Page 53 of Upon Shattered Bonds

Zeke smiled sadly, the story of his sister consuming him. “They mated within five days of meeting one another. Their bond was strong, incredibly so, and they couldn’t bear being apart for more than a few hours at most. They were smitten with each other, and no one saw the inevitable end—not even my sovereign.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Nina stilled as the storm of emotion crested in Zeke. As he spoke, history reverberating through him, her stomach twisted at the overwhelming surge of sorrow.

“It was little more than a month into their mating when we started noticing the signs. Her abilities began to recede. Her telepathy became a whisper. Even her healing started to weaken. When she began to suffer from exhaustion and sickness, we knew something was wrong. Our healer did everything she could …”

Zeke’s expression flashed with such deep, keening loss that Nina gasped. Helplessness surged through the bond, and his throat seemed to spasm.

“Nina.”

His voice was hoarse, the sound strangling in his throat. When he reached for her, she readily took his hand in hers.

“In the end, it was the mating bond that killed her. Too young to physically withstand the pull, the psychic link they shared ate away at her until she was a shell of her former self. Even with my energy amplification ability, I wasn’t able to stop the drain. Regardless of how many times I transferred power to my little sister, the effect was only temporary. In the end, she was hollow: her memories erased, her powers drained, her energy inert. She died three months into their matehood.”

Tears pricked at Nina’s eyes, blurring her vision. Zeke’s grief crashed into her. Drawn to him as if by an otherworldly force, she stepped forward into the space between his knees.

Holding her breath, she gently cupped her hands against the faint stubble of his cheeks and drew his head up to meet her gaze.

The pain she saw stole her breath. “I’m so sorry, Zeke. I didn’t know.”

“I couldn’t let our bond poison you, Nina. You were so young, so much like my sister, and I was convinced you’d end up like her. Or, if you survived, that I might have unintentionally stolen your abilities, maybe even your sovereignty. I couldn’t risk it. I had to give you the chance the develop into the woman you were meant to be. If I had given in to the bond, it would have been the ultimate betrayal.”

Zeke’s hand quietly covered hers, the gesture speaking volumes about his intent. “I couldn’t save my sister, Nina, but I could save you. And even if you hated me for all eternity, at least you’d be alive.”

Tears cascaded down her cheeks unbidden. Finally, she fully understood the reasoning behind Zeke’s actions. He’d been nearly four centuries older than she when they’d met, and by Raeth law she had still been a youngling. At the time, it had felt like he wasn’t seeing her and her circumstances—when, all along, the drive to protect her had simply outweighed his need to complete their mating or appease her. He’d never been outwardly regretful because he’d done it with her own safety in mind.

The bitter words they’d initially shared had poisoned their bond. Neither could know what the other wasn’t sharing, and the miscommunication had cost them. Every time he’d try to approach her since, her pride had pushed her to stonewall him.

“Zeke, forgive me,” she whispered. “I assumed the worst, and I was unfair to you.”

Unable to bear any space between them, Nina clutched him close, cherishing the contact that was as natural as it was blissfully new. He trembled slightly before he relaxed into her hold, letting his head gently rest against her stomach.

“You didn’t know—because I never told you,” he whispered. “But that wasn’t the end of it. Georg couldn’t stand his part in what happened to Izzy and took his own life hours after she passed. My parents, reeling from the insurmountable loss, sought the Light only a month later. After my parents, after my sister, I couldn’t be alone in that home anymore. I couldn’t bear to be where they had lived, and Izzy had danced as a toddler. There were simply too many memories.”

“So you became sovereign of the Danada.” Nina soothingly strummed her fingers down the coiled warmth of his bicep.

With a grateful nod, Zeke continued. “I was already serving as a lieutenant to my own sovereign. I challenged Hassan, subconsciously seeking either a change or an end. I won, and Tzuriel followed me, becoming my second. We’ve never looked back, and we rarely speak of what happened before.”

Nina’s heart stuttered. Zeke had lost his sister, his brother-in-law, and his parents all within the span of days. Her family had been taken from her just as suddenly and she knew, even twelve centuries later, that the grief was still unbearable at times.

The slashes of Zeke’s eyebrows were drawn together, his gaze lowered as if trying to hide from the vulnerability he’d just exposed to her.

To Nina, Zeke had never seemed weak. The man had been strength personified ever since they day she’d met him, and she had assumed at times that he was simply better equipped to bear their separation. From the outside, it appeared that he didn’t need her—not as a mate, not as a fellow sovereign, not even as a friend.

Now, she’d begun to see the hints of emotional fragility beneath his put-together exterior.

For the entirety of her existence, Nina had functioned as the sole source of strength for those around her. Bolstered by pride, she had welcomed being the one everyone depended on. To her, being irreplaceable was essential.

Zeke served in the same capacity for those he loved. She’d thought this meant he’d demand the same from Nina, preferring that she’d reveal her weaknesses with no reciprocation on his part. Nina had thought he would never be vulnerable with her.

She’d been wrong.

The man before her desperately needed her in the same way she needed him. A piece of themselves wouldn’t be complete without the other, and they’d both been too busy looking anywhere but at the bond between them to acknowledge the void.

With Zeke, she realized she could tear down the boundaries between them and be exposed in a way she couldn’t with anyone else. Because together, shared vulnerability made them stronger, not weaker.

The impact of that truth almost sent her reeling.

---