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“There won’t be a later,” he responds, and the menace in his voice sends ice skating down my spine.
Something is very, very wrong. I can’t possibly be the only one to feel it.
Cage frowns, and the tension in the room grows. The air itself feels like it's pulsing with anticipation and a rage so thick I can taste it on my tongue—cold stone and cedarwood and fury so hot it’s about to catch fire.
Daxen leans in until they’re almost nose to nose, and whatever Cage sees in Daxen’s eyes has all his confidence disappearing like it never existed, replaced by a terror so acute his voice actually shakes.
“What’s going on?”
“I don't enjoy explaining myself,” Daxen tsks. “And I’ve never been one to honor the requests of dying men.”
Cage still looks genuinely confused. “Who—who’s dying?”
Daxen’s lips curl into a genuine smile. “You are.”
Cage’s eyes widen. Understanding dawns. His mouth parts and he releases a scream of unadulterated terror as Daxen grips him with one hand on his shoulder and one on the iron rod in his chest, spins him around, and shoves him face first into the blazing fire.
Vaelenor comes to stand by Daxen’s side. He reaches for a decorative wooden box on the mantle and pulls it down, cradling it in one arm and popping open the lid.
Cage is screaming—terrible, agonized screams that both Alphas ignore. He’s fighting to escape, but Daxen has a solid grip on the iron still shoved through his stomach and uses it to shove him back down.
Vaelenor reaches into the wooden box and pulls out two items before returning it to its place on the mantle. One, he passes to Daxen—a long, black fitted glove that he pulls on before reaching down and wrapping his now-protected hand around the iron pole.
The second item is a little velvet drawstring bag. With eyes bright with excitement, Vae opens the bag and shakes what looks to be shimmering black and blue powder into his palm before tossing it into the flames.
It’s like an explosion goes off in the fireplace. From six feet away, I can feel a blast of heat so intense I jerk away from it even though I’m nowhere close. Vaelenor steps back, but not before sending Daxen a worried look. Dax gives him a stoic nod, readjusting his grip on the now red-hot iron as Cage screams and thrashes and fights to get out of the flames.
It’s… horrifying.
I don’t know what that powder is, but it clearly raised the fire's temperature. I watch in horror as Cage’s body burns, trying to heal itself over and over, new pink skin regrowing before the flames turn it red with burns and then black as it chars before flaking off to expose the muscle beneath.
My heart is slamming in my chest, beating out of rhythm with terror. Cage is partly through a regeneration when he stops fighting and stills, swiveling his charred, hairless head to the side; milky eyes—lidless and bubbling like liquid—fall on me.
A terrified Omega whine rips up my throat. Vaelenor spins, emerald eyes widening when they land on me and he realizes I’ve seen everything. Daxen tenses and grunts, leaning his weight against the poker and shoving Cage further into the flames, even as beads of sweat pour down his face and neck and his shirt turns dark with patches of wetness.
I can feel tears streaming down my face, but for some reason, I can’t look away. Dax’s grip around the poker never wavers, even when it turns so hot it begins to glow.
Time slows and speeds up; Cage’s screams eventually die off. His skin stops regrowing, muscle burns, and bones crack until finally—finally—they’re all that remain of what was, only twenty minutes ago, an Alpha.
I almost scream at the sound of the warped iron clattering to the floor. Daxen tears off his black glove and tosses it into the still-burning fire. He steps back from the heat, extends his hand, and flexes his fingers. His skin is an angry, painful red, and I suddenly realize that the whole time he was keeping Cage down, the iron was burning and blistering his skin.
How many times did his hand and arm—like Cage—burn and heal only to burn again, over and over and over?
I don’t—I don’t—why? Why would he do that?
Why would he do any of that?
Oh, gods…
My eyes fall on the burnt—but still very obvious—pile of Cage’s remains.
Daxen just killed someone. No. Not just someone—a trainee who apparently has some kind of influential and powerful father.
He killed Cage.
Decisively. Ruthlessly. Horrifically.
Oh Fates… oh Fates, I think I’m going to be sick.
