“And Father?”
“Father will answer for what he's done to me. To us.” The cold certainty in my tone carries no anger, no grief, nothing but the focused clarity of a predator. “First I find my Chosen. Then I end Vezra. Then we discuss what happens to the male who raised us to be his slaves.”
Samai processes this, then he nods, a small motion that carries weight neither of us has words for.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Keep Father occupied. Make certain he doesn't interfere before I find Maeve.”
“You're asking me to move against our own house.”
“I’m asking you to choose its leadership.” The tunnel branches ahead, and I take the left path without hesitation, following the thread that binds me to my female. “The male who raised us, or the brother who would burn beside you if it came to that.”
The silence that follows holds everything we have never said to each other. Years of rivalry and resentment and the complicated love of males who share blood and nothing else. Samai watching me be what our father demanded while he carved his own path through rebellion and recklessness. Me warning him about attachment while I failed to recognize the chains wrapped around my own throat.
He inclines his head. “I'll handle Father.”
He disappears into the shadows, his footsteps fading in the direction that leads back toward the compound's upper levels. Brothers choosing each other over the male who made them. Another betrayal in a day already thick with them.
I do not watch him go. The pull in my blood demands all my attention and I race through the underground tunnels taking bend after bend. I would have no hope of finding her if not for our bond. Veth will be rewarded for his loyalty, as will Samai.
Her fear scent reaches me first. Sharp and bitter beneath the sweetness. Then the scent of Vezra, growing stronger. Every muscle locks as I round a bend.
She freezes when she sees me.
Her eyes widen, the scar on her throat stretching as her jaw goes slack, and I read the truth in her expression before she can attempt to hide it. She didn't expect me to be here. She expected no one.
“Lord Draven.”
The distance between us disappears before she can draw another breath. I wrap my hand around her throat and lift her from the stone floor, and the sound she makes holds terror I would have savored an hour ago. Now it registers only as confirmation that she understands what she has earned.
“Where is my Chosen?”
The words scrape through my teeth on a growl that vibrates through her body where my grip suspends her. Her hands claw at my wrist, her feet kicking at nothing, her face darkening as my fingers tighten around her airway.
She gasps the words through the pressure I am applying. “Locked away. Your… your father ordered it.”
As though knowing it would save her.
“Show me.” It's so cold down here my breath frosts in the air.
I open my fingers wide enough to allow her to draw a breath, but nothing more. She lifts a finger and points down the passage she came from and I drag her with me as I stalk toward my mate. She is not far but the sight that greets me hollows me from the centre out.
Maeve slumps against the bars. Bruises bloom across her temple and her arms, evidence of hands that had no right to touch her, and the sleep clothes that still cling to her body carry my scent beneath the fear and cold. Creviks huddle againstthe bars, six-legged bodies pressed against metal, keeping her warm. Creviks that have kept her warm and alive.
“Maeve.” Her name tears from my chest.
She is alive. She is here.
“Drazex.” She comes onto her knees, dirty fingers clutching the bars. “You found me.”
“I will always find you, my Chosen.”
“But you will never have her!” The gun appears in Vezra's hand, the barrel swinging not toward me but toward Maeve.
I do not hesitate. Do not negotiate. Do not calculate odds or consider consequences.
My claws close around her wrist and I wrench. Bone snaps. Tendons shred. Her hand separates from her arm in a wet tearing sound that echoes off stone, and the severed limb hits the ground with the gun still clutched in fingers that will never fire it. Blood sprays in an arc that paints the alcove wall, and the smell of it fills my lungs with betrayal made liquid.
