A prickle of unease slides down my spine. The way they move—silent, focused—it doesn’t feel casual. It feels like something isoff.
‘Is everything alright?’
Nymeria’s head turns my way, her golden eyes glowing. ‘There was someone unfamiliar here.’
Goosebumps scatter across my arms, and my scalp tightens with awareness. ‘Can you tell what they were doing?’
Anika trots over and nudges my hand, and I reach up, stroking her soft fur. ‘No, but we can’t sense any danger. We will keep watch.’
I frown. These chambers are heavily warded. Maybe it was a new maid?
The wolves pad over to the daybed by the balcony doors, curling up together and resting their heads on their paws, keeping watch over the room.
I slip into the bathroom, the cool tiles greeting my bare feet, and shut the door behind me with a heavy sigh. Reaching for the taps, I turn them slowly, the warm water begins to flow in a steady stream. It splashes against the porcelain with a rhythmic patter, swirling and rising steadily. I uncork the small bottle of lavender soap from the shelf. As the water deepens, I pour a generous amount into the bath. The soap clouds and blooms like ink in water before soft white bubbles begin to form, gathering at the surface and clinging to the edges of the tub. I peel away Kian’s jacket and my nightdress, letting them fall to the cool tile floor without care. The air kisses my skin, cool against the warmth rising from the bath. A breath escapes me—slow, steady—beforeI place one foot in, then the other, easing myself into the waiting heat.
The water welcomes me, curling around my legs and back as I lower myself deeper, until it cradles me fully. The heat seeps into my muscles, loosening the knots of tension, but my jaw and gums still ache, a dull, throbbing reminder of the stress I can't seem to shake. I clench my teeth, then force myself to relax, sinking deeper into the bath. The ache subsides slightly, soothed by the warmth, though a part of me knows the discomfort is rooted in something far deeper than fatigue—a gnawing worry that no amount of rest can chase away.
I close my eyes, letting the warmth cradle me, trying to wash away the weight that’s settled so heavily on my chest. The quiet hum of the early morning settles around me, its gentle rhythm offering a fleeting sense of calm. The soft murmurs of my friends nearby should be enough to ground me, their presence a reminder that I’m not alone. But even their comforting voices can’t fill the gaping void left by Maxon’s absence. It’s like an ache buried deep, festering, consuming. Every second he’s gone is another thread unraveling from whatever fragile control I have left. I can feel it building, this wild, feral need to act. To tear through every obstacle in my path, to reduce everything standing between us to ashes. If I don’t keep a lid on these emotions, I might just snap. It terrifies me—this rage, this desperation—but it also fuels me. A quiet, trembling part of me knows I’ve never been this close to the edge before. Not even during my time in foster care, when my life was a cycle of abandonment, uncertainty and cruelty, did I feel so out of control. Back then, I had mastered the art of invisibility. I was a wallflower, blending into the background, doing everything I could to avoid drawing attention to myself.Survival meant silence. It meant shrinking away from the world, pretending not to feel anything at all.
But now? Now, I want the world to notice. I want everyone to understand the lengths to which I will go. I want them to see just how far I’m willing to go to bring my mate home. The thought of Maxon out there, in the hands of the Shadoweaver, makes my blood run hot. He’s my anchor, my safe place, and I refuse to let him be taken from me.
I know the others can see it, the fracture lines splintering beneath the surface of my carefully crafted exterior. I take a deep breath, trying to focus on the gentle hum of the morning again, but it’s no use. Every beat of my heart feels like a countdown, urging me to move, to act, to fight.
For Maxon, I’d burn the whole world down. And right now, I just might.
I storm out of the bathroom, in a worse mood than when I went in. My hands shake as I rip open the wardrobe, the hinges creaking in protest. Behind me, I hear the shuffle of movement—Mia and Scarlett sitting up in bed. Their groggy murmurs barely register over the roar in my head.
“What are you doing?” Scarlett groans, her voice heavy with sleep.
I don’t answer, too consumed by the storm raging inside me. My fingers fumble as I pull on my underwear and reach for the tight pants I had made to go under my dresses. My movementsare harsh, hurried, like I’m trying to outrun the ache that's steadily building.
“I need to train,” I bite out, strapping my daggers to my thighs with practiced precision.
“But you’ve barely had any rest,” Mia argues, her tone laced with concern.
I ignore her, grabbing the wrap-around dress and yanking it into place. The fabric clings to me as I tighten the belt around my waist, the high slit in the front giving me the freedom to move the way I need to. My hands are steady now, the methodical process of dressing, a brief reprieve from the chaos in my mind. With a swift motion, I slide my feet into my boots and tighten the laces.
Then I see it—the long sword. It rests where I left it; on the small table, its blade glinting faintly in the dim light. I pick it up, my fingers running over the hilt, tracing the intricate carvings I’ve come to know so well. It’s Maxon’s. The pang hits me in the chest like a blow, and for a moment, I can’t breathe.
God, I miss him.
Tears prick the corners of my eyes, and I blink them away quickly, refusing to let them fall.
“You need rest, E,” Mia urges gently, her voice closer now. She’s standing, her worry palpable as she watches me.
I snap, the words spilling out before I can stop them, “No, I need my mate.” My voice cracks, raw with emotion, and the room falls silent.
For a long moment, I can’t meet their eyes. The vulnerability is too much, too exposed. Instead, I grip the sword tighter and walk toward the door.
“I’ll be in the arena,” I say over my shoulder and slip out the door.
Chapterthirty-two
Everly
I’ve been out here since the first light of dawn, the sun climbing lazily over the horizon, painting the training grounds in soft golds and pinks. The air is cool and crisp, but sweat clings to my skin, dripping down my back as I move. Senka and Lutin linger on the sidelines, their shadows a quiet presence. I think they understand I need this space, this solitude. Neither of them say a word, simply standing watch as I throw myself into my drills, my dagger slicing through the air in precise arcs.
The straw dummy bears the brunt of my frustrations, its tattered surface already scarred from repeated strikes. I focus on the techniques Kian and Tristan have drilled into me: perfect form, calculated strikes, speed over brute strength. My body moves on autopilot, each movement a desperate attempt to quiet the restless thoughts swirling in my mind.
