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(Ronan’s POV) The King was awake. Alive, lucid, and looking like hell. He sat hunched in the healer’s chair, shirt half-buttoned, hair a wild tangle. Sweat clung to his temple. The firelight showed the tremor in his hands, the way his fingers kept twitching toward his throat like he could still feel the chain of enchantment there. “Sophie,” he rasped. “Where is she?” It was the first name he’d said since waking, and it hit every one of us like air after drowning. Betsy sniffed. Agatha muttered a prayer. The mages exhaled, slow and relieved. “She’s alive,” I said, hoping that was true. “We’ll get her back.” Xavier’s eyes flicked to me. For a second, the old fire returned—the kind that could make armies bend. Then he looked past me, toward the empty cot where the corpse had been, and all that strength wavered. “What did I do?” His voice broke. “Tell me I didn’t—” Amara cut him off gently. “She bewitched you. You were not yourself, Majesty. The curse still runs through her sis
I couldn’t sleep. Hard to sleep when every breath tasted like wolf and him. Ronan. Damn him for standing too close and smelling like smoke and pine, for putting his hand at my throat in that cell and not squeezing, for looking at me like I was both problem and prize. I hated him. My body didn’t get the message. I lay on the bunk, one knee hitched, staring at the bars. The torches down the hall hissed and popped. The castle had gone mostly quiet, those hours where even guards yawned and pretended they weren’t afraid of what moved under the floors. I should have thought about escape. Instead, I thought about his mouth. I pictured the set of his jaw when he’s fighting the urge to smile. The scar by his lip. The heat coming off him like a furnace. The way my skin said yes when he touched me, even while my head said no. Stupid body. Stupid sparks. My mind slid to the way he’d pinned me earlier, the slow press of him crowding me back, his palm warm under my jaw. I felt the remembere
Someone or something was chasing me. The dark didn’t hide. It pressed it closer. I was deep in hunter territory, somewhere I knew I didn’t belong anymore. I needed to get home to the wolves, away from the monsters. I ran. Bare feet slapped mud and old leaves. Vines caught my ankles. Branches clawed at my arms. Don’t look back. Don’t listen. Just move. My wolf stayed locked down, bound tight by that fast little touch of Mama’s. It felt like wearing someone else’s breath, heavy and wrong. Every few heartbeats, my mate mark flared hot and then cold, dragging me toward a path I couldn’t see, toward a heat that wasn’t here. I shoved it down. A splash to my left. Then a softer one to my right. “Keep going,” I whispered, and my voice came out more prayer than order. The fog breathed with me. Thick. Wet. It muffled the night so every small sound sounded like a giant one. A frog barked once and shut up, as if it remembered it had better things to do than get caught listening. Water
The radiator hummed when the wind hit the house. It was the only sound most nights. The chain around my leg was cold, tighter now than before. My wolf was still bound—quiet, small, useless. The power inside me sat heavy and silent, as if waiting for permission that never came. The door creaked open. Jax stepped in. He looked worse than before: dark rings under his eyes, shirt half-buttoned, a smell of whiskey and swamp sweat clinging to him. “Thought you were done running errands,” I said. He dropped a bag on the counter. “Lucian’s got me running fool errands for his madness. One minute I’m finding Pandora, next I’m fetching priests. He’s losing it.” “Good,” I said flatly. “Maybe he’ll walk into the swamp and drown.” He ignored that, pacing instead. “Pandora’s gone. Pregnant. Probably halfway to some coast by now. Coward.” “She’s smart,” I said. “That’s what that is.” His jaw flexed. “She’s selfish. She left me to deal with him alone. And now...” He turned, eyes cutting
Chapter 102 — The Mark Burns I’d never seen the King like this, laid out on a healer’s bed beside a woman who should have been on a pyre, stroking her hair like a man drugged. Amara stood at the foot of the bed. Fintan watched the doorway. Betsy and Agatha kept a table between themselves and the King, as if wood would help if he snapped. “Your Majesty,” Amara said, voice measured, steady. “Try to sleep. This room is safe.” Xavier didn’t look at her. His gaze never left Marie. “She needs me.” “She needs time,” Fintan said. Xavier smoothed Marie’s hair again and whispered, “I’m here.” The sound crawled under my skin. “Say her name,” Amara prodded gently. He blinked. “Sophie.” “Good,” she said. “You brought her to us. You remember?” His fingers tightened on the cloak. “My Queen is here,” he said to the corpse beside him, dazed again. “Perfect.” We held our ground. We did not leave him alone. Marie moved. A small twitch in her shoulder first. Then her wrist tur
My mate mark burned hard enough to make me nauseous. Every few beats, it yanked me toward the path Xavier had taken, a hook buried deep. I dragged my breath flat and shoved it down. Mama Delphine’s binding held me like wet cloth—clingy, patient, smug. She was in her chair, humming to her bones like always. Jax stood by the open door, jaw tight, ready to bolt or break something. He didn’t know which yet. “Here he come,” Mama sing-songed, her one good eye swivelling towards the door. “Come stomp-stomp like a bull what don’t know he neutered.” The fog didn’t hush for him. It rattled. We heard Lucian long before we saw him, branches snapping, boots punching through mud, a man who came like a problem on purpose. He was yelling before he reached the shack, swearing that somebody would pay. “Don’t,” I warned, because the last thing I needed was her mouth making this worse. She grinned at me, all gums and trouble. “Hush, bébé. We gon’ have us a visit.” Lucian hit the porch like a







