Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-Two
Violet
Rafe has knotted me.
I know what that feels like now, for Lark has a knot.
Euphoria and confusion grip me in equal parts. Only malaise is creeping into the sanctuary of my nest, much like my sister’s army on the horizon.
His skin is burning hot when he presses against me and slick with sweat.
His teeth are embedded in my throat.
I taste blood.
My blood.
His blood.
The knot bombards my pleasure center even as I try to breathe.
When did I stop breathing?
Suddenly, he is wrestled away. I cry out at the loss, and am desolate in the wake of the empty hollow feeling. The room is very crowded. Beating wings. A snarl.
“I’ve got you.”
That is Lark. He is the one holding me. But I am inconsolable and weep.
“Quickly, bind him!”
That is Atlas.
“Don’t hurt him,” I beg.
“They are helping him,” Lark says. “Gods! Keep still, woman, you are bleeding all over the fucking place!”
A roar pierces the cacophony.
Someone curses. “Fuck it! Hold him! HOLD HIM!”
Atlas
The timing could have been better,” Darrion grits out.
He is not wrong.
“Uff!”
With superhuman strength, Rafe manages to get a single arm free and swats Fenix aside as though he were a fly. Fenix, unperturbed by this development, dives straight back in and throws his weight across Rafe’s legs.
It is not much of an opening, but it is enough, and I finally manage to get the belt around his wrists and yank it tight.
Lark at least has the presence of mind to get Violet out of the way, and not a moment too soon, as the door to the nest bursts open, and Vander and another dozen guards storm in.
It enrages me that these other males are in her nesting space, but needs must, for Rafe’s life is on the line.
“Not only his life,” Aldric cautions me.
“Not now,” I snarl back, still wrestling to subdue Rafe.
Under his roaring, I can hear Violet sobbing. I can feel her distress through the burgeoning bond that links us, her terror and confusion.
“Help me get him into the main room.”
He’s still fighting like a demon as we carry him out.
My once private quarters are a frenzy of activity.
But with the help of many hands and brute strength, we get him to a litter where we can strap the convulsing man down and force a gag between his teeth.
He is shivering hard now, and a blanket is dropped over his body.
The main doors are flung wide. Master Pugstone and our resident physician, Master Lychen, sweep into the room.
“Rafe!”
Violet’s cry shreds my resolve to remain calm. I snag her just before she launches herself at Rafe.
“Hold, love,” I say, dragging her close.
Rafe’s shivers ramp up. It looks as though his skin pulses. Then dreadful snapping sounds begin, like boots on a dry twig. More and more. Bruises form across the skin, sharp angles straining the flesh.
Behind the gag, Rafe screams.
“What is happening?!” Violet begs of me, fighting to be free.
I cup her face to my chest, shielding her from the view.
Master Lychen drops his leather bag to the floor beside Rafe and fumbles to open it quickly.
“Hold his nose,” he instructs.
The gag is pulled away enough for a small tube to be inserted into his mouth.
Vander, Darrion, and Fenix gather around, holding him as still as they can while liquid is poured in.
He chokes some. Swallows some.
Violet sobs and wrestles with me.
“They’re helping him,” I promise. They are helping him, I pray.
I feel fucking impotent. I knew something was coming. Sensed it. As did Aldric.
I press Violet’s face tighter against my chest. The dreadful snapping sounds begin again, fresh bruises blooming across his flesh.
His bones are breaking, reforming, and breaking again in a horrifying cycle.
Rafe stills.
The tube is gently removed.
The quiet is deafening.
Violet is trembling uncontrollably in my arms, but I keep my palm against her cheek. I do not want her to see this.
“He’ll need to remain sedated,” Master Lychen says, glancing up at me from where he kneels at Rafe’s side.
Violet tries to break free again, but I don’t let her go.
“You know what this is?” I ask.
Lychen glances from Rafe to Master Pugstone.
“Accelerated, late-stage complex alpha-transitioning,” Master Pugstone says gravely.
Violet sobs and now clings to me like she is trying to crawl under my skin.
“It is rare, but it does occur on occasion. Usually triggered by extreme stress, danger, or mortal threat.” Master Pugstone gestures in our general direction.
“The ménage event of last eve, combined with the pride-wide power surge and looming threat, I would presume to be the catalyst in this case.”
I nod. Will he survive is on the tip of my tongue, but there is no scenario where I will allow that he does not. “How do we help him?” I ask instead.
“Sedate him,” Master Lychen says. “As much as we must to manage the pain. Which is going to be considerable.”
The bruises on his skin are already fading.
“We might want to loosen the straps a little between phases.”
Fuck. “And how many phases are there?”
“That,” Master Lychen says, “I cannot presume to know.”
The mood in the room is somber, broken only by Violet’s quiet sobbing. The straps are gently loosened to accommodate his increased size, then tightened again for safety should the convulsions begin.
“Any idea of the timeline?”
“This is a very rare situation,” Master Pugstone says. “There are only three documented cases I know of in my limited study.”
I sense that he is being circumspect with information. That he is not telling me everything, given the woman sobbing in my arms.
Three documented cases who’ve survived?
Three documented cases altogether?
Master Pugstone passes a shaky hand over his chin. “It may take a few days. Or many weeks.”
“Let us hope for the former and plan for the latter,” I say.
There was a time when Rafe and Lark were nothing but impediments between me and claiming my mate.
They are not that anymore. Haven’t been for a long time.
I have come to like Rafe with his no-nonsense dry humor and plain talking. Besides, he is good with Violet. Good for her.
My eyes meet those of Master Pugstone and Master Lychen. They nod. They understand.
We cannot fucking lose him. We will not lose him.
“Whatever you need, speak, and it will be provided.”
Violet
The great bell begins to clang. But of course it does.
The sound of an attack.
Atlas curses softly, and his arms tighten around me.
I lift my head from where he has buried it against his chest. Master Pugstone’s words are heavy in the air. I linger in deep-seated devastation.
Rafe. I am hurting for the man who is my mate. He lies upon a litter on the floor. He is going through something extraordinary. Something for the pain, Master Lychen said. Oh, how terrible the pain.
But the bell is ringing. And he’s not the only one in need.
I meet Atlas’s eyes. The gravity of the situation is near overwhelming. “Go,” I say. “You need to go.”
He doesn’t want to leave me. My distress is his distress, after all. I understand that we are connected now. All strings upon the same bow.
I scrub the tears from my cheeks and steel myself before I glance down at Rafe again.
He has already changed. Those dread-inspiring sounds. Gods, they made my stomach churn. But he is still my Rafe. He’s going to get through this.
“Go.” I lift my chin. “I will stay with Rafe. Study every book we have—anything with even a hint of what he is going through. With Master Pugstone and Master Lychen’s help, we will research. And we will watch over Rafe and help him however we can.”
A tic thumps in Atlas’s jaw, his conflict apparent, and even though I know he is a true leader and will do what must be done.
I cup his cheek. “Somewhere there is a village in danger. I would not have you hesitate to help them. Not on my watch.”
He leans down. The kiss is brutal and loving. And then he is leaving, sweeping out, along with the many griffins and Lark.
The quiet feels profound. Servants linger waiting for orders. Master Lychen has two young apprentices ready to assist.
I know Rafe has many phases ahead of him. That we shall need to force the tube down his throat and feed him the poppy milk so he might endure the terrible pain.
But I will not spend that time idly when our community is still under threat, nor will I weep.
And so I prepare myself for what must be done.
Find the strength.
There are many kinds of battles. The kind Atlas leads griffins into. The one that Rafe is undergoing in his body. And the quiet kind that is done by the womenfolk, and those too old, too young for battle, who stand steady in support.
An alpha. I cannot linger long on the wonder, for I can read between the lines, and I know what Master Pugstone was saying even if he did not put it to words.
This is rare.
It has risks.
Rafe’s survival is not a given.
And I am terrified for my mate.
I cannot lose you, Rafe.
And then I soften inside, briefly, for if any man were to have a heart of an alpha, it would have to be Rafe. Big, overprotective, stubborn enough to match me. I can still remember in vivid glory him daring to spank me, a princess, after I took Raven out for a ride.
It feels so long ago now.
And as fresh as if it were yesterday.
My resolve hardens. There is no room in this for doubts, nor worries. I am here with him and for him. With all of my mates and their people, for they are now my people too.
We shall get through this. You will come back to me, whole.
Then his body begins to shudder.
“Quickly,” Master Lychen instructs. “The tube.”
I offer no hesitation, drop to my knees, and help him put it into place.
And so it begins.
In this room, we tend a brave man going through an accelerated transition.
Somewhere far beyond the stone walls, griffins, men, women, and a direwolf fight.