I loosen my hold and drop my hand. Brock doesn’t make any sign of discomfort despite the burned skin on his neck. I blink, realizing I’ve never hurt one of my warriors like this, never treated them as anything other than my brothers.
Suddenly exhausted, I sink into the nearest chair, my heart shattering as I replay Emma’s capture again and again in my mind. I, too, saw the bite. The sheer ferocity of it. Eraldon almost ripped her throat out, and I was powerless to stop him.
“Get the healer,” Brock orders. “He’s still losing blood.”
I glance down. The entire side of my tunic is crimson. I’d forgotten about the battle, the fierce dance of claws and teeth I’d engaged in with Eraldon before he struck his final blow and took the one thing that truly mattered to me.
Brock kneels at my side, his gaze on me. “My lord, I can’t say what it feels like to find your mate. I pray to the Ancestors that one day I do. But what I know is that your people need you now.”
His face is pale, and I realize he’s spent, worn out and shaking.
“The wind vortex. I saw it as Eraldon took her. You tried to save her, didn’t you.” It’s not a question. I’ve never doubted Brock before, and I can’t start now.
“I couldn’t.” His ashen face falls even more. “I wasn’t fast enough, and Eraldon’s power was—”
“Too great.” I lean back and force myself to relive the fight and the taking of my mate, to search for clues about his power and his intentions. “He said he drained Grimelda. That’s how he had such deep magic.”
“It’s true.” He sighs as the healer Caltinius rushes in. “She lives, but barely. She cannot speak or move, her body desiccated.”
“My lord.” Caltinius, my changeling healer, immediately kneels beside me, his hands ripping away the fabric along my torso so he can see the wounds. “What …” He grabs a cloth from his bag and wipes the blood away. “There’s venom here.”
“How?” Brock leans in.
“Eraldon’s claws. He must’ve coated them with his blood.” I blink and see spots.
“He shouldn’t still be bleeding, even with his magic drained.” Caltinius ministers to the wound. “It’s deep.”
I grunt as I feel the sting of some herb concoction. When I close my eyes, I see Emma. Her wide eyes, the blood at her throat as Eraldon’s fangs sank in. “I have to go. Now.” I try to rise, but my legs don’t support me.
“Solano!” Charen rushes forward and keeps me steady in my chair. “Just stay still. Let him heal you.”
I blink but can’t seem to open my eyes again. “I have to go to her. She’s my mate. My only one. The queen I’ve been waiting for.”
“Who’s he talking about?” Caltinius’s voice comes from such a long distance.
“Emma.”
“The changeling?” I don’t miss the awe in his tone. “She’s his queen?”
“Never mind that, just heal him,” Brock snaps.
“I’m trying. His magic is gone, the wound is filled with venom, and I need more …” He fades, just as everything else fades with him. “Fetch the bog witch … darker arts to heal …”
“Solano!” Brock is shouting, but I can’t see him, can barely hear him.
Then I’m alone. Except I’m not. She’s here. My Emma. The changeling who owns my heart and soul.
“I lost you.” I reach for her, but she moves away. I reach again but can’t quite grasp her.
“I’m here.” She smiles, her fangs protruding as she floats on her black wings. “Come find me.”
“Emma,” I call, but she disappears, her entire being dissolved before my eyes and leaving nothing but the inky night and me, on my knees, yelling for my stolen mate.
3
Emma
“Wake.” The command vibrates through my bones and forces my eyelids to open. Hard bands wrap around me, a stone wall pressed against my front.
