Page 79
One at a time, I release my grip from the bars, unwinding each finger until I let go completely. Daxen watches the movement with trepidation.
I hold his cold grey eyes and take a step back, away from the metal separating us.
His wary expression bleeds into genuine concern.
I take another step back, unhurried. Controlled. Drawing my own line in the proverbial sand.
Daxen’s brow furrows.
Another step, and my smile widens in direct contrast to the way his frown deepens.
Another step
Another.
By the time I cross the cell and reach the stone bench where my Mate sleeps, Daxen’s pupils are blown out, dread etched into every line of his face.
I turn to my Mate, letting my focus linger on the shallow rise and fall of her chest, sending a rush of gratitude to the Mother for each and every lungful of air.
Every breath she takes is proof. Proof that she’s still alive. Still mine. Still fucking fighting, despite a lifetime spent being abused by males who should have protected her. Should have saved her from her tyrannical, psychotic father.
Should have kept her safe until their Packmate—their brother—was strong enough to take over.
Daxen hasn’t moved. Hasn’t dared to release his grip on the bars. His eyes are glassy. He looks like a wild animal, right before a trap snaps shut around it.
“Daxen.”
At the sound of my voice, he rips his gaze away from my Omega and forces his attention on me.
“It’s impossible for Idril to be Mated to Caelan because she’s already mated to me.”
He gives me a hesitant, jerky nod.
“And a human can’t be Fated to a vampire and a wolven.”
Another nod.
“You forgot just… one small thing.”
His dread turns to confusion. When his mouth opens, I speak over him, springing the trap.
“Idril. Isn’t. Human.”
Silence.
A beat passes. Two. I watch as his brain struggles to catch up as his reality shifts beneath him. I clock the exact moment he sees her as something possible, more than the image he concocted—
Horror—complete, abject fucking horror—slams into him.
His fingers go lax, and his hands fall from the bars to hang limply at his sides. His chest heaves. His hand flies to his sternum. Pain twists his features, and he spins, sprinting for the landing and thundering up the stairs.
Seconds later, the door slams so hard that dust falls from the newly damaged ceiling.
My Beast howls. He doesn’t even care that we didn’t get to shed blood, more than satisfied by Daxen’s defeat. Hopefully, it shook him up enough to start making him question shit seriously, widening the newly formed cracks in his self-righteous beliefs.
Exhaustion hits me like a truck, making my shoulders drop. All I want is to curl up with my Mate. Hold her in my arms. But the sound of that fucking door at the top of the stairs swinging open puts an end to that fantasy before I make it even halfway to my Mate.
Vaelenor rounds the corner, arms outstretched, a pile of blankets stacked so high I don’t know how he can see around them.
