Chapter 33 #3
I find a corner table, positioning myself to watch the room. A serving girl brings mulled wine and stew without being asked, her eyes kind but incurious.
The warmth of the mug in my hands is almost painful after hours in the cold. I should eat. Should rest. Should figure out what comes next.
But all I can think about is the pattern. Julia, pregnant and dying while Malakai lost control. His shadows attacking without his command. The east wing collapsing from the force of his grief.
Is that my future? Our child's future?
Through the bond, I feel Malakai stirring—morning is coming, and he'll wake soon to find me gone. The realization sends a pang of guilt through me, but I push it down. I need this time. Need to think clearly without his emotions overwhelming mine.
I'm halfway through my stew when an elderly woman slides into the seat across from me.
I didn't see her approach, didn't hear her sit down.
Her face is a map of wrinkles, her eyes cloudy blue but somehow piercing.
She wears layers of mismatched fabrics in faded purples and grays, adorned with trinkets that catch the firelight.
"That's a heavy burden you're carrying, child."
I nearly knock over my wine. "I didn't ask for company."
"No. But you need it all the same." She folds her gnarled hands on the table, studying me with those unsettling eyes. "They call me Mother Wren around these parts. I read fortunes, mix remedies, deliver babies when needed."
"I don't need my fortune read."
"Don't you?" Her head tilts, bird-like. "A pregnant Omega, fleeing her Alpha, carrying fear and doubt in equal measure. Seems to me you're standing at a crossroads, child. And crossroads are exactly where fortunes matter most."
Ice runs through my veins. "How do you know—"
"I see what others miss." She gestures vaguely. "The bond practically screams from you. So does the new life in your womb. And the fear..." Her expression turns grave. "You're afraid he'll hurt you. Hurt the child. Aren't you?"
I should leave. Should get up and walk away from this woman with her knowing eyes and her unsettling perceptions. But exhaustion anchors me to the chair, and something in her voice holds me still.
"His shadows," I whisper. "They're out of control. Getting worse. And I'm pregnant, and the same thing happened to his first mate, and she died, and I don't know if I'm next."
Mother Wren is quiet for a long moment, her cloudy eyes studying me with what might be sympathy.
"Shadow poison," she finally says. "That's what you're describing.
Rare, but not unheard of in demon bloodlines.
It responds to strong emotion—particularly love, particularly the bond.
The more he cares, the more unstable it becomes. "
"Can it be cured?"
"Sometimes. With the right magic, the right sacrifice." She pauses. "But not always. And not easily."
"His first mate died trying to break the curse. She thought her death would end it."
"And did it?"
"No. It's still inside him. Still getting worse." My voice breaks. "I don't want to die like she did. I don't want my child to die before it's even born."
Mother Wren reaches across the table, her gnarled hand covering mine. "Then you need to think very carefully about your choices, child. These decisions—they change everything. There's no going back once certain paths are taken."
"I know." My hand moves unconsciously to the hidden pocket in my cloak where the vial rests—the bond-severing elixir Ivy gave me. "I just... I don't know what to do."
Her sharp eyes catch the movement. "You have something. Something you're considering."
I hesitate, then slowly draw out the crystal vial. The iridescent purple liquid inside seems to shimmer even in the dim firelight. "A friend gave it to me. For emergencies. She said it could... sever the bond. If I needed to escape."
Mother Wren's expression shifts—something flickers in those cloudy eyes that I can't quite read. "Bond severance elixir," she says softly. "Dangerous magic, child. Very dangerous."
"Have you seen it before?"
"Used it, once. Long ago." She touches her chest briefly, something haunted crossing her face. "I was like you. Young. Pregnant. Bonded to an Alpha whose darkness was consuming him. I thought severing the bond would save us both."
My breath catches. "Did it work?"
"My child lived. I lived." Her voice grows hollow.
"But the severance took things from me I didn't know could be stolen.
Memories. Emotions. The ability to ever bond again.
I remember my Alpha's face but I can't remember why I loved him.
Can't remember what his touch felt like, what his laugh sounded like, the way he said my name in the darkness.
" She meets my eyes. "The elixir works, child.
But it leaves scars on the soul that never heal. "
"But you survived. Your baby survived."
"Yes." She nods slowly. "That's the trade, isn't it? Pieces of yourself for survival. Love for safety. The question is whether you can live with what you lose."
I stare at the vial in my hands, watching the liquid swirl with its own strange life. "And him? What happens to the Alpha when the bond is severed?"
"Pain," she says simply. "Terrible pain. The breaking tears through both parties like a blade. Some Alphas go mad from it. Others just... hollow out. Become shells of what they were." She shrugs. "Depends on the man. On how much the bond meant to him."
I think of Malakai. Of the raw vulnerability in his eyes when he looks at me. Of the way he created shadow butterflies for orphaned children, the way he held me through nightmares, the way he whispered mine against my skin like a prayer and a promise.
The bond means everything to him. I know that without question. Severing it might destroy him completely.
But staying might destroy me. Destroy our child.
"How do I know if it's the right choice?" I ask, my voice breaking.
Mother Wren shakes her head slowly. "You don't. That's the cruelty of crossroads, child. You can never know if you chose right until it's far too late to change your mind. You can only choose, and then live—or die—with what follows."
She rises creakily, her joints popping. "You look half-frozen, child. Let me get you something to warm you while you think." Before I can protest, she's shuffling toward the bar.
I sit there, turning the vial over in my hands. The crystal is cool against my skin, the liquid inside hypnotic in its movement. One swallow. That's all it would take. One swallow and I'd be free of the bond, free of the danger, free to raise my child somewhere safe.
But I'd also be free of him. Free of the memories of loving him, of being loved by him. Free of the person I've become since meeting him.
Is that freedom? Or just a different kind of prison?
Mother Wren returns with a clay mug, steam rising from it in lazy spirals.
"Mulled cider," she says, setting it before me with a kind smile.
"With herbs for warmth and a clear mind.
You drink that, child, and then you go somewhere quiet to think.
Make your decision when you're warm and rested, not cold and exhausted. "
"Thank you." I wrap my hands around the mug gratefully. The heat seeps into my frozen fingers, and I lift it to my lips. The cider is sweet and spiced, warming me from the inside out. I drink deeply, craving the comfort.
"There's a clearing," Mother Wren says, settling back into her chair. "North of here, through the silver-barked trees. Very private, very quiet. The kind of place where you can think without the world pressing in. If you need somewhere to be alone with your thoughts before deciding..."
"That sounds perfect." The warmth from the cider is spreading through me now, loosening the tight knot of anxiety in my chest. I finish the mug, feeling better than I have in hours.
"Good." Mother Wren's smile is gentle. "You go there and think, child. Really think about what you want—not what fear wants, not what others want. What you want. And when you've decided..." She pauses. "Well. The path will be clear."
She rises and shuffles away, disappearing into the crowded inn before I can thank her again.
I sit there for a moment longer, the vial still clutched in my hand, then tuck it back into my pocket. The clearing sounds like exactly what I need. Somewhere truly quiet where I can sort through everything without distractions.
I leave coins on the table and head for the door, pulling my cloak tight against the cold morning air. My horse is stabled at the village edge—I'll retrieve her later. For now, I need to walk, to feel the earth beneath my feet as I think.
The path north is easy to find—silver-barked trees marking the way like ghostly sentinels. I guide my horse along it into the forest, each step taking me further from the village, further from everything.
Through the bond, I feel Malakai wake. Feel his instant awareness that I'm not beside him. Feel his emotions shift from confusion to alarm to something approaching panic as he realizes I'm truly gone.
I'm safe, I try to send through the bond, though I don't know if he can feel it. I just need time to think. Please understand.
His response is a wave of desperation and love so fierce it makes my chest ache. He's already searching, his shadows spreading across the realm like a net.
The clearing opens before me exactly as Mother Wren described—a natural circle of moss-covered stones, perfectly quiet and still.
I dismount and tie my horse to a nearby tree, letting her graze while I settle onto one of the ancient stones.
Dawn light filters through the silver branches, casting everything in an otherworldly glow.
I sink down against one of the stones, exhaustion finally catching up with me. My pack falls beside me, and I close my eyes for just a moment, letting the peace of this place wash over me.
When I open them again, the sun has risen higher. I must have dozed off. How long was I asleep?
Through the bond, I feel Malakai's presence more strongly now—he's searching, desperate, his emotions a chaotic storm of fear and love and guilt.
I pull out the vial, holding it up to catch the morning light. The liquid inside swirls with patterns that hurt to look at directly—magic older and darker than anything I've encountered.
One swallow. That's all it would take.
But once done, it can't be undone. The bond severed, the memories lost, the person I am now—the person who loves him despite everything—erased.
Is that really what I want? Or am I just afraid?
Julia was afraid too. Afraid enough to take her own life, thinking it would save him. But it didn't. The curse remained. The darkness grew worse.
What if severing the bond doesn't save us either? What if it just leaves us both broken and alone, with nothing to show for it but scars that never heal?
Through the bond, I feel Malakai's presence — still searching, still calling for me. His emotions wash through the connection: fear, desperation, love so fierce it makes my chest ache.
I'm sorry, I think, though he can't hear me. I love you. I love you so much it terrifies me.
But I can't let our baby die the way Julia's baby died. I can't become another ghost haunting your halls, another name you can't speak.
I have to choose.
I uncork the vial. The liquid releases a faint silvery mist that smells of lightning and ash, sharp and foreign.
Dawn has fully broken now. I can see the first true light of morning touching the horizon, painting the silver trees in shades of gold and pink.
I raise the vial to my lips.
And I hesitate.