He hesitates, clearly torn, then nods slowly. "We'll talk later. At dinner, perhaps?"
I don't answer. I can't.
He walks away, his footsteps echoing in the corridor, and I'm left standing there with his question ringing in my ears.
Mother would be ashamed. She would be heartbroken. She would look at me wearing Malakai's mark and see betrayal, not survival.
Wouldn't she?
Something inside me shatters. The brother who has been my constant support, my only real family, walking away because I have become something he cannot recognize. Something he cannot accept.
I want to run after him, to explain, to make him understand. But what would I say? That sometimes, when Malakai touches me, I forget to hate him? That in the darkness of night, wrapped in his shadows and his scent, I find a perverse freedom I have never known before? That when his fangs pierced my throat, I sang with such joy I couldn't stop myself from screaming his name? That the bond between us feels less like a prison and more like a revelation with each passing day?
The truth is too complicated, too shameful to articulate even to myself.
Rage and grief tangle inside me, a toxic blend that makes me want to scream, to break something, to hurt someone as badly as I'm hurting now.
I find myself moving blindly through the corridors, vision blurred with unshed tears, my body vibrating with emotions I can barely contain. I can feel Malakai's sudden alertness—he senses my distress—but I slam walls up against the connection, not wanting his comfort right now.
I pass a delicate vase—some priceless Shadow Court artifact—and before I can think, my hand lashes out, sending it crashing to the floor. The sound of shattering porcelain brings a moment of savage satisfaction that evaporates almost instantly. I don't stop. My feet carry me faster through the winding hallways of the palace, away from the observatory, away from Malakai and Isla, away from where Ivy's words still linger in the air like poison.
Everyone is against me—Malakai with his deliberate provocations and sudden withdrawal, Isla with her blatant seduction attempts, my brother with his self-righteous judgment. Even Ivy vanished when I needed her most.
My fist connects with the wall as I pass, the pain barely registering. Blood smears across the polished stone, but I keep moving, my breath coming in ragged gasps that border on sobs.
I have lost everything—my freedom, my mission, my brother, myself. For what? For nights of shameful pleasure? For the twisted satisfaction of being wanted by the monster who destroyed everything I loved? For a permanent mark on my throat that tells the world I'm his?
A tapestry depicting some Shadow Court victory tears beneath my fingernails as I grab it, pulling it from its moorings with desperate strength. The heavy fabric collapses around me like a shroud, and for a moment, I stand in the middle of the corridor, panting, surrounded by destruction of my own making.
What am I becoming?
Two palace guards round the corner, their expressions shifting from surprise to wariness when they see me amidst the chaos. I stare back, daring them to challenge me, almost hoping they will.
"Lady Seraphina," one begins uncertainly, hand hovering near his weapon.
"Stay away from me," I warn, my voice barely recognizable to my own ears.
They exchange glances, clearly weighing their duty against the risk of confronting the Shadow Lord's volatile, newly mated Omega. One whispers urgently to the other, "Should we inform the Shadow Lord? She's his mate—he'll sense her distress—" but his companion shakes his head, gesturing for them to back away. Wisdom prevails, and they retreat.
I continue my blind flight through the palace, each turn taking me deeper into rarely used corridors where the shadows grow thicker and servants are scarce. I am not paying attention to where I am going. I just need to move, to run, to escape the crushing weight of everything I have lost.
The sound of my ragged breathing echoes off stone walls, punctuated by the occasional sob I can no longer suppress. I am unraveling, coming apart at the seams, and there is no one left to help me put myself back together.
I sense Malakai's presence pushing against my walls, concerned and searching, but I keep him locked out, too raw and wounded to accept comfort from the source of so much pain.
I round a corner at full speed, too distracted to maintain my usual vigilance. Strong arms grab me from behind before I can react, one hand clamping over my mouth to stifle my startled cry.
Training kicks in instantly. I drive my elbow back, aiming for my attacker's solar plexus, but they anticipate the move, twisting to avoid the worst of the impact. I prepare to stomp on their instep next, but before I can, a cloth presses against my face, its sickly sweet scent filling my lungs.
Drugged. The realization hits me as my limbs grow heavy, my reactions slowing despite my desperate struggle to break free. I try to summon my light magic, to burn whoever is holding me, but the drug works faster than my concentration.
My last conscious thought is of Malakai—that he will feel my distress through our completed bond, that he will come for me, that the mating mark will lead him to his Omega.
Then, darkness.
CHAPTER 24
THE MISSING PIECE
