Rion had never known such excruciating pain.
It wasn’t his.
It was hers.
And because of their damned fate bond, it was tearing through him like fire licking through dry leaves—consuming, devouring, uncontrollable.
He had felt many things before.
Rage.
Victory.
Bloodlust.
But this—**this suffocating, gut-wrenching agony—**was new.
It ripped into his chest, twisting, stabbing, drowning him in an unbearable wave of sorrow, betrayal, and… heartbreak.
And Freya was at the center of it.
His little human.
His bride.
Something was wrong with her.
Terribly wrong.
Rion didn’t think—he moved.
He sprinted down the halls, his heart thundering like a war drum.
His guards barely had time to bow before he was bursting into her chambers.
The moment he saw her—he knew.
Freya was a mess.
