“Have you heard anything?” I ask finally.
“About what?” Caine asks.
“Micah…” I ask, and the room goes quiet.
“No,” Diego says. “His phone is off, location is disabled, and everything is wiped.”
“Of course it is,” I mutter. “Sneaky little bitch.”
Vaughn huffs a laugh, but it dies quickly. I set the plate down because I can’t force another bite. “We don’t know that,” Laurent says, and I turn to give him a deadpan expression. “Yeah, I fucking know.”
“Soren trusted him,” I say, the ache in my chest feeling like someone is twisting a knife. I curl deeper into the blanket and press my face into Soren’s shirt. I let myself breathe him in. Leather, smoke, blood. Something dark, clean, and painfully him.
A tremor moves through my body—not mine, his—and I suck in a breath as heat crawls up my spine. My thighs clench on instinct, and humiliation floods me a second later.
“No,” I whine to myself.
“What?” Vaughn asks, sitting up to face me.
“Nothing.”
“Talia…” he says gently.
“I said nothing!” I snap.
“You are absolutely not fine,” Diego says.
“Good fucking observation,” I say harshly. “I’m going to lie down.”
“You shouldn’t be alone,” Vaughn tells me carefully.
“No,” I say. “If I have to feel what they are doing to him, I need to be alone. I can’t sit here with you all staring at me.”
“He wouldn’t want you alone,” Caine offers, and he’s right.
“Yeah, well… He’s not here,” I say. My words land like a gunshot, and the room is silent again. I turn and climb the stairs before I can apologize.
The room smells like us. Like blood, sex, sleep, and every fragile little piece of peace we were stupid enough to build here. The bed is still messy, and his pillow is still dented from where he lay next to me. My dress from the picnic is draped carefully over the chair because he told me he liked it, so I want to take care of it. I walk to it and touch the soft fabric.
The stupid, beautiful dress.
The stupid, perfect date.
The stupid, incredible way he looked at me like I was more than the awful things that have happened to me.
A sob breaks out before I can stop it. I press my fist to my mouth and sink onto the edge of the bed. I can still see him falling. I can picture the way his head exploded.
No. He’s alive. I know he is, and that’s the cruelest part of all of this. If he were gone, maybe there would be silence. Maybe the bond would snap, and the pain I feel would be different. Maybe I would fall into whatever hollow place mates go with their other half is ripped away from them.
This? This is worse, because every few minutes, his body reminds mine that he is out there somewhere, hurting. Needing me. Somewhere I can’t reach yet.
Yet.
That is what is holding me together. I will find him. I will save him. I will bring him back to me.
I crawl into bed and pull his pillow against my chest. I press my face into it, breathing him in until my lungs ache.
“I’m coming for you,” I whisper. “I don’t know how yet, but I’m going to save you.” The bond pulses, and for a second, I swear I feel him. No pain or pleasure, but him. A faint, distant warmth brushes against the inside of my ribs. My eyes fly open, and I stare into the dark. “Soren?”
