Chapter 9: The Descent and the Choice

The wind tore at my clothes. It screamed in my ears.

I fell.

For a heartbeat, there was only the sickening, absolute realization of gravity. The stone walls of Rathbourne Keep blurred. The air ripped the oxygen from my lungs.

This is it. This is how I end. I failed.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the rocks below.

But the end refused to come.

My descent stopped with a violent, jarring impact. I was lying on a wide, sloping stone ledge, hidden beneath the parapet.

I gasped, pain radiating through my spine and ribs. I lay there, stunned, my lungs fighting for air. I blinked, forcing my vision to clear.

I scrambled backward, pressing my spine against the damp, cold stone wall. My heart hammered against my ribs.

I looked up.

Marcus Blackwood stood at the very edge of the roof, his massive silhouette blocking the moonlight. He was laughing—a cold, cruel sound.

“The Anchor falls,” Blackwood’s voice boomed down. “A pity. She had spirit.”

He paused. I held my breath.

“Zev,” Blackwood called out. “Leave the body. Let the wolves scavenge it in the morning. It sends a better message if Thorne’s pet is found broken on the rocks.”

“And Thorne?” Zev’s voice drifted down.

“Thorne is broken,” Blackwood replied. “He is bleeding out in the hall. The pack is mine. The Abyss is unanchored.”

The heavy iron door on the roof slammed shut.

I was alone. I was not dead, but I was trapped, freezing, bleeding, and awaiting capture.

I dragged myself into a sitting position. My head throbbed. I looked down at my arm. The wound where the bond had ruptured was sticky with blood and the glowing blue ink. The blue line was pulsing faintly, like a dying battery.

I am alive. But Rian…

The words from the roof slammed back into me: Thorne is broken. He is bleeding out.

He had fought a suicide battle just to buy me the seconds I needed to reach the door. He saved me. The monster had sacrificed himself for my safety.

I pressed my forehead against the cold stone wall. “Think, Elara,” I whispered. “You are the Chief Executive Administrative Officer. Solve the problem.”

I scanned the ledge. I was running out of time. I pushed myself up. My legs shook violently. I began to walk to the right, following the sloping wall.

I rounded the corner of the Keep. The ledge ended abruptly at a rusted iron gate. Behind it lay a narrow, spiraling metal staircase.

Thorne Sr.’s secrets. A servant’s exit. An escape route.

I gripped the gate. It groaned. I shoved with my shoulder. It screeched open just enough for me to slip through.

I began the descent. The stairs were treacherous. The cold iron bit into my hands.

Step by step. Down into the dark. My mind focused only on the mantra: I am going to survive this. I will not fail here.

The descent felt endless. Finally, my boots hit solid earth. I was at the base of the Keep, hidden in a thicket of thorny vines.

I found a small, windowless door set directly into the stone foundation. It was low, made of heavy oak.

I tried the cold metal handle. Locked.

I fumbled for Rian’s magnetic security keycard. I slid the card into the slot.

ZZZT.

The lock sparked violently. The ward rejected the modern technology.

“Damn it,” I hissed. The Keep rejects human tech. It recognizes blood.

I leaned against the door. I looked at the cut on my forearm. It was still oozing a mixture of red blood and the iridescent blue binding agent.

The Anchor is the key.

I took a deep, shuddering breath. I pressed my wounded arm directly against the rough oak of the door, smearing the blood and the blue ink across the wood.

“Open,” I commanded.

The reaction was instant. The iron bands on the door glowed with a faint, answering blue light. The lock clicked. The heavy bolts retracted with a smooth, oiled sound.

The wards recognized the mixed scent. They recognized the Abyss in my blood. It worked.

I pushed the door open and slipped inside. I was in a stone tunnel. It smelled of wet earth and ancient dust.

I walked for what felt like twenty minutes. The tunnel ended at a flight of modern concrete stairs. Above them, a strip of amber LED light glowed.

I climbed the steps. They led to a small, hidden room. A modern safe room. It contained a military-grade satellite phone.

I rushed to the table. I grabbed the heavy phone. Signal: Strong.

I could call for help. I was free.

My thumb hovered over the dial pad.

Think, Elara. Think through the consequences.

If I call the police, they will find Rian. He will be executed.

And if Rian dies, I die. The bond will snap. I will be killed by the psychic shock.

I stared at the phone. It was my freedom. It was my death sentence.

I had a choice.

Option 1: Freedom and Death. Call a helicopter. Save myself physically, but condemn Rian, and likely die when the bond snaps.

Option 2: Survival and Captivity. Go back up. Find Rian. Stabilize him.

He is a monster, a voice in my head screamed. He chained you. You owe him nothing.

But he told you to run, another voice countered. He stood alone against twelve wolves. You need him.

I looked at the blue line on my arm. It was faint now. The connection was fraying. The Abyss was starving.

I slammed the phone down on the table.

“I am an idiot,” I whispered furiously. “I am protecting my executioner.”

I grabbed the first aid kit. I slung it over my shoulder. I turned back to the stairs.

I was going back.

I left the supply room. I found the service stairwell that spiraled upward through the core of the Keep.

I climbed. My legs burned. My lungs ached. I emerged onto a landing one floor below the dining hall. The air here was thick. It smelled of copper and death.

I crept up the final flight of stairs. I reached the service door.

I pressed my ear against the wood. Silence. Complete, heavy silence.

The fighting was over.

I slowly, inch by inch, pushed the door open.

The dining hall was a ruin. Blood—so much blood—was smeared across the obsidian floor. The Tribunal had removed their dead.

In the center of the devastation, slumped against the overturned head table, was Rian.

He was human. Naked from the waist up. His torso was a map of violence. Deep, ragged claw marks tore across his chest and ribs. His skin was pale.

He wasn't moving.

I rushed into the room. My boots slipped on the blood-slicked floor.

“Rian!”

I dropped to my knees beside him. The smell of blood was overwhelming.

He didn't open his eyes. His head lolled to the side. His breathing was shallow, a wet, rattling rasp.

I put my hands on his face. His skin was ice cold.

“Rian, wake up,” I commanded. “I did not come back here to watch you die.”

His eyelids fluttered. They opened.

His eyes were dim. They looked gray. Dead.

He focused on me. “Elara?” he whispered. His voice was a broken wheeze. “You… you ran.”

“I came back,” I said, opening the medical kit. “I came back because your death is bad for my health.”

A weak, humorless smile touched his bloody lips. “Foolish,” he murmured. “You should have… left me.”

“And let you die?” I snapped. “You said if you die, I will die. I am protecting my investment.”

“Liar,” he breathed. “You came back… because you are stubborn.”

He coughed. Blood bubbled past his lips.

“Shh. Stop talking,” I ordered. I pressed the gauze pad against the worst wound—a terrifying gash across his ribs.

Rian winced. “It’s too deep,” he gasped. “Gauze won’t… won’t fix it.”

“I am not letting you bleed out, Rian Thorne.”

He reached up. His hand, heavy and stained with red, gripped my wrist.

“Elara, listen,” he rasped. “Medical aid is useless. The damage is magical. It resists healing.”

“Then what do I do?” I cried. “Tell me what to do!”

He looked at me. His gaze dropped to my arm.

“The bond,” he whispered. “It’s the only way. You have to stabilize the core. You have to give me the energy to heal.”

“How? I tried touching you.”

“Not calm,” he shook his head weakly. “Transfusion. You need to give me the Abyss back. But filtered. You have to complete the circuit.”

He pointed to my arm.

“Skin to skin isn't enough anymore. Blood to blood. You have to press your mark against mine.”

I stared at him. “You mean… open the wound? And press it into yours?”

He nodded. “It will hurt. It will… it might kill you. It will flood you with everything I am. All the rage. All the pain.”

He looked at me with a terrifying intensity.

“If you do this, Elara, there is no going back. You won’t just be an employee. You will be part of the pack soul. Do you understand?”

I looked at the dying man in front of me. I looked at the blood on my hands. I thought of the cage, the fear, the terror.

I didn't hesitate.

“I understand,” I said.

I ripped the bandage off my arm. The cut was raw, angry, and blue.

I leaned over him. I positioned my forearm directly over the massive, bleeding gash on his chest.

“Ready?” I whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Rian breathed.

I pressed my arm into his chest. Blood to blood.