Chapter 110
Her form floats gracefully around me, a predator circling its prey, testing its boundaries. I don’t answer. I won’t give her the satisfaction. My silence is my only defense.
“I wonder how your mate is faring without you,” she continues, her tone dripping with glee, the kind that revels in other people’s pain.
The words hit like a slap, but I keep my expression still. She stops in front of me, leaning close, her cold breath brushing my cheek as she whispers into my ear.
“I have something I think you’ll want to see.”
“Doubt it,” I snap, my voice sharp, though I can already feel the chill of dread creeping up my spine.
The Shadoweaver pulls back, and her lips curl into a slow, knowing smile. Her skin is ghostly pale, unnaturally white, almost glowing in the torchlight. The effect is haunting. She looks like death itself, smiling at me as though savoring her victory.
“You know”—she begins, her voice like silk wrapping tightly around my throat—“how I said I can see through the eyes of those I control?”
A cold wave crashes over me. Dread pulses through my stomach, clawing its way into my chest until the tension makes it hard to breathe. Her grin widens, harsh and cruel.
“Let me show you,” she whispers.
Before I can respond, her hands latch onto either side of my head. Her nails dig into my skin, sending lightning bolts of pain through my skull, but it’s nothing compared to what comes next. My vision blurs and then collapses into darkness, only to return in flickering pulses of light.
When my sight finally steadies, I’m no longer in the cavern.
I’m in my chambers in the castle. I see Raiden and Zaria hovering near the bed, their expressions tense.
Two royal healers bend over someone lying on the mattress, their faces grim.
In the corner, two women I’ve never seen before standing apart from the group, whispering.
Tristan. Kian.
And then my breath catches in my throat.
Everly.
She’s standing in front of a battered Fenris, cupping his face, her delicate fingers brushing his skin with a tenderness that makes my blood boil. Worry creases her brow, as she looks him over.
She looks like a goddess descended—perfect, serene, beautiful. The sight of her, of them, ignites something primal in me. Jealousy twists with rage, burning its way through my veins.
The Shadoweaver’s laugh echoes faintly in my ears, even here. But it doesn’t matter. All I can see is Everly, her touch, her care.
And I can’t decide what hurts more; that she looks so radiant or that her hands aren’t on me.
Everly leans against Fenris’s chest, his arms wrapping around her in a brief embrace. He then steps back, creating space between them.
I know, deep down, that she would never betray me.
Everly is too kind and loving, her gentleness making such a cruel act unthinkable.
I know this in my soul. But knowing doesn’t stop the ache that builds, sharp and relentless.
Seeing her in another man’s arms—even if it’s innocent—feels like a knife slipping between my ribs.
It isn’t jealousy, not exactly. It is the unbearable thought that maybe someone else could provide her with something I can’t. Something she needs.