Fated to Break Open

Chapter 19

MAETHYS POV

…twelve.

Thirteen.

Fourteen.

Gone.

Fourteen steps before I can’t hear them anymore.

I held the number in my skull like it was a nail hammered through fog—something solid I could press my thoughts against so they didn’t scatter.

It was dark now. A couple of hours since I had woken up. My lungs burned, shallow and careful. My skin lit up with pain—sharp, crawling, like thousands of ants biting at once.

The metal under me, the air around me, the chains at my wrists. It all burned, my skin bright red.

I didn’t understand it. I only knew it hurt.

I kept listening.

Heavy boots walking around paired with deep voices.

The occasional sandals moving quickly and quietly.

And then, voices.

At first, it was far enough away that it blurred, words just beyond my reach. Men yelling. Laughing. The sound of glass clinking. A fire popping. The whole forest lit with their noise.

I inhaled, trying to focus on what was happening, rather than the burning metal surrounding me.

The laughter swelled, then folded into shouting, and I caught fragments—words thrown like stones. I couldn’t make out all of them, but the tone was enough. Ugly. Drunk. Proud.

A voice cut through the rest like a blade through cloth.

Loud. Thick.

My heart lurched, hard enough to hurt.

Because I knew that voice.

He was one that had spoken close to my cage.

If things go south, kill her.

His voice got closer, heavy boots crunching stone.

My pulse spiked. Heat climbed my throat. I forced my breaths shallow, forced my body limp.

Keys jingled.

Metal scraped.

A latch clicked.

The door opened.

There was a pause.

I didn’t move.

I didn’t open my eyes.

Then his hand—big, rough—closed around my ankle.

He yanked.

Pain detonated up my leg as my heel caught on the edge of the metal. I bit down on a sound that wanted to tear out of me anyway. My back hit the ground outside the cage with a thud that knocked the air from my lungs.

I gasped before I could stop myself.

His laugh rumbled, pleased.

“Well,” he said, loud enough for an audience. “Finally awake.”

My eyelids fluttered on instinct, then stopped. I kept them mostly shut, just enough to see light through lashes.

“Let’s show off the prized heir, shall we?” he called.

He dragged me like I weighed nothing. Like I wasn’t a person, just a thing with limbs that could be hauled.

“Come on Zakael, bring her out here.” I could hear one slur.

My shoulder scraped over dirt and pine needles. Something sharp bit into my side. I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached.

Cold night air washed over me.

He had called me an heir. But it didn’t make sense. I had no one, I couldn’t be an heir.

I wasn’t the one they wanted.

Campfire smoke, thick and oily, tangled with pine sap and damp earth.

He hauled me forward, and the world opened up.

I blinked fully for the first time since waking on the metal floor.

Tall pines speared the sky, black silhouettes against a spread of stars so bright it looked like the heavens had cracked. The moon hung high—white, merciless—watching everything.

This wasn’t the forest at the pack.

Wasn’t the forest of my home.

They’d moved me.

My cage had been tucked behind supplies—crates, sacks, a rolled tarp—like someone had tried to hide it from the firelight. Like I was cargo they didn’t want seen.

A campfire burned in the clearing, and bodies circled it—some on logs, some on the ground, some standing with cups in their hands. Their clothes didn’t match.

Even in the pack, I noticed similarities in the clothes they wore, but here was different. Regular jeans and boots. Hoodies. One man in a fur lined coat.

And a couple of them in robes—dark fabric that caught the firelight like wet ink.

My stomach turned.

They looked like the ones that had been wielding fire and ice.

Across the circle, half in shadow, three women sat hunched. Arms bound in front of them. Chains glinted on their wrists the same way mine did. I could see the dirt covering them even in the dim lighting. Hair disheveled or in knots. Clothes thread bare and torn.

Not just me.

The realization hit like a bruise spreading.

Not just me.

Someone whooped when Zakael, now having a name to the man harassing me, brought me into the light.

The others shifted around him.

He was powerful.

And the camp moved in his gravity.

He jerked me upright, yanking my body against his. One arm locked around my rib cage, crushing the air out of me. The other slid up and wrapped around my throat—not choking, not yet, just holding. Just reminding me he could.

My hands were still bound. My wrist—where the cuff sat—throbbed hot, then colder, then hot again, like my skin couldn’t decide whether to burn or freeze.

“Look at her,” he announced, voice thick with satisfaction. “Look at what Cordelious has been hiding in the woods.”

A few laughs. A few murmurs. A few disgusted sounds that weren’t aimed at him.

He leaned in, his mouth brushing the edge of my ear.

His breath hit my ear.

Then his voice.