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It began as a trickle.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Water falling on stone.
Then it shifted. Enough water had fallen. Water falling on water. A puddle. A pool.
No longer a drip.
A steady stream. A scream.
A scream I’d recognize anywhere. Veyka.
My eyes opened. Why hadn’t they been open? Was I sleeping? How could I sleep when my mate was in danger?
The scream ebbed way to nothing. Or it was obscured by the water. crashing water now—so loud it swallowed up all other sounds.
I could see everything clearly now.
I was in the water gardens. Back in the goldstone palace.
But I stood in the corner, the massive waterfall roaring over my shoulder. A place I’d never stood. Yet every inch of the water gardens was etched in painfully perfect detail.
Pain. It lined every stone, every emerald plant and crimson flower fed by those poisoned waters.
Not a dream—but a memory.
Veyka’s memory.
She cried out again.
But it wasn’t the Veyka I knew. The scream belonged to a child. My mate, but not. Not yet.
Yet as she screamed, the pain radiated in my chest, precisely where the mating bond lay.
Screams to whimpers.
Whimpers that should have been drowned out by the crashing water falls. But that I felt in my soul. I had to save her.
But I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t even lift my arm, reach for my axe—look down to see if I even had a body.
But I fought.
If I had a body, I’d wrench it free of these invisible bonds. I reached for my magic—none of the plants moved, no vines coming to do my bidding.
My beast.
Screams again—such wretched screams. What were they doing to her?
I knew.
My beast surged. Wild, rabid. But I couldn’t shift.
I couldn’t reach her. Couldn’t save her.
I couldn’t make it stop.
