Chapter 16 #2
I can only watch. Can only stand there while he touches her, while he does whatever it is he’s doing. My body won’t move. Won’t respond.
The silence stretches. One second. Two. Five. Ten.
Zane’s face is perfectly still. His breathing is slow and measured.
Then, his eyes snap open.
They’re gleaming. Triumphant. Hungry.
“So, it’s true.” His voice is soft, almost a whisper, but it fills the entire room. There’s awe in it, and greed, and something darker that makes my stomach churn. “She is with child.”
The words hit me even through the fog, even through the numbness.
No. Leave Astra alone.
“The master will love this.” Zane stands slowly, still looking down at Astra like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen.
“A royal bloodline. An heir with the blood of alphas running through its veins. And you—” He finally looks at me, that terrible smile widening.
“You delivered her right to us. Our perfect little weapon.”
Weapon? Of course.
That’s what I am. That’s all I am. A tool. A puppet with someone else pulling the strings.
The panic intensifies. That foreign panic, the one that doesn’t belong to me, screams through my consciousness like a siren. It’s desperate, terrified, clawing at the inside of my skull.
And beneath it, finally, my wolf surges forward.
Not enough to break free. Not nearly enough to take back control. The chains holding us are too strong, too absolute.
But enough to make herself known. Enough to fight.
Her snarl echoes through my mind, weak but defiant. She throws herself against our prison again and again, refusing to give up even though we both know it’s futile.
Inside my own body, trapped behind my own eyes, I scream with her.
But no sound comes out.
Zane walks to a side table where a crystal decanter sits like a trophy. He pours himself a glass of wine, the dark liquid catching the light like blood. His movements are slow, deliberate. Like he has all the time in the world.
He takes a sip. Savors it. Then, he turns to look at me.
“You know, it’s a pity.” His voice is conversational, almost pleasant. “That you decided to be so difficult. We could have done this the easy way. I could have courted you properly. Made you fall for me like any normal woman would.”
My body stands motionless. A statue. But inside, I’m screaming.
“But no.” He drains the glass in one long swallow. “You had to fight. Had to resist. Had to make everything so unnecessarily complicated.”
He hurls the glass against the wall.
It shatters. Shards explode across the floor, glittering like deadly stars.
Zane crouches to pick up one of the larger pieces. It’s shaped like a blade, wickedly sharp, with edges that shine in the lamplight. He examines it thoughtfully, turning it this way and that.
Then, he walks toward me.
Every instinct I have screams at me to run. To fight. To do something. But my body won’t move. Won’t respond. I’m frozen, trapped, helpless.
He stops directly in front of me. Close enough that I can smell the wine on his breath, see the cold fury in his eyes.
“You humiliated me, Selene.” His voice drops, low and dangerous now. “Made me look weak in front of my master. Made me grovel and beg for another chance.”
He raises the shard of glass.
“I had to woo you.” The words drip with contempt. “Pretend you mattered. Pretend I gave a damn about what you thought or felt or wanted. Do you have any idea how pathetic that was?”
The glass slices across my cheek.
Pain.
White-hot. Immediate. Real.
It cuts through the fog like lightning through clouds. The numbness cracks—just a hairline fracture, but it’s there. It’s real.
Blood runs down my face, warm and wet. The sting is sharp, grounding, pulling me back into my body, inch by inch.
My wolf snarls.
Not a distant whisper this time. Not a weak echo. A real, furious, defiant snarl that reverberates through every cell of my being.
Fight! she roars. Fight, Selene! Now! While the chains are weakening!
I reach for her. Claw toward that presence with everything I have. It’s like trying to swim through cement, but the pain gives me something to hold on to. An anchor. A lifeline.
“All that effort,” Zane continues, pacing now, the glass shard still in his hand. Blood—my blood—drips from its edge. “Playing the gentleman. Bringing you flowers. Smiling like I actually enjoyed your company. It made me sick.”
Another crack in the fog. I can feel my fingers now. Just barely. A tingling sensation, like feeling returning to a limb that was asleep.
“But my master has been working so hard to get you back under control.” Zane stops pacing, turning to face me again. “And look at you now. Perfect. Obedient. Exactly what we need you to be.”
My wolf pushes harder. I push with her. Together, we strain against the invisible chains. Pulling once. Twice. Again and again.
Something gives. Just a fraction. Just enough.
I feel it then. Sudden and overwhelming.
The mate bond.
It engulfs me like a tidal wave. Seth’s presence floods our connection—his fear, his fury, his desperate, frantic determination. He’s moving. Running. Coming for me.
And he’s close.
The realization jolts through me with another surge of adrenaline. The fog recedes further. I can feel my toes now. My legs. The rapid hammering of my own heart.
Keep fighting, my wolf urges. We’re almost there!
“You’re going to help us now,” Zane says, moving toward Astra’s prone form. She’s still on the ground, still motionless. Still unconscious. “You’re going to be our weapon. Our perfect tool. And when the time comes—”
I move. It’s my decision this time. Mine. Not whatever force was controlling me.
My hand shoots out, grabbing Zane’s wrist before he can reach Astra. My fingers dig into his skin hard enough to bruise.
His eyes widen. “What—”
“Get. Away. From. Her.” The words tear from my throat, rough and raw. My voice. My control.
Zane jerks back, genuine shock crossing his face. “How are you—”
I don’t let him finish. I twist his arm hard, forcing him to drop the glass shard. It clatters to the floor.
Then, I push.
He stumbles backward, off-balance, crashing into the side table. The decanter tips, falls, shatters. Wine spills across the floor like so much blood.
“You bitch!” Zane’s composure cracks completely. His face contorts with rage. “How did you break free?”
I don’t answer. Can’t waste the breath. I’m still fighting for every second of control, still pushing against the chains trying to drag me back under.
The mate bond burns brighter. Seth is so near now. I can almost feel him, almost smell him.
Hold on, I think desperately. Just hold on a little longer.
Zane lunges at me. Fast. Faster than anyone should be able to move.
But somehow, I’m faster.
I sidestep, my body finally responding the way it is supposed to. My claws extend—this time because I called them—and I slash across his chest.
He roars, stumbling back again.
“You’re going to regret this,” he snarls. “My master will make you suffer. He’ll make you beg for death.”
“Let him try.”
The words come out stronger than I feel. Because the truth is, I’m terrified. The chains are still there, still pulling at me. I don’t know how long I can hold them off.
But I’ll die fighting before I let them take me again.
As Zane inspects his wound, I see Astra move.
Just slightly. Just enough. Her eyes flutter open, meeting mine for the briefest moment.
She’s awake. She’s aware.
And she’s ready.
I don’t see the movement coming until it’s already happening.
Astra launches herself at Zane with a feral scream, her hands reaching for his throat. I follow, my claws extended, aiming for his face.
My claws connect. Sink into flesh.
But something’s wrong.
The resistance isn’t right. It’s too soft, too yielding. Like pressing into rotten fruit. My claws catch on something, and when I pull back, chunks of skin come with them.
Gray, decomposing flesh.
The smell hits me then—putrid, overwhelming, making my stomach heave.
I scream. Can’t help it. Can’t stop it. The sound erupts from my throat as I stumble backward, staring at the decaying tissue clinging to my claws.
“What the fuck?” Astra gasps, backing away. Her face is pale, her eyes wide with horror. “What is that? His flesh—it’s rotting!”
Zane’s face is mutilated now where I tore into it. But there’s no blood. Just more of that gray, dead meat. And underneath—something worse. Something that looks like evil incarnate.
His eyes burn with rage.
“You’ll pay for that,” he snarls, and suddenly, he comes at us.
He attacks like a force of nature. I barely dodge the first strike, his claws whistling past my face. Astra grabs a chair and swings it with all her strength.
It connects with his ribs with a satisfying crack, but he doesn’t even flinch.
I go for his neck this time, aiming to use his own momentum against him. But he’s already moving, already anticipating. He twists away from my claws, and his hand shoots out, catching me by the throat.
The impact when he slams me into the wall drives the air from my lungs. Stars explode across my vision. His claws dig into my skin—cold, so cold—and I can smell that deathly rot on him, can see the fury in those burning eyes.
“You’re mine,” he hisses, drawing back his other hand, claws extended.
But just then, the door explodes inward.
Seth.
He crashes into Zane like a battering ram, forcing him off me. I hit the floor, gasping, my hand flying to my throat. The mate bond blazes between us—Seth’s rage, his terror, his overwhelming need to protect me—and it steadies me even as I struggle to breathe.
He and Zane are a blur of violence now. Fists and claws and snarling fury. Seth fights like a thing possessed, every movement precise and brutal.
Lucian appears in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room until they land on Astra. In three strides he’s there, pulling her into his arms and then pushing her behind him with one hand splayed protectively across her belly.
“Are you hurt?” His voice is rough with concern.
“I’m fine, I’m—”
Kieran enters last, then stops. His hand moves to cover his nose, his expression darkening. “Where’s the necromancer?”
“Are you blind?” Seth growls, landing a vicious blow to Zane’s jaw. “He’s right fucking here!”
Kieran’s eyes narrow, studying Zane with cold assessment. “No. That’s the undead. The body is dead.”
The words hit me like a physical blow.
Dead? Zane is dead? But he’s moving. Fighting. Talking. How can he be—
“What?” I croak, finally finding my voice.
“That’s a corpse,” Kieran says quietly, his tone flat. “Animated by dark magic. A necromancer’s puppet. And from the stench of him, he has been that way for more than a year.”