But before anything could be done, there was a pounding at the door—soldiers, their voices barking orders from the other side. The door burst open, and Magnolia’s cry of protest went unheard. The guards rushed forward, their eyes wideningas they took in Sin’s form—mutilated, broken, but undeniably powerful.
They shackled her with enchanted restraints, their hands steady despite their fear she could scent seeping from their pores. The chains, designed to suppress her magic, clinked as they led her out, her magic roaring in protest. With her head held low, her body was a mass of pain but her heart—her heart was filled with something dark and fierce.
The teleportation was disorienting, the world around her shifting in a blur of colors and cold wind. Not nearly as smooth as when Max did it.
When they arrived, the towering doors of the throne room loomed before her, their surface carved with the symbols of the royal family. The guards hesitated, exchanging glances, fear etched in their eyes.
Sin knew what awaited her. Execution. Witches who killed were given no mercy—no trial, no hope of redemption. It didn’t matter who she was, who she was supposed to be to the prince. She was a killer now, and there was no escaping that truth.
The massive doors began to creak open, and Sin clenched her fists, her burned skin pulling painfully. She lifted her head, her eye—the one that remained—filled with a defiance that hadn’t been there before.
If this was the end, she would face it on her own terms.
Max
Pain seared through Max’s chest like a twisting knife. He bolted upright, gasping.
Max’s vision split in and out of focus, the room warping under the pulsating shadows. His scream caught in his throat, the pain binding him from the inside. He clutched his chest, fighting for breath. His heart pounded erratically, as if trying to escape his ribcage. Sweat dripped down his face, soaking his sheets, while his eyes darted around the room in desperation, not understanding what could be wrong.
A quick look over, and he noticed he was alone. The moonlight cast shadows on the empty side of the bed, the crumpled sheets cold. Sin was no longer in his room, where he told her not to leave.
Terror shot through him—his father might have her. Memories of his father’s cruelty flashed through his mind. He knew the girls constantly going missing were because of him, and the thought of Sin enduring that same torment made his stomach twist, and fear clawed at his chest. Someone could’ve sent word back to him that Max was different with this one—wouldn’t even fuck her in front of everyone, but kept her hidden in his room like a dragon with his treasure.
It took half a thought before the world around him blurred, shadows twisting and swirling, before reforming into the dark, cold dungeons. Max barely registered the chill of the stone wallsas he frantically looked for her in each of the cells. He peered into each cell, his breath ragged. Empty. All empty.
She wasn’t there.
A rush of terror shot through him, terror that wasn’t his own, and it nearly took him to his knees. Focusing on that pain, he followed its source, trying to identify it until he felt the bond, flaring with pain.
Max took a deep breath and focused on that bond, following it until he could be where she was. When his eyes opened, he gasped in shock to see he was standing inside a strange manor.
The air was cold, a gust of wind howling through the cracks in the old walls, making the wood creak under the pressure. The entire place reeked of desolation, the silence only broken by the occasional rustle of aged fabric or the groan of ancient beams. It felt as though something horrible had occurred, the ugly sensation filling the air. Not a sound to be heard, as if abandoned. Focusing his hearing, there was one heartbeat.
He followed it until he found a servant girl, hiding in an alcove.
The girl flinched, her eyes darting between him and the darkness beyond, as if expecting something awful to emerge. Her hands shook violently, and her voice broke, barely more than a terrified whisper. She didn’t notice him enter until he purposefully made his next steps audible.
She gasped, and he held his hands up as if she were an injured animal.
“What happened?” he demanded.
“A monster,” she breathed. “It came out of the cell, killed the masters, and then ran away.”
“Where did it go?” He barely held back his rage.
She shook her head. “Into the forest I assume. I have no idea.”
He nodded and followed the stench of blood. Dreading finding it, to find the news that might ruin his life. His soul.
He hardly knew this woman, but she was his mate. He could feel the weight of the bond, a pull that transcended logic, like a fire in his chest that burned for her alone. A flash of their first touch—an electric jolt that shook him to his core—reminded him just how deeply she was already etched into his soul.
She was his destined partner, a gift from the gods, created as his perfect counterpart.
Following that scent, he came face to face with a large cracked door, leading to a cellar.
He slowly pushed the door open. The scent of burning flesh and copper overwhelmed him. His face twisted in disgust. The door creaked loudly, making him step back involuntarily. The cellar was like a nightmare. The walls were covered in thick streaks of congealed blood. Entrails were scattered, steaming and glistening. Broken bones jutted from the piles like grotesque monuments. Steam rose from the stone floor, adding to his confusion.
A tugging pain coursed through him again, fainter, less frantic. Relief coursed through him that she was alive, but he had no time to waste.
