Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
MAYA
I wake to shouting and the sound of something crashing against a wall.
For a moment, I’m disoriented, unsure where I am or what’s happening. The bandages on my wrists tug painfully as I push myself up, memory returning in a rush that makes my head spin. Poe found me. He stopped me. He saved me.
Though I’m not sure “saved” is the right word for it.
More shouting from the main room, followed by another crash. My heart pounds against my ribs as I slide out of bed, unsteady on my feet. The wounds on my chest pull tight beneath their bandages, a searing reminder of what Logan did to me—what he made Cillian do.
I’m moving toward the door before I even realize what I’m doing, drawn by some morbid curiosity to see what’s happening. The floor is cold against my bare feet as I stumble into the hallway, following the sounds of chaos.
“You have no right to be here!” Ares’s voice booms through the apartment.
I reach the hallway just in time to see Cillian blocking my path, his pale face tight with tension.
“You need to go back to bed,” he says, his voice low and urgent. His gaze flicks over my bandaged wrists, but his expression reveals nothing.
“What’s happening?” I ask, trying to see past him.
The sounds of struggle grow louder. Something else shatters, followed by a string of curses.
“Maya.” Cillian’s voice takes on that particular note of command that makes my body respond involuntarily. “Go back to the bedroom. Now.”
I push past him into the main living area, only to be met with a scene of total chaos.
Armed palace guards surround Poe and Ares, who stand in the center of what looks like a battlefield. The coffee table is overturned, glass shattered across the floor, and a chair lies broken against the far wall.
“By order of King Leopold,” announces the guard captain, “you are to be taken into custody immediately.”
“What?” I gasp, loud enough that several guards turn their heads toward me.
Poe’s dark eyes find mine, his expression unreadable as the guards surround him. He doesn’t resist as they bind his wrists behind his back. Beside him, Ares looks murderous but is now similarly compliant.
Heavy footsteps approach from the hallway, and Logan appears, still in his guard commander uniform. His golden eyes widen as he takes in the scene before him.
“What the hell is going on here?” he demands, voice cutting through the chaos.
The guard captain steps forward. “Your Highness, we have orders to arrest these men on suspicion of involvement in Prince Ander’s murder.”
Logan goes white, the color draining from his face so quickly I half expect him to collapse. “There must be some mistake.”
“No mistake, Your Highness.” The captain’s voice is firm. “The order comes directly from the king himself.”
“This is absurd,” Logan says, his composure returning though his face remains unnaturally pale. “These men are my personal guard. My pack. They had nothing to do with my brother’s death.”
The guard captain looks uncomfortable but stands his ground. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but my orders are clear. If you have concerns about the arrest, you’ll need to take it up with His Majesty.”
“I will.” Logan’s voice drops to a dangerous register as he steps closer to the captain. “I most certainly will.”
The guards lead Poe and Ares toward the door. Neither man looks back, their shoulders set with resignation.
“Logan,” I find myself saying, my voice hoarse with disuse. “What is happening?”
He doesn’t answer me, his attention fixed on the retreating guards as they escort his packmates from the apartment. The muscles in his jaw work beneath his skin, rage and fear battling for dominance in his expression.
The moment the door closes behind them, Logan turns and stalks toward the exit, his movements tightly controlled like a predator preparing to strike.
“Where are you going?” Cillian calls after him.
“To see my father,” Logan snarls without looking back. “And to find out what the fuck is really going on.”
The door slams behind him with enough force to make the walls shake, leaving Cillian and me alone in the devastated apartment. The silence that follows feels oppressive, broken only by the sound of our breathing.
I stand motionless in the hallway, staring at Cillian’s back as he watches the closed door as if trying to decide whether to follow. The devastated apartment around us feels like the aftermath of a storm—broken furniture, shattered glass, and the lingering aura of violence.
“I’m sorry,” Cillian says suddenly, turning to face me. His eyes are haunted, his pale face drawn with exhaustion. “I’m so sorry, Maya. For everything.”
“You should be,” I reply, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice.
“I know.” He runs a hand through his pale hair, leaving it standing on end. “I’ve been complicit in everything that’s happened to you. I could have stopped it, should have stopped it, but I didn’t. I was too afraid.”
There’s something in his voice I’ve never heard before, raw honesty stripped of any pretense. I look at him more closely, noticing the slight tremor in his hands, the dark circles under his eyes.
“Afraid of what?” I ask carefully.
Cillian gestures helplessly. “Of Logan. Of losing my place here. Of what would happen if...” He trails off, swallowing hard. “It doesn’t matter. There’s no excuse for what we—what I—did to you.”
I absently touch the bandage on my chest, feeling the cuts throb beneath. “You could have refused.”
“And then Logan would have used an Alpha command on me.” His voice drops to barely above a whisper. “If I was going to do it, I was at least going to own the choice.”
“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
“I would never ask you to.” He meets my eyes directly. “But everything that’s happened—it’s because of me. Because of what I am. Logan killed Ander to protect me, and now we’re all paying the price.”
I don’t have the energy to pretend surprise.
“I know,” I tell him, clarifying at the confusion in his expression. “About Ander. I already know that Logan killed him.”
Cillian takes a deep and shaking breath. “How?”
I shrug. “It was pretty obvious when I stopped to think about it. You all are more obvious than you think.”
He shakes his head. “Only to you.”
“Well, I’ve been close enough to see through the facade.”
“It’s not just that. You’re more than a little brilliant, actually. More than any of us deserve.” He pushes off the wall and gestures for me to follow him to the bedroom. “Which is why we need to get you out of here while you have the chance.”
I watch in surprise from the doorway as Cillian packs my bag, hurriedly shoving clothes into the leather duffel that once carried my meager possessions to the palace. His movements are frantic, lacking his usual precision as he grabs items seemingly at random.
“What are you doing?” I ask, refusing to believe what I’m seeing.
Cillian doesn’t look up, continuing to stuff my things into the bag. “I’d think that would be obvious. Hand me those shoes there.”
I stare at him, disbelief washing over me. After everything—the forced bond, the carving of Logan’s sigil into my chest, my suicide attempt—Cillian is helping me escape?
“I don’t understand,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Why now?”
He pauses, ice-blue eyes finally meeting mine. The haunted look in them makes my breath catch.
“Because it’s too late for you to have the life you wanted,” he says, his voice rough with emotion.
“But I can at least offer you freedom from what’s hurting you most.” He zips the bag closed with quick, jerky movements.
“Go to the Spring Palace. Ask for sanctuary from the Queen Mother. Eleanora will protect you. You’ll be safe there. ”
My mind races, trying to make sense of his sudden change of heart. The Queen Mother had seemed kind during our brief meeting, but seeking sanctuary from Logan’s grandmother feels like putting a simple bandage on a gaping wound.
“What about Logan?” I ask.
“I’ll deal with Logan.”
I step closer, searching his face. “And you? Are you coming with me?”
Something flickers across his features—regret, longing, resignation. He crosses the distance between us in two quick strides, his hands cupping my face with unexpected gentleness. Before I can react, his lips crash into mine.
The kiss is nothing like our previous ones. It is desperate, fierce, aching with emotions I can’t name. Through our bond, I feel a wave of sorrow so profound it steals my breath. When he pulls away, his eyes shine with unshed tears.
“I wish I could do more,” he whispers, his forehead resting against mine. “But turning them in to the Inquisitor is as much of a betrayal of Logan as the bond will allow.”
Ice floods my veins as his words register. I pull back, horror dawning as the pieces click into place.
My voice sounds strange to my own ears, strangled and distant. “Cillian, what exactly did you tell the Inquisitor?”
“Everything.” His expression hardens, resignation settling over his features like a shroud. “I’m sure they’ll be coming to arrest me next for designation fraud.”
The world tilts beneath my feet as realization crashes over me. Cillian betrayed Logan—betrayed all of them—to the Inquisitor. That’s why Poe and Ares were arrested. That’s why the king’s guards stormed the apartment.
And he has no idea what horror he has just unleashed.
A slow clapping sound breaks the silence, and we both whirl toward the doorway.
Dr. Sionis Thane stands there, his thin lips curved in a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Behind him loom several men I’ve never seen before—large, hard-faced figures who look nothing like palace guards. Mercenaries, hired muscle.
“Well done, Cillian,” the Inquisitor says, his clinical gaze shifting between us. “I must say, your timing is impeccable. I’d hoped to collect the matched set at once.”
Cillian steps in front of me, his body tensing. “What do you think you’re doing here?”
“Taking what I came here for, finally. The perfect specimens to advance my research. And without any pesky Alphas around to get in the way.” Thane gestures at the two men behind him, dressed as palace guards in ill-fitting uniforms, but obviously mercenaries.
“Two Omegas bonded to each other. I can’t wait to see what pieces of you look like under a microscope. ”
Cillian launches himself at the Inquisitor.
It’s ironic that the first time I get to see Cillian fight, the glory of his skill on full display, the contest is doomed from the start.
If he had weapons or was only concerned with getting himself away, then he might have stood a chance.
Cillian moves with surprising speed for someone of his wiry build. His body launches toward the Inquisitor like a pale missile, fists already swinging as he screams for me to run. I freeze, unable to move, unable to tear my eyes from what happens next.
One of the mercenaries steps forward, weapon raised, but Cillian is faster than anyone expected.
His hand shoots out, palm connecting with the man’s throat in a vicious strike that sends the guard staggering backward, gasping and clutching at his crushed windpipe.
The man’s eyes bulge as he drops to his knees, unable to breathe.
Thane backs away, alarm flashing across his usually impassive face. He clearly didn’t expect Cillian to have any fight left in him after the torture he endured.
But the momentary victory is short-lived. The second mercenary catches Cillian from behind, muscular arms wrapping around his chest in a crushing grip. Cillian manages to slam his head backward, connecting with the mercenary’s nose with a sickening crunch.
Blood sprays, but the mercenary doesn’t release his hold.
“Hold him still,” Thane barks, reaching into his pocket.
Cillian’s ice-blue eyes meet mine for one desperate moment, a thousand unspoken words passing between us. Then Thane plunges the needle into his neck, and Cillian’s body goes instantly limp.
The mercenary lets him collapse to the floor, where he lies motionless, his pale hair fanned out against the cold concrete. His chest still rises and falls in shallow breaths, but his eyes stare sightlessly at the ceiling.
Thane tucks the empty syringe back into his pocket, looking almost bored.
As he returns his attention to where I’ve backed into a corner.
“Just a little something to keep him manageable. Don’t worry, I need him alive for the next stage of my research.
” He tilts his head to the side, expression practically reptilian.
“Now, are you going to keep fighting a war you can’t win, or are you going to come quietly? ”
As one of the mercenaries advances toward me, and the other hefts Cillian’s unconscious body into his arms. I wonder why I ever thought escape would be possible.
“I assume you have the king’s blessing for this,” I state, because it isn’t a question.
Thane answers me anyway. “No one is more important than our cause, not even an Omega as pretty as you are.”
“He would sacrifice his own son’s mate?”
Thane’s hand closes around my wrist, pulling me closer as I feel the prick of a needle on the side of my neck. “You shouldn’t ask questions when you already know the answers.”
Freedom has always been an illusion.
There is nowhere to run in a world that deserves to burn.