He inhaled deeply, filtering through the stench of burnt aether. A woman? No—a female.Fae. The faint perfume of her magic teased at his senses, fresh and clean like damp earth after a spring rain.
Loren opened his eyes, meeting the frightened silver gaze of his mate.
Loren’s world froze. Even the shadows shivered, starting to reach for her before Jaxon stepped in behind her, sending them skittering back into the dark corners of his cell. He ignored them, too stunned to do anything but stare as the shock of seeing her in the flesh rattled him to the core.
Then time began again. She gasped, her eyes widening as she stumbled back a step—straight into Jaxon. Loren snarled, instincts he’d thought long dead filling him with raw, choking rage as the human mage who had caused him so much pain snaked an arm around her waist to steady her.
“Easy, Starling,” Jaxon laughed. “He hasn’t attacked a guard in over a decade.”
Only because attacking the guards never got him anywhere.
Loren bared his teeth, a surge of fierce protectiveness warring with deep despair. Did Jaxonknow? Could he see the shocked recognition on her face, the way her breath caught? Loren kept his own expression empty, but his mind raced. If Jaxonsuspected—if he saw even ahintof the bond?—
“Who is he?” She asked, her voice wobbling.
The worst thing that could have happened to you, Loren answered her silently. They would hurt her because of him—badly. She would have been better off if she never met him.
“Araya Starwind,” Jaxon said. “Meet Prince Loren of Valendral. Heir to the fae throne. Do you think his blood will do?”
His blood. Humans always wanted fae blood, fae bone…anything they could use to claim more power than the Goddess ever intended them to have. Loren bared his teeth as Jaxon stroked his hand possessively down the terrified female’s back, staking his claim.
“We’ll distill it first, of course,” Jaxon said. “You know how difficult fae blood can be to work with—and he only has so much.”
The female—Araya, his mate’s name was Araya—swallowed hard, her grip tightening on the case in her hands as she shifted herweight, her shoulders drawing inward as if bracing for what came next.
“Araya is going to collect your blood,” Jaxon told Loren. “If you make things difficult for her, I’ll do it myself. Trust me, Loren. You don’t want that.”
She approached him slowly, a small medical kit clenched in her hands. If it was anyone else, he would have fought. But she was already so frightened… Loren didn’t care if they beat him—but if they beat her for failing? He wouldn’t survive it.
So, Loren sat very, very still as she knelt in front of him. Her scent surrounded him, foreign yet familiar at the same time. It soothed him, even mingled with Jaxon’s stench. How close would Jaxon have had to be for his scent to cling to her skin?
“Are you alright?” The words slipped free before he could stop them, his voice raspy from disuse.
Her brow furrowed, confusion clouding her features as she stared at him without a flicker of understanding. He hadn’t been sure before, but he couldn’t deny it now. His own mate did not speak Valenya. The language of their people, the words that should have been hers by birthright, meant nothing to her.
For the first time in longer than he could remember, something inside Loren broke. Maybe it was his heart. Or maybe it was the last fragile thread of hope he hadn’t realized he was still holding onto.
“I’m sorry,” Araya murmured in the human tongue, softly enough that Jaxon wouldn’t hear. “I’ll try not to hurt you.”
Loren wanted to laugh, to tell her it wasn’t him he was worried about. Instead, he simply held out his arm, squeezing his fist until his veins rose to the surface. Her touch was featherlight, and he barely registered the bite of the blade as it sliced his skin. The pain was insignificant compared to the torment of being so close to her and so utterly unable to help her.
She filled six vials with practiced efficiency despite the way her hands trembled under Jaxon’s scrutiny, capping each one and setting it gently in a padded box. When she was done, she pressed a cleancloth to his arm. Her silver eyes softened, a quiet ache lingering in their depths.
Loren couldn’t stop himself. He lifted his free hand and rested it on hers.
For a heartbeat, the cell fell away. The stone walls, the iron chains, the ever-present ache of his suppressed magic—it all disappeared as the bond surged between them. Raw and unrelenting, it clawed its way to the surface, the remnants of his magic howling for hers.
“I think he likes you,” Jaxon said, voice laced with amusement. “Though I suppose you’re the only female he’s seen in twenty-five years… No wonder he’s so taken with you.”
Araya jerked her hand back, dropping the cloth as she scrambled to collect her things. She jumped to her feet, avoiding his eyes.
Loren let her go.
He forced himself to remain seated, even as every instinct screamed at him to protect her. There was nothing to be gained from attacking Jaxon. Even if he caught the human mage by surprise, he wouldn’t be able to get her out. The iron around his wrists bit into his skin, a bitter reminder of his helplessness.
Then Jaxon’s hand shot out, gripping her arm.
Loren’s gaze snapped to the human’s hand as it slid down her arm, tugging her towards him like he owned her.
