LOGINMORRIS’ POV The plane touched down twenty-six hours early. I didn’t wait for the stairs to finish lowering. I was already moving, jacket half-on, phone pressed to my ear, barking at the driver who’d been waiting on the tarmac. Kelly’s last update had been four words: She won’t stop screaming.I ran across the asphalt, boots pounding, heart in my throat. The summit hall in the capital had been full of alphas arguing trade routes and border taxes. I stood up in the middle of the opening remarks, said “I’ve got a family emergency,” and walked out without offering a detailed explanation and apology. I didn’t owe them shit when my wife was falling apart three hundred miles away.The SUV ate the highway in silence except for my breathing. I kept dialing Sharon’s phone but it kept going straight to voicemail every time. So I tried Kelly next.He answered on the first ring. “She’s in the bedroom. The healer just left. Alpha, the sedative given to her, didn't touch her, she was still saying
SHARON’S POV I woke with a scream already lodged in my throat.The bedroom ceiling stared back at me, familiar carved beams, soft morning light leaking through the curtains. My heart slammed so hard it hurt my ribs. Sweat soaked the back of my nightgown. The sheets were tangled around my legs like they’d tried to hold me down.I bolted upright as the room spun once, then steadied. My hand flew to my stomach, it was flat, empty, and the scar from the emergency cut still raised and pink. That part was real, but my babies were gone. I remembered the hospital smell, the doctor’s quiet voice, Morris’s face when he blamed me.But last night— the glass shattering, the empty cribs, Sandra’s laugh, Daenerys falling, the crack of her skull on marble. I could see the blood spreading under her head like spilled ink. Daemon’s screams. My own scream.I threw the covers off and stumbled out of bed. My bare feet slapped cold wood. I didn’t stop for slippers, didn’t stop for a robe. I ran. The corrido
SHARON’S POVThe afternoon sun had already turned soft and golden when the messenger arrived from Jordan Pack. He was young, barely old enough to have a full beard, and he looked like he’d ridden through thorns to get here. His cloak was torn at the shoulder, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep. He bowed low in the courtyard while I stood on the stone steps with Daenerys balanced on my hip and Daemon clinging to my leg.Morris read the sealed letter in silence. When he finished he folded it carefully, tucked it into his jacket, and looked at me with the kind of calm that only comes before something heavy.“She’s opened the granaries,” he said.I blinked. “Sandra?”He nodded once. “One quarter of the stores. She made sure that the families with children came first. More like she rationed the food.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Daenerys tugged on my hair; I shifted her higher and kissed the crown of her head.“She’s feeding them,” I whispered.Morris watched my face
SANDRA’S POV I woke with the taste of copper still thick on my tongue. The ceiling above me swam into focus—high, carved, familiar. My own bedroom. Silk sheets twisted around my legs like they’d tried to strangle me in my sleep. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn tight, but thin blades of afternoon light sliced through the gasps and cut across my bare arms. My head pounded in dull, wet thumps. I sat up too fast as the room tilted. Nausea surged up my throat, so bad I clamped a hand over my mouth, I tried to swallow it back down, and forced myself to breathe through my nose.How the fuck did I get back here?The last thing I remembered clearly was the shaman’s hut, her fire-lit face, the way her voice had gone flat when she said “too late.” Then I’d felt this pain, it was sharp and deep. And within seconds there was blood in my mouth and my legs gave out. Nothing after that, there was no memory of walking, no memory of guards carrying me, no memory of the stairs, the corridors, an
MORRIS’ POV The door to our bedroom clicked shut behind us and I turned the lock without looking away from Sharon. Sharon stood in the middle of the bedroom, still wearing the soft gray sweater she’d pulled on after the twins fell asleep. Hair loose, cheeks flushed from laughter, eyes bright in a way I hadn’t seen in weeks. She looked like mine again, not the ghost who’d stared through me in the hospital, not the woman who’d cried herself raw in the bathtub. She looked alive. Hungry. Dangerous.I crossed the room in three strides.She met me halfway.Our mouths crashed together hard, open, no preamble. I tasted the faint sweetness of the tea she’d sipped earlier, felt the sharp edge of her teeth when she bit my bottom lip. My hands found her hips, yanked her flush against me so she could feel exactly what she did to me. She moaned into my mouth, fingers already tearing at my shirt buttons.I walked her backward until her spine hit the wall. She gasped when the cool stone met her bac
SHARON’S POV I sank back to the rug in exhaustion and worry. The twins crawled over immediately, sensing something had shifted in my mood and demeanour. Daemon patted my cheek playfully as he was trying to cheer me up. Daenerys tucked herself under my chin, babbling and swinging her legs so it could hit my hand.Morris sat beside me and pulled us all close. “Are you sure he would be fine out there all by himself?” I asked unsure. “What if Sharon or Darius goes after him? What would become of him?” Morris sighed heavily. “He’s not a weak man, Sharon. He’s a warrior, he can’t die easily, at least not without a fight. I believe he will be fine.” Fine? That wasn’t the word I needed to hear right now. What I needed to hear was he would be safe, a hundred percent assurance that he would be safe. But I didn’t say anything. We stayed like that, quiet, tangled, and breathing together, until the twins dozed off again.Morris kissed my temple. “Are you okay?”I nodded against his shoulder.







