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So totally fucked.
Ellister’s advantage just became his greatest weakness.
We never considered the possibility of encountering someone who can mimic his power. But that’s what Zetipher just did, and it drained them both.
Maybe that was partly Zetipher’s intention, because Ellister can’t fight back now.
I wish the mate bond allowed for telepathy, because I want to tell Ellister to just go ahead and drink the damn Glow. Take enough to get him far away from here. He can come back for me later.
But apparently, the men aren’t taking any chances with him. Weakening him wasn’t enough for them because the biggest guy whips out some handcuffs. Metal clinks as they’re slapped on Ellister’s wrists, binding his hands in front of him.
A burn comes through the bond. On top of the pain from the sickness, I feel the iron searing Ellister’s skin as it sizzles under the shackles.
Biting my lip so I don’t make a sound, I rub at my wrists. Then I press my skin to the cool outside of the pitcher of waterfall mist. I’m hoping to give Ellister some semblance of relief through our connection, but it does little to quell my own pain, so it’s probably not helping him either.
And the situation just keeps getting worse.
Going for overkill, the last man still on a horse swings something around in the air before tossing it at Ellister.
As the ball flies, it opens and spreads.
A net.
Ellister lets out a pained shout as the iron encases him from head to toe with fiery crisscrosses.
I barely manage to hold in my whimper when he topples to the ground.
I’ve never been lit on fire, but I think it would feel something like this. The pain is crippling. Smacking my hand over my mouth, I swallow as I try not to vomit.
Tears spring to my eyes, not just because of how much it hurts me, but if what I’m experiencing is just an echo of Ellister’s agony, I can’t imagine how awful it is for him.
He’s snarling and grumbling a string of swear words that would make the most raunchy person blush.
As he issues a few warnings about how he’ll make them pay for what they’ve done, a new sound joins his wishful thinking.
Rumbling. Like wooden wheels bumping over the dry ground.
Leaning forward, I angle my eyeball through the crack until I can see the end of the lane. A larger shadow is coming this way. A wagon. A big one, led by two horses.
With horrifying realization comes to me—this was a capture mission all along.
That’s why the men are wearing leather gloves. They knew this would end with iron. Maybe the men really were looking for Rymus, but they came prepared to take a prisoner.
The good news is, they haven’t glanced at the barn more than twice. They don’t seem concerned with whatever’s going on in here, which means they must not know about the Glow.
The big guy and another roughened henchman heft Ellister up by his shoulders and feet. Inside the cocoon of iron, he glares at Zetipher while he’s carried to the approaching wagon.
Through clenched teeth, he growls, “Does Rymus really live at the neighboring farm, or was he your scout?”
“Both,” Zetipher answers, walking alongside him. “But it was you who gave yourself away.”
“What do you mean?”
“I sensed your power when you used it.” Zetipher’s tone is dreamy and reminiscent as if he’s recalling a mystical event. “It was such a unique experience.”
“I take it you live with Rymus, then?” Ellister questions curiously, trying to figure this guy out. “You would’ve had to be close by to be affected by my vortexes. Or did you feel it when I traveled elsewhere? And you followed me here?”
Zetipher doesn’t oblige with answers. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
