The portal crackled behind us. A familiar energy pattern, building toward activation.
My jaws opened wider around Annora’s throat. The woman who’d tried to murder Mira and my children would stop breathing and the world would be better for it.
“Lucian.”
The voice cut through the red. Through the rage, a register I hadn’t heard in a while.
The one that had shaped me before the crown did.
My teeth froze against Annora’s pulse.
I turned.
Two figures stood in the portal’s light.
The former King Altun and Queen Rheda.
My parents.
Father’s gaze moved from my wolf to the woman bleeding beneath my jaws, to Solomon’s hand around Giselle’s throat, to Percival’s snarl vibrating through the clearing.
I shifted back. Stood bloodied and bare with my fists clenched and my mate unconscious half a mile south because the woman at my feet had tried to kill our children.
My mother surveyed the scene. All of it. Her expression missed nothing and revealed less.
“Well,” Queen Rheda said. “It seems we’ve arrived at an interesting moment.”
67
— • —
Mira
The voices came first.
Distant, muffled, layered over each other in a way that made no sense. Shouting. Commands. The bond pulsing chaotically through the darkness, three channels pouring into me with a desperation that felt physical.
I thought I was dreaming. The compound, maybe. Elaine’s medical bay, the fluorescent lights, the cold table.
But the warmth was real. A hand on my face. Another on my stomach. A third wrapped around my fingers, squeezing.
My eyes opened.
Three faces.
Percival directly above me, close enough that I could count the freckles across his nose, his eyes red-rimmed. Solomon to my left, his hand on my stomach, silver eyes scanning me with terror. Lucian behind them both, one hand on my hair, his expression the particular kind of controlled that meant everything underneath had been detonated and reassembled.
“Mira, you’re finally awake,” Percy breathed. His voice cracked. “Thank the Moon Goddess.”
“The babies,” I said. The words came out rough.
“Stable.” Farmon appeared at my side, pressing a damp cloth to my forehead. “The counteragent neutralized the compound. Their heartbeats are steady. All three.”
My hands found Solomon’s on my stomach. Three pulses beneath our palms, faint but consistent, pushing with the stubborn persistence of lives that refused to end before they’d started.
Still here. Still fighting.
“Nighthollow extract,” Farmon continued. His jaw was tight. “Designed to sever the bond-dependent connection between mother and children. If you’d consumed the full cup...”
