Chapter 6 #2
Then a broken sound came from the bed—a harsh, fevered cry that snapped his attention back toward the transition.
He pushed away from Leena with a curse.
“Stay in that chair. If anything happens—anything—you call for Mary.”
“I will.”
Rhen pointed once toward her, a clear warning.
Then he stormed from the room, the door thudding behind him.
The tether dragged him toward the woman in the bed while clan law bound him to the one carrying the heir.
He resented both demands.
* * *
Minutes later, Rhen returned to the guest suite with rain dampening his coat and the herbs clenched in one fist.
The moment he stepped inside, the heat struck him—thick, oppressive, soaked in blood and sweat, edged with the sharp sting of fear.
Her scent had changed.
It curled around him like smoke, raw and unfiltered, making something predatory inside him snarl.
The woman writhed beneath the sheets, limbs tangled in the fabric, her moans hoarse and broken. Each sound tightened the tether by another fraction. He felt the pain in his bones now—her fear, her fever, her body fighting to survive the transition.
His eyes cut to Leena.
She sat at the edge of the bed, one hand beneath her belly and the other pressing a cool cloth to the woman’s forehead. Her expression remained steady despite the heat.
Her gaze moved to the herbs in his hand.
“You found them.”
“She’s burning.”
“I know. The fever is peaking. This is the worst of it.”
Rhen crossed to the washstand several feet from the bed and dropped the herbs beside the basin.
Leena held out a shallow stone bowl.
“Crush the valerian and lavender into this. I’ll steep them and use the infusion to cool the spasms.”
He took the bowl and began grinding the root and leaves with brutal, methodical precision.
Her scent continued to pull at his instincts. His fangs pressed against his gums beneath the pressure.
It was not simply blood.
It was hers, threaded with fever and terror, made impossible to ignore by the tether between them.
The room felt too small.
The air too thick.
Every breath became a battle against the instinct to reinforce the tether, bite her again, and flood her with enough blood to drown out everything except him.
The stone bowl creaked beneath his grip.
Leena’s question cut cleanly through the pressure.
“Rhen, do you need to feed?”
He did not look at her.
“How is that supposed to help her?”
“It won’t help her. It will help you.”
Giving enough blood to begin the transition had depleted him, and the tether continued drawing on what remained. The hunger cutting through him was no longer ordinary appetite.
He forced a measured breath through his nose.
“How long will this last?”
“Until the transition settles.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It is the only one I have.”
Leena watched the woman’s pulse flutter at her throat.
“She’ll make it through.”
Rhen accepted the assessment without answering, unwilling to examine why the possibility of failure made the tether constrict.
Leena took the crushed herbs and poured heated water over them. Once the infusion had steeped, she cooled the cloth within it and pressed it against the woman’s forehead and wrists.
Rhen remained at the washstand.
He did not move closer.
Gradually, the woman’s convulsions eased. Her breathing remained shallow and labored, but the fever dipped enough to register through the tether.
Not enough to trust.
Leena placed the cloth back into the bowl.
“You need blood.”
“I heard you the first time.”
“You ignored me the first time.”
Rhen’s mouth curled.
“Careful, Queen.”
“I’m always careful.”
She stepped away, giving him room without comment.
Rhen’s gaze remained fixed on the bed.
Leena moved toward the door, slowly but steadily.
“I’ll return.”
“Don’t.”
She glanced back at him.
“You need blood, and I know precisely where the bags are kept.”
“Send Mary.”
“Mary is following Sule’s orders and guarding the hallway.”
Rhen’s expression darkened.
Leena opened the door.
“I’ll be back before you have time to become even more unpleasant.”
The door closed quietly behind her, leaving Rhen alone with the heat, the tether, and the unconscious woman whose survival had become an obligation written into his blood.
* * *
In the kitchen, Cole sat angled protectively around the fresh stitches across his abdomen, tossing a rubber ball against the wall in a slow, mindless rhythm.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
The sound cracked through the silence like a metronome for violence.
Across the room, Malakai sat at the scarred wooden table, methodically dragging a curved blade across a whetstone. The rasp of metal against stone carried the same persistent edge as the scent of blood still lingering in the halls.
Dax stood near the secured blood cabinet built into the pantry wall, arms folded across his chest.
The room fell still when Leena entered.
Three predators turned toward her at once.
Cole caught the ball and lowered his hand. Malakai’s blade stilled against the stone. Dax pushed away from the wall.
Their attention sharpened as they took in her pale face, the faint sheen of sweat at her brow, and the hand resting beneath her belly.
Her presence had always commanded something deeper than obedience.
Respect.
Deference.
An unspoken law older than any crown.
Dax’s ice-blue eyes softened by a fraction.
“Leena.”
She gave him a reassuring smile.
“Everything is fine.”
Her voice carried the faintest tremor.
Dax heard it.
Cole saw the stiffness in her posture.
Malakai watched the measured rise and fall of her breathing, his silver eyes missing nothing.
None of them believed her.
Leena moved farther into the kitchen, every step composed despite the pressure lingering beneath her abdomen.
“I need a blood bag for Rhen. He gave too much during the transition, and the tether is draining what remains.”
Dax opened the temperature-controlled cabinet and removed a warmed donor bag.
“Here.”
Leena reached for it.
The instant her fingers touched the plastic, a sharp, searing pain tore across her abdomen.
She gasped.
Her hand flew to her belly as her breath locked in her lungs. The pain came deeper and harder than anything she had felt before.
Not pressure.
A contraction.