She just needed a chance. One chance.
So she accepted the hearty bowl of chunky stew Nyra served her with a tight, forced smile. The warm aroma of herbs and rich broth filled her nose, but even as she ate slowly, savoring the flavors, it did little to soothe the knot of tension in her chest. She could feel the weight of their glances—Loren’s especially—lingering on her like an itch she couldn’t scratch.
If he expected anything from her beyond silence, he was more arrogant than she’d thought.
Her grip tightened around the spoon, the memory of his compulsion simmering just beneath her skin. The pressure of the magic had faded now, but it left a bruise behind—a reminder of just how easily he’d bent her will. Could it even be resisted? Couldsheresisthim? He was a prince, and she was just… herself.
No wonder he hadn’t hesitated. Why would someone like him care about violating someone like her?
Araya set her spoon down as the stew turned sour on her tongue, her appetite waning.
Nyra returned with a steaming cup of fragrant herbal tea, setting it down in front of her. “To help you relax,” the female said kindly.
Araya wrapped her hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into her hands as Nyra cleared away her bowl. She took a cautious sip, the sweet, rich blend soothing her aching muscles andfrayed nerves as its heat spread through her body. She was so tired—drained from the loss of her magic, the last traces of adrenaline fading after their desperate flight through the tunnels.
The room blurred at the edges, her thoughts slipping through her grasp like water through her fingers. She blinked, struggling to focus on lifting her arm, but it barely moved. She felt like someone had wrapped her in lead chains, pinning her to the bench. From across the room, Thorne’s amber gaze flicked toward her, his brow furrowing slightly.
They had drugged her.
The realization was like a bucket of ice water being dumped over her head. The tea, the kindness—it had all been a calculated trap to make her lower her guard. She fought to stand, but her limbs barely twitched, sluggish and unresponsive.
She should have known—of course they wouldn’t justtrusther. How could they? She was bonded to Jaxon Shaw. She had said it herself—she was as much a threat to them as he was.
A shadow moved at the edge of her vision, Loren’s storm and stone scent enveloping her as his gentle hands guided her head to rest on her folded arms. He murmured something, the words pitched for her ears alone. Araya didn’t understand, but she didn’t need to speak Valenya to hear the quiet undercurrent of guilt in his voice.
Her eyes slipped closed, her resistance slipping through her fingers. Part of her wanted to fight—to shove him away and scream that she didn’t want his comfort. But she was so tired—surely she could rest, just for a minute. Just long enough to gather her strength for whatever came next.
Araya’s breathing slowed, the world fading around her. The last thing she felt was his hand on her back, his low, soft voice wrapping around her like a comforting blanket she hadn’t asked for.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
Loren’s breathcaught as Araya’s eyelids fluttered. Her breathing quickened, and Loren could hear her heart start to pound as realization and panic flashed across her face. She shifted, struggling to stand—fighting to stay awake. His chest tightened, but he shoved away the guilt. This was for her—even if she never understood. He had to keep her safe.
But he couldn’t stop himself from taking a step toward her as the conversation around him faded, the celebration of his return snuffed out in an instant.
“Easy,” he murmured, his hands settling gently on her shoulders. “Don’t fight it.”
She blinked up at him, her silver eyes glazed and unfocused. For a heartbeat, he thought she might speak, but then she swayed and her eyes closed, surrendering. He caught her before she collapsed, guiding her head gently onto her folded arms.
With her cheek pillowed on her arms, she looked heartbreakingly young. The anger that had hardened her features since he compelled her was gone, washed away like ink in the rain. Her lips partedslightly, her face slack with the kind of peace he had never seen her wear awake.
Loren reached out before he could stop himself, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. Its softness lingered against his fingers. For a moment, he let himself pretend—pretend she had never been a pawn in Shaw’s game. Never looked at him with silver eyes blazing with rage. But he knew that as soon as she woke, the fury and hate would come roaring back—stronger than ever.
“Really, Nyra?” Thorne said tightly. “Since when do we drug people who come to us for help?”
“She didn’t come to us for help—Loren forced her to. Drugging her washissuggestion,” Nyra responded coolly, arms crossed as she faced Thorne. “And I decided it was a good idea after Araya told me she’s bonded toJaxon Shaw.”
Loren’s head snapped toward her, locking onto her steely blue glare. Why would Araya have volunteeredthat?
“She said it herself,” Nyra continued, not flinching from his stare. “None of us are safe as long as she’s here because Shaw isn’t going to justlet her go. He will rip this city apart looking for her. Our work here, everything we do—it’s in danger because of who she is. And heknewand didn’t say a word.” The accusation hung in the air between them.
“Nyra—” Finn’s steady voice cut through the mounting tension with the practiced weight of someone used to playing the mediator. But even he couldn’t fully mask the strain threading through his words. “He couldn’t leave her there?—”
“He absolutely could have,” Nyra snapped, her composure cracking. “It’s a question of saving one female versus saving hundreds. If Shaw keeps turning over rocks looking for her, he’ll eventually findus—and then we won’t save anyone.”
“What would you suggest, then?” Loren growled.
