Page 93
Or at the very least, take back my insistence that Soren visit his Second—something he’s been putting off for two days, refusing to leave my side since the moment I woke and our Bond—the same silver thread as Caelan’s—snapped into place. I had to beg him to go, and even though I knew he needed to, he still dragged his feet and swore he wouldn't be gone longer than two hours.
Not ten minutes later, Cage arrived. Said it was time to ‘resume my duties.’ And I couldn’t even argue because nothing had changed. I’m still an Omega. Still weak. And with Soren gone, still unprotected.
Moaning as my muscles protest the movement, I make myself uncurl from my ball and push up so I can see what’s happening. The fire poker comes into focus first. It’s all the way across the room, lying on the floor by the wall. About five feet up, a huge chunk is missing from the stone.
It’s not hard to imagine what happened, and seeing just how close I came to being impaled by something thrown hard enough to crack stone causes my stomach to flip with nausea.
With arms that won’t stop shaking, I push up further, frowning when my gaze lands on expensive Italian leather loafers attached to toned, muscular legs covered by perfectly pressed, buttery soft grey dress slacks.
My brain feels like it’s glitching. I want to deny what I’m seeing, because it makes no sense. I know that confident, controlled stride crossing the floor, headed straight for the fire poker. I know that hand, reaching, and those long, dexterous fingers wrapping around the almost-murder weapon and snatching it off the ground.
Daxen.
Has he been here the whole time?
Exhausted, I crawl toward one of the leather chairs nearby and use it to pull myself up so I can see what’s happening. My vision’s been mostly blocked by furniture until now, so I’m shocked to realize Vaelenor and Cage are only about eight feet away, to my left.
Vaelenor has Cage restrained in front of him, arms wrenched painfully behind his back; Cage’s mouth is busted, and so is his cheek. Both injuries seem to be healing at a snail’s pace compared to the near instantaneous healing I’ve seen before.
He grins with a mouth full of teeth covered in blood, and when Daxen stops directly in front of him, his grin grows impossibly wider.
Daxen smiles back.
What’s happening?
In perfectly choreographed movements, like steps in a dance they’ve performed a thousand times before, Vaelenor releases Cage, dropping his arms and taking a swift step back and to the side. At the same moment, Daxen hefts the poker, readjusts his grip, and drops his hand to his side, lining it up with his hip.
He draws it back and, in a single, fluid movement, thrusts it forward—stabbing it straight into Cage’s gut with so much force that the sharpened tip explodes from his back.
Cage screams.
It takes every ounce of my self-control not to do the same.
Dax reaches out with his free hand and grips him by the shoulder, calmly dragging him across the room—toward me.
Vae follows them, stalking to the hearth where he grabs something next to it and turns, handing it to Daxen.
A branding iron.
Cage is struggling in Daxen’s hold—as much as one can struggle with an iron rod through their torso—but when he sees what Daxen’s holding, his struggle increases. He starts to thrash and flail, screaming and begging for mercy. He pleads for his mother, for mercy, swearing he’ll do anything and everything, and please, please don’t do this!!
I want to look away, but I can’t.
The flames flare, bathing Daxen’s face in oranges and golds. He looks beautiful. I’ve always thought Vaelenor looked like a storybook prince. Like royalty.
Daxen looks like a god.
A vengeful deity, sculpted from marble. A statue given life, created from the coldest, hardest, most unrelenting stone. Impenetrable.
Just like his heart.
Daxen drags the Alpha across the floor, never once breaking stride, ignoring Cage’s protests and pleas. As soon as he realizes begging has no effect, he switches tactics and starts threatening instead. Some of his threats sound legitimate, and I worry that what Daxen has decided may have consequences.
Then I remind myself that he’s never once worried about me, and I shove that fear far, far down. If I have to face the consequences of his actions, it’s only fair he do so as well.
I feel strangely numb, like I’m watching this all happen from outside of my body. That remains true right up until Cage screams, “Do you have no mercy?!?”
Daxen stops so fast that Cage pitches into the fire, nearly falling in himself. He fights even harder now that he’s no longer being dragged behind another Alpha, struggling to break free from Dax’s hold while blood seeps from the wound in his stomach. Every time he moves too fast, his face twists in pain.
