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What the fuck is happening—
Right as I hesitantly push to my feet, the shaking worsens, making me pitch forward and slam into the bars again. The world jolts, violent and angry, like a god buried under the castle for thousands of years is waking up for the first time—and he’s fucking pissed.
The walls groan, and the sound echoes off the iron of the cell and bounces through my skull.
I push toward the edge, where the bars are thinner, but it’s like trying to paddle a rowboat through a tsunami.
Chunks of mortar and concrete the size of my fist rain from the ceiling. I duck instinctively, but if I let go of the bars to protect my head, I’ll be thrown across the cell like a fucking chew toy. So I stay where I am, holding on until my muscles start to scream as the foundation of this centuries-old castle does its damnedest to pull the whole thing down on top of me.
I have a feeling that something horrible is happening. Not just with the castle—I don’t give a fuck about an Earthquake—but with my Mate. The distress and fear filtering through the Bond are so visceral I can feel each emotion like it’s my own.
Except it’s not mine. It’s hers.
And I should be there! I should be protecting her, should—
The ground lurches violently, and I’m thrown back. I fly through the air and slam into the back wall. The absence of pain in my bones tells me the crack I heard came from the wall and not my shoulder, at least—thank the Mother.
Groaning, I slide down the wall and fall on my ass, panting as I press my hand to my chest like I can somehow hold the Bond together with determination alone.
More and more rock falls from above me, coming way too close to my head for comfort.
Then as fast as it started, the shaking simply… Stops.
There’s nothing gradual about the way it happens, which makes this even more disturbing. Pieces of debris still break from the ceiling and walls, falling like rain pattering against cobblestone. I hear the distant groan of stressed architecture. But outside these walls…
Nothing.
No voices. No footsteps. No shouts or screams for help. Just silence.
And my Bond—that’s silent too. Still there, but unnaturally still save for sporadic pulses that jump and stutter, as though her heart is fighting for each and every beat.
I spring to my feet at the sound of the door swinging open. Footsteps thundering down the stairs send my heart galloping in my chest. I lunge for the bars, ignoring the crunch of glass shattering under my boots.
Vaelenor appears first, and when I get a good look at him, my stomach drops.
He looks… destroyed. The self-assured, cocky asshole is gone. The male in front of me looks like he’s being led to the gallows. His dark auburn hair is a mess, wild and standing on end like he’s been tugging at the roots. His shirt’s torn at the shoulder, grease dripping down the side and onto his jeans. His normally tan skin is pale and his eyes—
Glassy. Haunted. Like a warrior who’s seen something he can never unsee.
When our eyes meet, he looks away. That’s when I know that whatever happened to my Omega…
It was bad. Really, really fucking bad.
“Where—”
The demand dies in my throat as Gavran steps up behind Vae. The normally composed leader looks like he’s aged a decade. His amber eyes lock with mine, and my blood freezes in my veins.
Deep, soul-crushing shame—so horrifying I stumble back a step. But then Vae steps to the side, and I follow Gavran’s eyes as they fall to the body hanging limply in his arms.
No…
Oh gods. Oh, Fates. NO.
She looks dead.
The thought rushes through me before I can stop it. But Fates, it’s true. She looks like a corpse. Like all the life's been sucked from her body, leaving her hollowed out and almost unrecognizable, with grey skin and dark shadows under her eyes that look like bruises. Her beautiful hair is a mess, tangled and twisted, sweat-damp strands that stick to her temples, forehead, and neck; the sickly grey skin the color of ash stretches tight over her frame, as though she’s lost ten pounds in the last hour.
A pained whimper falls from her lips.
