Chapter 43 （Continued）
My knees buckle, and I double over, gasping as agony claws at my body.
What the hell is this?
My hands press into my knees, my breath coming in ragged bursts as I try to steady myself.
When I lift my head, everything is dark—so dark I can barely see anything around me. A creeping sense of unease settles in, but I fight it back.
"Maxon," I whisper, my voice shakes as my fingers dig into my legs.
Then, a sound—a soft, broken voice. “Everly?”
I freeze, my heart pounding. His voice. The pain in it is unmistakable, cutting through the darkness like a knife. Forcing myself upright, I stretch out my hands in front of me, stepping forward through the blackness.
“Maxon, I’m here.” I keep moving, spotting a small patch of light up ahead. As I draw nearer, everything inside me freezes, the pain fading over my panic.
Maxon is kneeling on a stone floor, a pool of blood beneath him and his hands are hauled above his head, as he hangs there, limp.
“Maxon!” I breathe in horror, running forward.
Dropping to my knees, my soul shatters at the sight of his tortured body before me. My hands tremble as they cup his face, brushing strands of hair from his blood-streaked skin.
“A chroí. Please look at me,” the words leave my lips in a sob, my voice thick with desperation, but he doesn’t move.
My eyes sweep over him, taking in the blood. It's everywhere.
“What happened?” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
His face twitches, and for a moment, hope flickers within me. His violet eyes flutter open, meeting mine, and I nearly break, a sob tearing from my throat as I press my forehead against his, the relief overwhelming.
“Everly?” His voice is weak, labored.
“Yes,” I breathe. “I’m here. I’m here.”
“You need to leave. It’s not safe,” he murmurs, his breath ragged and pained.
“I’m coming for you,” I tell him, the conviction in my voice stronger than the terror coursing through me.
“No, you mustn’t, she’ll stop at nothing to get you. She knows you're visiting me, it’ll be a trap.”
“Maxon, I’m coming for you. I’m not leaving you here.” His head lolls to the side against my hand tenderly cradling his cheek. “I’m not afraid to fight for you. I love you, not just with my heart, or my mind, but with my soul. We are fated mates, and I will always find you.”
His violet eyes lock onto mine, and in them, I see a flicker of that fierce fire I love. “You promise to fight?” His voice is a rasp, but the fire in his eyes strengthens.
“I promise.”
“Don’t you die on me, Stóirín,” he whispers, his words firm.
“Ditto,” I choke out, my voice thick with emotion, a strained laugh escaping despite the fear curling around me like a vice.
I reach to wrap my arms around him, but his body suddenly bows in pain, a ragged gasp tearing from his lips. My blood runs cold as I see the chains—bones—around his neck tighten, drawing more blood.
“What the . . . ” I stand, horror twisting inside me as I slowly walk around him.
Bile rises in my throat, and my hand comes up to cover my mouth as my eyes trace over his back.
Fury ignites in my chest. I push the sob down, gritting my teeth fiercely.
His flesh is torn, flayed down to the bone, the brutality of it almost too much to bear.
I sense it then, the hatred that begins to seep into my soul, fueling my rage.
I jolt up in bed with a gasp, the kind that rips through your chest when you’re desperate for air, as though you’ve been drowning and have finally breached the surface. My lungs burn, my body trembling as if I just fought my way out of some unseen force trying to drag me under.
I’m covered in a sheen of sweat, my clothes sticking to me uncomfortably.
My heart is racing so fast I can barely think straight.
Panic claws at me, making the room feel smaller, the shadows pressing in closer, suffocating.
Without another thought, I throw off the covers, scrambling from the bed like it’s on fire.
My legs wobble as my feet hit the floor, the cold stone grounding me for a moment, but I’m still shaking, still horrified by what I just witnessed. It clings to me like my sweat-drenched clothes.
Mia and Scarlett are out of the bed in seconds, their movements quick, almost frantic.
"What happened?"
"What’s going on?" Scarlett’s words overlap with Mia’s as they both rush toward me, eyes wide with alarm.
I don’t answer right away, my hands already fumbling with the armoire door. I throw it open with more force than necessary, my fingers shaking as I sift through the clothes hanging there, searching for my fighting gear.
My mind races, panic pulsing in my veins, and I can feel their eyes on me, feel their worry thickening the air between us.
The soft hiss of a match being struck cuts through the silence, warm light flooding the room as one of them—Mia, maybe—lights a lantern. Scarlett steps closer, her bare feet silent on the stone floor as she reaches out, her hand hovering near my arm.
"You’re scaring me, E." Her voice is softer now, more vulnerable. "What’s going on?"
I don’t respond, and Scarlett’s hand lands on my shoulder, halting my movements.
“Everly?” she whispers, and I make the mistake of looking up into her soft green eyes.
A sob tears from my throat, and I collapse in her arms. Mia is suddenly there, her arms around me, too, holding me up.
“He . . . He . . . ” Oh my god. Something inside me is breaking. Getting air into my lungs becomes harder. “They are torturing him. I can’t wait any longer. We have to go now.”
Scarlett and Mia pull back, worry etched in their faces.
I quickly swipe at my face, brushing the tears away, then scoop up the fighting gear I dropped.
I storm toward the bed, throwing them down, and rip my nightgown over my head, tossing it aside.
From the corner of my eye, I see Scarlett open the chamber door to whisper to either Lutin or Senka before closing it back again.
Mia wraps her arms around her middle. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“He is my mate,” I whisper harshly, tugging the leather pants over my hips and doing them up. “I won’t leave him there.”
“We aren’t asking you to,” she says, gently. “But this isn’t part of the plan.”
"Screw the plan!" I bellow, shoving my arms into the tight, dark-blue long-sleeved tunic.
The leather corset is next, my fingers fumbling for only a second before I manage to lace it up at the front.
I grab the leather cuffs, strapping them tight around my wrists as I stride toward the trunk where my daggers and the sheaths are kept.
A soft knock at the door jerks my attention, and I glance up to see Scarlett standing by the door, biting her thumbnail.
"I asked them to get Raiden," she whispers, voice hesitant, like she’s trying to gauge how close I am to snapping completely.
I let out a heavy sigh, dropping my head and pulling out the weapons I need from the trunk, feeling the weight of each blade in my hands. “You shouldn't have,” I mutter, my voice flat, exhausted.
The door creaks open and Raiden steps in, taking a careful stock of the room before his eyes settle on me. “What's going on, Everly?” he says gently, soothingly.
I laugh, a harsh, humorless sound, the kind that feels like it’s scraping its way up my throat.
I can feel the sting of tears gathering at the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.
Instead, I glare at him over my shoulder.
“What’s going on is they’re torturing him,” I croak, my voice breaking on the last word.
Raiden's eyes soften as he steps toward me, his movements slow, deliberate. He grabs my shoulders and turns me to face him fully. His touch is firm, grounding, but it does nothing to stop the storm raging inside.
“He's strong, Everly.”
Like that’s supposed to fix everything.
“You don’t think I know that?” I cry, yanking myself out of his grip. Of course Maxon is strong, but strength has limits, and I’m terrified he's close to reaching his.
Raiden doesn’t flinch at my outburst. Instead, his hands cup my face, his thumbs swiping away the tears. “I see that fire in you,” he assures quietly. His gaze locks with mine, anchoring me back. “And we're going to use that fire to get him back. But we have a plan; your plan.”
I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms. “Screw the plan! Every second we waste is another second he's suffering.”
My magic flares and lashes out around us.
Sparks crackle in the air, the force of my power surging like a storm barely contained.
I glare at him, but he doesn’t so much as flinch.
Wave after wave of magic ripples through me, striking him with all of my fear, but still, he holds on.
His eyes lock onto mine, calm and unyielding, like he’s bracing himself against a tempest but refuses to move.
“You think I don’t know that?” his voice cracks with a rare flicker of emotion, raw and honest. “You think I don’t want to tear this entire world apart to bring him back to you?”
I stop, the weight of his words sinking in. For the first time, I see the tension in his shoulders, the shadows under his eyes. He’s fighting, too. But he’s right—we need more than rage. We need a plan.
“I can't lose him, Raiden,” I mutter, voice breaking again. “I can't.”
“You won’t,” he promises, his grip tightening just slightly. “Not if we do this right.”
I take a shaky breath, but the fire in me doesn’t dim. “Then we do this now. Raiden, he is hurting and I can't bear it.”
“The people need to see you tomorrow. They need to know you’ll fight for them—fight for your king.” His eyes search mine, filled with an urgency that makes my chest tighten. “If we slink into the night, if we leave without them knowing where you stand, they’ll turn on you, Everly.”
I bite my lip, the words sinking in, heavy and suffocating. He drops his hands from my face and my body slumps as the weight of it all crashes down on me. The thought of standing before them all tomorrow when Maxon is still out there suffering . . . It feels impossible.
Raiden’s arms come around me, pulling me into him before I can fall apart completely. I bury my face in his chest, my arms wrapping around him on instinct.
He doesn’t say anything more, doesn’t offer false comfort or make promises he can’t keep. He just holds me, his grip firm and steady, like he knows that I need this, to be reminded that I’m not alone in all of this. I’m not the only one carrying the burden.
“I don’t want to wait,” I murmur against his chest, my voice muffled. “I can’t stand here and pretend everything’s fine when he’s out there, Raiden. I can’t–”
“I know.” His breath ruffles my hair as his hand runs soothing circles on my back. “I know. But the people need to believe in you. They need to know you’ll fight for them. After that, we’ll go. We’ll get him.”
His words are like a lifeline, a fragile thread of hope I cling to, even though my heart and soul ache with every second that passes. I nod against him, the movement small, almost imperceptible, but it’s enough for now.