Chapter 18 #2
My mother’s face, gentle but strong. Abigail’s teasing voice calling me Mei-Mei, little sister. A name I have always pretended to hate but secretly treasure because I have never had a sister. Trevor’s laughter, steady as a hearth.
Lowan’s eyes—bright, unguarded, the way they had looked at me in unspoken moments I will never get back.
Regret carves through me like another blade.
All the things I didn’t say. The silences I let stretch too long.
If I had known how this would end, I would have chosen differently.
I would have chosen him. Every moment. Without hesitation.
I didn’t even thank him for the Feyrnacht dress—his gift, his secret.
The ache in my chest twists tighter, but all I can do is hang here, hollow, broken, unbearably alone.
My chest shudders; my vision dims. The last thread of consciousness unravels. And then, mercifully, there is nothing at all.
My eyes snap open at the scrape of the iron door dragging against stone. For a heartbeat, I think I am dreaming—until the sound sinks into my bones. Abaddon. He lumbers into the cell alone. Horror claws through me. If he is back without the King, what does that mean? What does he intend now?
Dangling there, naked, I try to flinch away as he comes closer, his bulk blotting out the torchlight. His breath is thick and hot when he leans close, sniffing at the air beside my face.
“Don’t worry,” he rumbles. “He ordered me not to touch you in that way. But if it were up to me…”
My stomach lurches. A few strands of hair cling to my cheek, but most of it—my curls, once pinned in a crown—lies scattered across the floor in a brutal halo. My mouth tastes of iron, copper, and blood.
He unhooks the shackles from the ceiling. My body collapses to the ground like a rag. Before I can even catch my breath, his meaty hands lift me and throw me onto the cold stone slab. Leather straps bite into my wrists, then my ankles, stretching me open. Exposed. Helpless. But not broken.
The humiliation and fury ignite something deep in my chest, hotter than fear, sharper than despair. If this is where I die, I will not die as prey. Anything can be a weapon. If I get my hands on that vile eye of his, I’ll make him choke on it.
Abaddon turns, pulling a jagged iron tool from his belt—rusted, cruel, already blackened with old blood. He grins. “Thought we could try something new this time.”
Rage roars in my ears, drowning the weakness of my body. Then—chaos. Shouts in the hall. Steel clashing. A crash that makes the walls shake. Abaddon freezes, head snapping toward the door.
The door doesn’t open. It explodes. The hinges shriek as iron and wood tear loose, slamming into the far wall. Dust and smoke choke the air as a storm of splinters and stone shards rains down. I shut my eyes and brace for another blow. When I open them—
Through the dust, I see him. The outline I know as surely as my own heartbeat. Smoke curls around him. Shadows feather his shoulders. His face hides in the storm, but my breath leaves me in a single cracked whisper.
“Lowan.”
In the next instant, he isn’t across the room anymore. A blur of smoke and feathers, fury incarnate. Abaddon doesn’t even have time to scream before his head is severed from his body, rolling across the stones. The rest of him collapses with a heavy thud.
Lowan stands over the corpse, chest heaving, silver eyes burning. Half-shifted, with black smoke and feathers swirling around him, all vengeance. His voice is a growl that shakes the room: “Every single person responsible for this will pay.”
My chest heaves, a foreign rage flaring before dissolving into something worse—panic. Breath saws in and out too fast, too shallow, scraping my throat raw. “Get them off,” I choke, the words spilling into sobs. “Please, Lowan—get them off me.”
Without hesitation, he draws the blade from his belt. The leather bindings fall away beneath its edge, curling in limp strips to the stone floor. My arms drop heavy at my sides, the iron shackles clinking against the slab.
He catches my wrists gently, eyes narrowing at the raw skin beneath the cuffs. Rage flashes across his face before he bites it back. Tearing two strips from the hem of his tunic, he murmurs, “Hold still.”
He wraps the cloth around my skin with surprising tenderness, pulling the shackles back into place over the barrier. It isn’t much, but the sting eases the moment the iron no longer touches bare flesh.
“Zillah and Selene will buy us time,” he says, voice low, urgent. “I’ll get you out of here with them still on. We’ll find a way to break them later.”
I can’t answer. Sobs shake through me as he slides an arm behind my back, helping me upright. His other hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing away dirt and blood.
His eyes burn into mine. “Did you really think I would leave you here?”
My whole body shudders, a tremor of relief and disbelief.
The words hit somewhere deep, the exact words he spoke once before in the forest—only now, in this place, they break me.
The hollow ache inside me tightens into a Thread pulled taut, and through it pulses the faintest glimmer of warmth, of power, of him.
“Lowan…” My voice cracks, heavy with something beyond pain.
He frowns, gaze flicking over my face. “Metra? What is it?”
I press a trembling hand to my chest, as if I can hold myself together. “I feel… something—something’s happening.”
The air shifts around me. Pressure swells inside my chest like a flood breaking its dam. I gasp, eyes wide. Somehow, I know what this is. “I think… I’m about to shift.”
His body tenses. He steps back without hesitation, instinctively giving me space. And then I erupt.
Light and fire tear through my veins, bursting outward in a blinding surge.
The shackles shatter, exploding off my wrists and ankles, twisting and clanging uselessly against the stone.
My body expands, stretches, and becomes more than I ever imagined.
I don’t know what shape I take—only that it is vast, powerful, exquisite.
Lowan drops to his knees beside Abaddon’s corpse. Blood seeps away into the grate below. He is still half-shifted, smoke-like feathers ruffling in the storm of my power, but he only stares. Awe, reverence, and something close to worship fill his eyes.
“Radiant,” he breathes.
For a heartbeat, the world stills. I burn alive with a magic too big for words, my entire being humming with it. Then Lowan rises.
“Follow me,” he commands. His raven form fully ripples over him, smoke and feathers overtaking flesh. And with a beat of wings, he launches into the air. I don’t think. I only know. My own wings—whatever they are—unfurl, and I follow him into the storm.