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The brakes of Bertram’s 7 Series were smoking when the car finally screeched to a stop outside Sebastian’s estate. He slammed it into park and flung open the door, exiting with such haste that he was already long gone by the time the door rebounded off its hinges and slammed shut.
Time was of the essence.
If he didn’t intervene, someone would die today, and he could not let that come to pass.
On his way to the front door, he took his pistol from its concealed holster and racked the slide. A bullet would not easily kill a dragon, but it would stop one for long enough to give Bertram time to intervene. Sebastian would not forgive him if it did come down to that, but it very well could be the only way to keep both his brother and his mate alive, and Bertram would rather Sebastian despise him for the rest of time than see him end up a bloody smear to be cleaned off the floor.
Unsure of exactly where Sorin might be, Bertram turned to the bond they shared, reaching through it in the hopes that finally—after all these years—it would lead him back to his mate. He made quick work of the lock on the front door and, following the tug in his heart, sprinted through Sebastian’s lair until he felt it.
A pure, golden rush of emotion.
Sorin.
He was here, and he was close.
Every atom of Bertram’s being sang with the promise of him.
He didn’t know why Sorin was acting the way he was, but in that moment, it didn’t matter—he wanted nothing more than to have him back in his arms, to hold him and kiss away his pain, to satisfy his every want and spoil him with both treasure and love.
To cherish him, as he once had.
To dedicate himself to him again.
Protect, his dragon urged, stirring from the depths of his soul as it sensed Sorin nearby. Defend. Mine.
Bertram agreed with all his heart.
He would not let Sorin escape this time.
He could not tolerate the thought of letting him slip through his fingers again.
Using their bond as a compass, Bertram bolted through his brother’s lair in pursuit of his mate until quite suddenly, a jagged pain ripped through him. It was so intense, it nearly forced him down onto his knees.
His arm.
It felt as though it had broken.
Had he somehow been intercepted? Shot, maybe? Gasping for breath to hold back the pain, he examined his arm expecting to see his suit torn and bloody, but there was nothing. No bullet hole, no wound, not so much as a run in the fabric of his jacket.
The pain wasn’t his, he realized.
It had come from outside of him.
From Sorin.
And if that was the case, it could very well mean Sebastian already had his claws in him, and that it was too late.
The pain was blinding—dizzying—but Bertram pushed past it and kept running. He didn’t need to see where he was running when he had the bond to guide his way. Scales tumbled down his neck and shoulders as he went, and by the time he arrived where his heart told him Sorin would be, his claws and teeth had manifested as well. He stepped into the atrium partially transformed, just in time to witness Sebastian tear across the room and pounce on something lying injured in the grass.
Sorin.
Bertram was only able to see him for a second before Sebastian lurched forward and swung his arm at full force, plunging his claws into Sorin’s side. Sorin let out a bloodcurdling shriek, and as he did, pain exploded inside of Bertram. The bond vibrated like a plucked string, then went still and turned black.
Like it was dying.
Like it was dead.
The loss was indescribable, but not because it was painful—it was because it was empty. It was as though a part of him had disappeared, and now that it was gone, all he could think of was the nothingness in the place where it had once been.
