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My mind conjures vivid images of my past.
I’m no longer in the cabin, but hiding in the closet during the attack. But I can’t be in the closet that I’m not in, even if I want to play it all out again and again. I have to be here, in the present, and so I stare at the fire and breathe, trying to ground myself. When that doesn’t work, I grab one of the blankets my lycan mate used during my heat and bring it to my nose.
Yes. Yes, this is it. His scent calms me.
Seith and I were having such a wonderful time. For spans, we ate, drank, and fucked, and I thought we would go on like that for a while longer after the heat. I was sure we would live an awesome life together. He would take care of me and I of him, and the way our bodies fit and the way we talked with each other felt like I’ve known him since birth.
A mating is the molding of two people who are better expressions of themselves when they’re together than when they are apart. It’s a completion, a full circle. And now I might have that taken from me.
The number of lycans fighting outside tells me this conflict has only one outcome. Winner takes all, and the loser dies or flees forever. Kind of like the outcome of the hordes descending upon Lyan, the Kilseleian capital.
The savage hordes had a bone to pick with our king, and when they came, they invaded with ancient, powerful magic, their teeth, their claws, and anything else they had at their disposal.
The king’s mages fought the hordes.
I see some of those blood mages here too.
The king would always say the horde follows their Alpha, so taking down their Alpha is a priority. The same rule applies here. The archer blood mage’s main assignment was to take down Seith, for if Seith went down, the clan morale would too, as would the bond he has with his mate. Lenox sometimes speaks about the bonding, and I overhear as I go about my business.
The Alpha male is as essential to the lycan clan as breathing. The clans can’t function without one, and if Seith dies, it will destroy this clan. It will destroy me. How does one survive the death of her lycan mate?
I can feel him inside me. It’s a strong, steady presence that makes me feel protected and safe. I never want to lose that or him.
I stand back before the front door, not daring to peek outside, but having to because I must reassure myself Seith is alive. I think he’s fighting. I think I would know if he were dead, because that part of him inside me, the bond, the marking, would tell me so.
I ball my hands into fists and look through the peephole.
Lycan body parts litter the street. I clamp both hands over my mouth as if that could suppress my shock and walk slowly away from the door.
Thumping comes from the kitchen.
I spin around and run for the floorboard. The storage area. Seith must be crawling under the house and trying to get inside, to safety, to me. Without a second thought, I yank open the board and peek inside. The meat is still lying on the snow. I don’t see anyone.
“Seith,” I call out. “Are you okay?”
Nothing. Oh no. Did the mage get him again?
“Don’t worry, I’m coming.” Just as I’m about to descend into the storage space, I catch sight of a hand poking from behind one of the stilts that hold up the cabin.
A hand that’s most definitely not a lycan hand.
It’s not a lycan hand because it’s Kilseleian.
My heart’s thudding is threatening to send me into a panic attack. I start weeping and freaking out while frozen up here, unable to move.
He’s waiting me out.
Immobile, I can’t even close the floorboard.
I can’t do anything until he steps out and shows himself. It’s one of the blood mages who were loyal to the king to the bitter end.
“Marybell Hanna,” he says. “What a shame you turned into a lycan whore.” He lunges.
Blood magic like a red sandstorm bursts inside the house and hurls me across the cabin. The back of my head smacks the window, rattling it before my bottom hits the floor. Groaning from the impact, I struggle to rise, but my head swims.
Swims.
Swims!
