Raven yanked off her headphones, stuffed her phone into her jacket pocket, and bolted for her car. The estate’s private road was nothing more than a dirt path winding through moorland, but her Land Rover was built for this kind of terrain. She shoved the drone controller onto the passenger seat and revved the engine, tires kicking up loose gravel as she sped toward the cliffs.
She had no idea what she was doing. She wasn’t a medic, wasn’t trained for emergencies. But what was she supposed to do? Leave him there?
She barely slammed the car into park before she leapt out of the car. The wind tore at her jacket as she stumbled down a narrow, rocky path, the damp grass slippery beneath her boots. She skidded down the incline, her boots slipping on the uneven ground as she reached the man.
The closer she got, the colder the air felt—except near him.
She skidded to a stop beside him, panting. She sucked in a breath. He was huge. Even bigger than he looked through the camera lens. Broad shoulders, powerful frame, but deathly still. His hair fell across his face, obscuring his features.
She dropped to her knees and reached out, hesitating only for a second before pressing her fingers to his throat. Heat. That was the first thing she noticed. His skin wasn’t just warm—it was almost burning.
But he was alive.
Barely. And he has one hell of a fever.
He stirred then, a low rumbling sound escaping his throat, like a growl more than a breath. His head turned slightly, eyelids flickering, but his eyes never fully opened.
Her first full view of his face made her breath hitch.
Even half-dead and covered in blood, he was extraordinarily attractive. Chiseled jawline, dark auburn lashes, long and thick. Tall, broad shoulders, muscles carved from stone. He had the physique of a warrior, clearly a man in his prime, although his hair was silvery white.
She hated herself for noticing.
Not the time, MacInnes.
His breathing was too shallow. Blood pooled beneath him. His skin burned hot, but the air around him was ice-cold. Her fingers hovered over his wounds. Too much blood.
She grabbed her phone. Called the emergency number.
Nothing. The screen stayed black.
She checked the signal. Zero bars. No service.
Her stomach twisted. She turned toward the road, held her phone in the air, trying to force a connection.
Nothing. The air felt wrong; thick, like something unseen was pressing down on her, dampening the world.
A low sound rumbled from his throat.
His fingers twitched. A sharp inhalation lifted his chest.
She leaned in. “Hey, can you hear me?”
His lips parted slightly, voice a rasp. “…king…”
Raven frowned. “King? What king?”
His fingers flexed against the dirt. “…no more time…”
A chill rippled down her spine.
The way he said it—like it wasn’t just an observation. Like it was a truth. A sentence.
“Okay, look,” she said, forcing calm into her voice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you need help. My phone isn’t working, so I’m taking you to a hospital.”
His eyelids flickered again. A faint crease appeared between his brows as if he didn’t like that idea. He seemed to be waking up, at least a little. That was a good sign, right?
She ignored his scowl. He was lying on the ground dying. He didn’t get a vote. She had wasted enough time already.
