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Apparently, their mind-link has limitations.

Soren had to explain it to me on the way back when I kept asking him to ask his Pack what was happening. He said the closer you were to someone—Bonded Pack, family, Mates, etc.—the easier it was to speak. You could be miles away and carry on conversations. But if you weren’t Bonded to them, or didn’t share blood, shit got difficult. There was a range, and sometimes he could only send a few words or impressions to his Pack members and warriors.

Still handy as fuck, though. Would have been Fatesdamned amazing when Varenthrall destroyed my comms during the ambush.

By the time we get to the War Room, I’m so ready to fight that I slam the doors open and stalk in, ignoring the way everyone’s eyes snap up at the sound of the doors crashing into the stone walls on either side.

Soren shoulders up beside me, giving me a pointed look when he notices I’m shaking with rage and pent-up aggression. All I want to do is get my hands on Varenthrall and ruin him for all the pain he put my Omega through. I’ve never been someone who enjoys physical torture, but for this asshole? I’m happy to make an exception.

My gaze bounces around the room, hands curling into fists at my sides as a snarl vibrates through my chest and three sets of eyes take me in with varying levels of shock and concern.

When I speak, my voice sounds half-animal, the demand cracking through the room like a gunshot and making Vae flinch.

“Where the fuck is he?”

Chapter 36

Caelan

The silence that answers is fucking deafening. I can hear my pulse pounding in my ears as my blood races through my body, spurred by adrenaline.

I half-expected to walk in and find Varenthrall trussed up like a pig ready for slaughter on top of the table, so when I really take in the fact that only my Pack and Gav are in the room, part of me deflates.

A deep inhale makes me wrinkle my nose in disgust as the scent of copper and decay hits me. The next breath is so disgusting I almost gag, and my gaze finally homes in on what actually is sitting on the table—a cardboard box.

It’s taped up, but blood has soaked through the bottom and up the sides. The shock of seeing something so out of place in this room steals the rest of my fire. The overwhelming scent is so foul I raise my hand to cover my nose, but even breathing through my mouth doesn’t help.

It’s not like I’ve never smelled a dead body, but a decayed dead body is a very different experience. Even centuries of experience aren’t enough to get used to the scent.

“He’s downstairs in the cells,” Gav announces, and when I realize he’s responding to me, I forget all about the dead thing in the box.

“You locked him up?” I ask, stalking in and taking a chair next to Soren, not bothering to spare Dax and Vae a glance, let alone a greeting.

The betrayal’s still too damn fresh, and it’s better for everyone if I ignore them until I can figure out how we’re going to handle them. I still want to find a way to break our Bond, but Soren’s right—we need to find out how it might affect Idril.

Either way, I’ve had Idril occupy my thoughts every waking moment since I woke up, and I’ve gladly fixated on her rather than face the agony of my Pack’s actions. Now, though, I’m forced to do exactly that, and I’m finding my anger has turned into a bonfire of rage.

“Yes,” Dax replies with a smirk. “He showed up at the Gates half-dead. Claimed to not be aligned with Varenthrall anymore. Begged us for sanctuary.”

When his words penetrate, I swear to the Fates I hear a record scratching explosion through my skull. What the hell does he mean ‘not with Varenthrall anymore’?

Something in me snaps, and before I know it, I shoot to my feet, slamming my fist on the table before planting my palms on it and leaning over the wood. My fangs lengthen and something bright flashes in front of my eyes.

“Who exactly do you have in the cells if it’s not Varenthrall?”

The rage I feel toward both my brothers is always there, always simmering in the background. I can feel it heating up now, turning into something explosive. Logically, I know it’s not their fault Varenthrall isn’t here, and if I weren’t so fucking exhausted, on edge, and Fatesdamned hurt, maybe I wouldn’t have set my heart on him being here to begin with. But I am, and I did, and now that I know he’s still out there, the idea feels fucking unbearable.

“Why in the Fates would you think we had Varenthrall?” Gav asks, looking at me like I've finally cracked, which only pisses me off more.

I throw out my hands in disbelief. “Who the hell else would you have? Who the hell else would show up here having anything to do with Idril?”

“It’s Albertson. The doctor.” Daxen answers, and this time, his tone is raw. There’s something in his voice as well… something that latches onto my instincts and stops my meltdown in its tracks.

I look at him—really look at him—and nearly recoil.

The last time I saw him was last night when he got back, and I know for a fact he didn’t look this bad then. His eyes are bloodshot, there’s still dirt caked under his nails, and his beard is scruffy like he hasn’t shaved in days.

He looks as tired as I feel. But on top of that, he looks… Lost.