The first thing I felt was the cold. Not the freezing mountain wind of the north, but a deep, icy ache settling in the very marrow of my bones.
I opened my eyes to find myself in Silas’s massive, dark-canopied bed. The air in the master suite was clean, free of the toxic silver dust that had nearly destroyed my lungs in the storage room. But my chest still felt like it was packed with crushed glass. Every breath was a shallow, burning effort.
Worse than my own physical agony was the heavy, suffocating wave of stress and fury slamming into my brain through the blood pact.
Silas wasn't in the room. But I could feel him.
Through the bond, I felt the tight coils of his muscles, the thunderous, violent beating of his heart, and the sheer, unadulterated rage he was holding back by a thread.
