Page 69 of Hero of Havoc

I gnaw at my bottom lip. “It wasn’t here, but it felt like this,” I offer, and he exhales wearily.

“Will they know we’re here?” he asks, eliminating the short distance between us, and I shake my head.

“They didn’t last time,” I offer as he reaches for my hand.

“Okay. Let’s find what you’re supposed to see and get the hell out of here,” he mumbles, tugging me into his side, and I release a shaky breath.

Hand in hand, we follow the damp cobbled corridor, veering to the right as it leads us closer to the sound of water. Nausea churns in my stomach, but this time I’m not alone, and I try to take courage and strength from my hated mate beside me.

A sudden crack makes me flinch, my breath lodged in my throat as I freeze.

“What was that?” I croak, and Archer’s hand tightens around mine as he scrubs at his jaw.

“It sounded like the snap of leather,” he states, and my veins turn to ice.

“A whip?” I clarify, and he nods, widening my eyes as fear tears up my spine.

Despite the terror thrumming through me, I force myself to put one foot in front of the other until we round the corner to the left and I’m halted in my tracks once again.

I watch with my own eyes as the whip lashes through the air, the slap of it hitting its target, only to enhance the sound as it ricochets off the chamber walls. I feel the lashing as if it were against my own skin, and horror burns through me.

“Ivy, is that⁠—”

“My mother,” I breathe, completing his sentence as I gape at the naked woman hanging from the ceiling, chains tight around her wrists.

It’s instinct that makes me take a step forward, the ache in my chest blossoming as I forget every terrible thing she’s said or done to me. Archer tightens his grasp on my hand, remaining at my side. The second I turn to glower at him, I’m instantly reminded that this is a vision. It’s not real.

Not now, at least.

My gaze returns to the focal point of the room: my mother, but it’s too much for my heart to bear. Which is odd as hell since I watched my father die, unfazed and somewhat relieved. Maybe that’s because he killed me first, and my mother hasn’t gone to that extreme… yet.

Looking past her, I take in the room. Metal bars fill a small window in the distance, while the rest of the space is enclosed by the same damp walls. A burst pipe dangles in the far left corner, droplets of water falling in rhythm; the source of the damn dripping.

A thud from behind us spins my attention, my spine stiffening as footsteps approach, and despair cuts through me as my father steps into the room. My hold on Archer’s hand grows tighter as fear zaps through me.

My father’s stride is calculated and sure as he comes to a stop in front of my mother, wearing a charcoal gray suit, tailored to perfection.

“Sapphira.” Her name falls from his lips like a command, but she barely sways her head to glance at him.

“Reginald,” she breathes in response, defeat clinging to her, and my father exhales.

“Are you ready to commit?” he asks, and she grimaces, her chin dipping back to her chest.

“Go,” she rasps, but my father ignores her request and takes a step toward her instead.

“Sapphira, do you really want your life to continue like this?” he goads, frustration lighting his words.

“I’m imprisoned either way,” she mumbles, and my eyebrows furrow.

“It doesn’t have to be like this. It could be beautiful.”

“There is nothing beautiful in being your slave, Reginald,” she retorts with the little strength she has, and my father’s hands curl into fists at his sides.

“You could walk at my side, Sapphira. We could make a beautiful life, one to share, a family, together.”

If he’s trying to appeal to her desires, he’s doing a poor job. Her nose crinkles, and my heart sinks. At least she’s always lacked the desire for children, and it wasn’t just because of me.

“If you’re trying to sell me on your diabolical plan, you’re going about it the wrong way,” she hisses, speaking my thoughts as my father eliminates the remaining distance between them.