“I’m fine.”
“Regina…”
“I said I’m fine. Promise.” She pulls out of his reach and walks toward the chains. Her steps are measured, like she’s approaching something that might still bite.
She stops in front of the chains and extends her hand, as if she’s still seeing the ghost of the creature she took pity on, and at such great cost.
I open my mouth to tell her we need to leave. That this was a mistake and whatever she’s hoping to find here, it’s not worth it.
Then Killian collapses.
It happens fast. One moment he’s standing beside me, the next he’s on his knees with both hands pressed to his skull, a sound tearing from his throat that’s half growl and half scream.
Regina spins around. “Killian!” She’s at his side in an instant, her hands on his shoulders, trying to see his face. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
I move closer, examining him with senses that extend far beyond the physical. The dark veins under his skin are pulsing. They’ve spread even farther since I caught a glimpse of him this morning.
“We need to leave,” I murmur. “Now.”
“What’s happening to him?” Regina’s voice is sharp with fear as she looks up at me, those verdant eyes pleading with me to do something.
“The werewolf that bit him was kept here.” I grab Killian’s arm and haul him to his feet. “Technically, it’s his sire. There may be some lingering resonance in this space, something the Council’s sweep missed because they weren’t looking for it.”
Killian’s eyes are squeezed shut. His teeth are clenched so hard I hear them grinding. But he’s on his feet. The fact that he hasn’t pushed me away is not a good sign for his current state.
“It’s triggering his condition,” I continue, pulling him toward the stairs. “The connection between sire and spawn is strong. Even in death.”
Regina grabs his other arm. Together, we half-drag, half-carry him up the narrow staircase.
The main floor is a relief. The oppressive weight of the basement lifts as we emerge into the foyer. Killian is breathing hard, sweat beading on his forehead, but he’s steadier now. The veins have stopped their rapid expansion.
Footsteps thunder from the east wing.
Sean appears first, skidding around a corner with his one good eye wide with alarm and a gaudy scarf around his neck that wasn’t there before. “What happened? We heard—” He stops when he sees Killian and yanks the scarf off, leaving it discarded on the floor. “Shit.”
Micah is right behind him, Rowan close on his heels.
“Is he okay?” Micah cries.
“I’m fine.” Killian’s voice sounds rough as he finally speaks. He pulls away from me and Regina, straightening to his full height but staggering a bit.
“You don’t look fine,” Rowan says carefully.
“I’m fuckingFINE.”
The words are a clipped growl. His jaw is tight, his hands clenched at his sides. A trickle of blood drips from his left fist.
His claws are growing faster. I noticed that the other day. He’s holding himself together through sheer force of will, but the monster is winning, inch by inch.
The pack converges, surrounding him, instinctively putting up a wall between their ailing leader and their mate.
But I notice what the others don’t.
Killian’s hand moves to his face. A quick, subtle motion. Wiping something away.
Blood. A thin trickle from his nostril.
He catches me watching and our eyes meet.
