Chapter 163: Not mine to tell 3

LYSANDER

"Thank you," I whispered. My voice came out rough. "I did need to hear that."

Fia gave me a small, tired smile.

"Good."

She turned toward the car, letting her hand fall from my arm as she walked the last few steps to the door. The driver opened it for her, and she paused before getting inside.

"Take care of her," she said, looking back at me. "And take care of yourself."

Her gaze lingered on mine.

"This isn’t over yet."

"I know."

She climbed into the car.

The door closed with a solid thud that seemed strangely loud in the quiet. A moment later, the engine turned over. The headlights swept across the gravel as the car pulled away, carrying Fia back toward her mate, her children, and the life waiting for her beyond the estate.

I watched until the taillights disappeared into the darkness.

It made me realize how cold it was getting. But still, I stood in the drive for a long moment, the wind picking up, cold against my face. I wondered what Bonnie could possibly have to tell me that had Fia so worried; what secret could be so terrible that she was preparing for my rejection. My mind spun through possibilities, each one worse than the last. Was she leaving? Had she decided she couldn’t handle the politics, the danger, the constant threat of violence? Was she going to ask me to abdicate for real, to run away with her and leave the kingdom to burn?

Or was it something deeper? Something about the attack today, about the thing that had taken her over, about the power she couldn’t control?

I didn’t know. And standing there in the dark, watching the taillights disappear down the drive, I realized I was terrified to find out.

Then my chest cracked open.

It wasn’t a metaphor. It wasn’t a poetic turn of phrase. It was a physical sensation, like someone had driven a spike through my sternum, piercing the heart of me. I gasped, doubling over, my hands flying to my chest, my fingers clawing at the fabric of my shirt as if I could tear out the pain with my bare hands.

The mate bond.

It was screaming. Not in sound, but in sensation, a raw, jagged tearing feeling that ripped through my ribcage and down my spine. Bonnie. Something was wrong with Bonnie. She was hurt. She was—

I didn’t think. I couldn’t think. The world narrowed to a single point of agony in my chest, and I was moving, my feet pounding against the gravel, then the stone path, then the marble floors of the estate. I burst through the front doors, ignoring the sentinels who called out to me, my vision tunneling down to a single thread of connection that pulled me forward, toward her, always toward her.

The infirmary. She was in the infirmary.

I ran faster than I had ever run in my life, my lungs burning, my heart hammering against my ribs, the bond in my chest throbbing in time with my panic. I took the stairs three at a time, my boots slipping on the polished stone, my shoulder slamming into the wall as I turned the corner too fast. I didn’t feel the pain. I didn’t feel anything but the desperate, animal need to get to her, to protect her, and to kill whatever was hurting her.

I burst through the doors of the infirmary ward, the smell of blood hitting me like a physical blow. Copper and salt, mingled with something else, something wrong. My eyes swept across the room, taking in the scene in fragments, my mind struggling to make sense of what I was seeing.

Sentinels stood in a loose circle, pale and shaken. Bradley was among them, his face grim, his hands stained red.

Then I saw the body on the floor.

A young man I vaguely recognized lay motionless, his eyes open and empty, blood dried along his chin.

Ryker.

The name clicked into place, distant and strangely unimportant.

And then I saw Bonnie.

She sat in a chair with her shoulders hunched, her hands hanging loosely between her knees. Tears streaked her face, mixed with something darker. Blood, perhaps. Grime.

She was alive.

She was breathing.

So why did the bond in my chest still scream?

The pain hadn’t eased. It was still raw, still tearing through me as though something inside my chest had been ripped open.

I swallowed hard.

But she was not hurt? Was the pain I was feeling psychological?

I ignored the body. I ignored Bradley calling my name. I ignored everything but her.

I crossed the room in three strides, dropping to my knees in front of her chair. My hands reached for her face before I could think, tilting her chin up so I could see her eyes properly. They were wide and shocked, her pupils blown, her gaze unfocused as though she was still somewhere else entirely.

"Bonnie," I rasped, my voice breaking. "Bonnie, look at me. Look at me."

She blinked slowly.

For a moment, she only stared at me, as if she didn’t recognize what she was seeing. Then her eyes found mine, and I watched recognition flicker across her face. Relief followed it, but there was something else there too. Something broken.

"Lysander," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"I’m here," I promised.

My thumbs brushed the tears from her cheeks, smearing the blood and grime across her skin. I didn’t care. I only wanted her to keep looking at me.

"I’m here. You’re safe. I’ve got you."

Her face crumpled.

She collapsed forward, her forehead hitting my shoulder, her whole body shaking with sobs she had been holding back. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close and burying my face in her hair.

I breathed her in, soap and sweat and fear, familiar enough to make something inside me loosen. ℴ

She was alive.

She was here.

And I held on, letting her cry against me while the rest of the infirmary disappeared around us.