No scent of skin or soap or the soft human sweetness that has begun to haunt my lungs.
The bond snaps tight.
Agony detonates in my chest.
“No,” I snarl, power surging without permission. “No.”
Fury rises, fast and total. Not controlled. Not measured.
The zareth grips me like a vise.
The word alone crashes through me with brutal certainty.
This is it.
This is what Alaric warned of.
What the scrolls whispered about in cautious, blood-stained margins.
This is no trick of the Fates.
This is real.
My head tips back and I bellow—a sound ripped from the center of my being, shaking stone and sky alike.
Flame erupts from my skin, the mask slamming into place as my body answers instinct over reason.
Bone. Fire. Rage.
Mine is gone.
Then—I catch it.
Her scent.
Sharp. Clean. Wet.
Kael.
She is in Kael’s tent.
I do not think.
I move.
The world blurs as I tear through to his tent, bursting through wards and canvas and stone alike. I roar as I strike, claws slashing, fire flaring as Kael throws himself back with a curse, water exploding between us.
Half my mind knows this is wrong.
The other half knows only one truth.
She was not where I left her.
And then—she is there.
Standing at the edge of the pool, soaked and incandescent in white, hair slicked to her skin, eyes blazing not with fear—but fury.
And something else.
