of gifts like that.

There are stories, known only to our Elders, of a race of beings who died off so long ago that record of them no longer exists—a race of supernaturals who could control the elements.

At least, that’s what the stories say. I worry about putting too much stock in word of mouth, however. Who knows how much has been changed or embellished.

Next time I meet with Kane, I’ll send him to speak with my father. He needs to know what we’ve discovered. The trafficked Omegas, the human working with Severed, my Mate, her gifts…

I keep running through the same endless loop, ending right back where I am now. I can’t fight. I can’t leave. I can’t take Idril, and even if I could, what about her other Mate? She won’t leave without him, and the male’s in a coma.

Not that I'm seriously considering busting out of here⁠—

I freeze mid-step, grunting in pain. My hand flies to my chest. There’s a burning pain behind my ribs that appears out of nowhere. A sharp ache I’ve never felt before.

My Beast is clawing at my insides, shouting at me to shift, fight, something, because⁠—

Something is wrong.

I turn my focus to our Mate Bond. At first, everything seems normal. The Bond seems content, coiled in my chest, pulsing and thrumming with contentment now that Idril’s been found.

But that ache is still there. It yanks and pulls, urging me to look closer, sure I’m missing something because⁠—

Fuck.

The Bond isn’t coiled tight with contentment.

That’s distress. I need to go. I have to get to her right fucking now!

Spinning on my heel, I take off.

And almost run face first into the iron fucking bars of this cell.

“FUCK!”

I slam my hands against the bars. How the fuck am I going to get out of here? Outside of shouting, I⁠—

The floor drops.

Like it’s up and decided, after two hundred years, that it’s tired of being solid and wants to try something different.

At first I think I hallucinated the whole thing, then it happens again. The ground lurches beneath my feet, and I stumble, then go down hard, knees slamming against stone. My hands shoot out on instinct, and I catch myself on the cell bars before my face does the same.

The Bond is fucking screaming in my chest. The feeling is so wrong it blurs my vision. My Beast howls—aware on a level not accessible to my human side that our Mate needs us.