The profound sense of relief that flooded me the moment Rowena fell—unmoving, truly dead—was overwhelming. It was like a dam breaking. I was no longer tense, no longer worried that the anxiety of her existence would somehow harm my child. The terror that had been a vise around my heart vanished, and in its place, a crushing exhaustion hit me. My legs gave out instantly, and I started to crumple to the blood-soaked ground.
In a flash, Draven was there. He shifted back to his human form, ignoring his own wounds, and caught me before I hit the dirt. His arms wrapped around me—strong, steady, and utterly real. The world around me started to spin, the sight of the slain warrior and the dead priestess blurring into abstract horror. My eyes dropped shut, and the world faded to black.
When I ope
