23. Chokehold #3
“Right. Well, all the same—if you’d be so kind as to desist with the strangulation so that she can—oh, I don’t know, actually answer some questions, that would probably be best.” Kier’s voice is light and playful, but his eyes are as sharp as knives and poised to strike.
Slowly, I begrudgingly loosen my hold on fake Ryn’s neck.
She coughs and sputters, greedily gasping in lungfuls of air while glaring daggers at both me and Darro.
Oddly enough, though, despite the fact that I was, as Darro so succinctly put it, strangling her, and that I’m the one still holding her hostage in my shadows, the weight of her hatred leans heavily toward Darro.
He tuts, rubbing his jaw with an amused glint in his eyes now as he chides her, “Bit dramatic, no?”
Her voice is little more than a scraping rasp, but somehow still full of venom as she grounds out her rebuttal, “Fuck you, you sadistic bastard.”
Kier barks out a laugh, genuine amusement that’s kind of freaking me out rolling off him in waves.
“Oh, that’s rich—coming from you.” He raises a brow and glances over to me before pinning fake Ryn with a condescending levity that I’m almost positive he practices in the mirror. “I’ll admit, you have a lovely figure—”
I swing my eyes to Darro and grind out a little sound of protest—even if this isn’t my mate, it looks like her. He waves me off and continues unhindered.
“But did you really think a psycopomp, of all paranormal beings, wouldn’t notice the filth that is your soul?
” Something in Kier’s voice changes, and his eyes harden as he holds her gaze.
She must sense something that I don’t, because tears fill her eyes and she squeaks out a little mewl of frustration.
“You will answer your prince without deception. What have you done with Tarynn Nox?” There’s a ring of authoritative command to his tone, and it dawns on me that he’s using compulsion. But that only works on members of his—
“Sa-Saskia Nox.” Tears stream defiantly down her cheeks as she continues, “Tarynn Nox is s-safe, but she’s been dosed with an al-altered variety of sss-leep smoke. The re—revival dose is in my r-right pocket. She’s stra—strapped to the procedure table nearest the d-doctor.”
I blink rapidly, emotions swirling in my chest as my eyes lock onto the empty table. It’s tilted up, and the metal surface of it glints back mockingly. A growl of frustration erupts from my throat, and it takes all of my barely there control to refrain from doing something violent and stupid.
Darro sighs and flicks his hand in the direction of the table.
The air around it shimmers, and then a cloaking charm melts away, rippling as it winks out to reveal an absolutely livid-looking Ryn.
My Ryn. My heart stalls, and my eyes rake her form, cataloging every scrape and bruise.
Thankfully, it seems like the worst is a bloodied lip and a purplish bruise forming around her left eye.
With that done, my pulse thunders in my ears, and I let go of Saskia, leaving her in the hold of my shadows and the company of Darro.
Before I take a step, my shadows shoot forward and wrap around Ryn, sneaking under the straps holding her in place and slicing through them.
She grunts as she’s freed, but falls forward limply as my shadows carry her to me.
I run for her, holding my hand backward as shadow tendrils drop the retrieved vial of revival drought from Saskia’s pocket into my waiting palm.
All of this, between one breath and the next, but I still feel entirely breathless as my arms wrap around her.
The only sign of the fear, desperation, and rage I’d been feeling through our bond is in her still trembling limbs as I carefully administer the draught.
After a moment, she shivers and collapses against me, and I whimper against the pent-up angst electrifying my blood as she holds me tight.
Slowly, all of those things fade against the sheer relief emanating from both ends of our connection.
“Shh, it’s okay, love. I’ve got you.” Pressing my lips against her forehead, I breathe her in, my hands roaming the expanse of her back as she wraps her legs around my hips, like she can’t get close enough.
My heart simultaneously swells with affection and aches with the feeling of failure that I let this happen in the first place.
“Stop that.” The warmth of her breath against my neck sends a shiver down my spine, and I hum inquisitively in response. “Your guilt. This was not your fault.”
My orbs sting and flicker as I pull back to look at her, and she lifts her head to meet my eyes.
“You did everything right, baby. You—you did good.” She chokes as tears fill her eyes, and I swallow hard, nodding along with her.
She pulls me in tight again and presses kisses against her favorite spot on my neck.
I wrap us in shadows, tightening them just enough to help ground us against the force of our emotions, made more overwhelmingly potent with our bond.
That ass-clenching panic finally starts to subside, just as I hear a garbled scream, and then a sickening thud.