Page 55 of Upon Shattered Bonds

“Michael’s home is on the edge of clan lands,” Zeke said. “He was an opportune target.”

Tzuriel bared his teeth. “And the intruder was a Shield. His clan mark is from Grant.”

“Another one to add to the tally.” Zeke cast a glance over his shoulder at Michael. “Let’s let him rest—I’ve already sent a telepathic hail to Beth to stand guard. She’ll be here in a moment.”

Too keyed-up to be trapped indoors, he teleported all of his lieutenants to his front porch. The March wind was refreshing over his heated skin, and he felt a visceral need to have an unobstructed view of his territory.

The urges from his mating bond were a blessing and a curse. He could feel them taking control more with every hour, spurring along the feral aspect of Raeth nature. Here, at the center of his clan lands, the distance that had formed between him and his people after only a few days of separation was undeniable—but his priorities remained with Nina’s safety.

Without their intensity, or her freely given support, he wasn’t sure he could have managed to tell her everything last night. Eleven centuries of guilt had threatened to suffocate him several times, but the truth he owed her was finally out. Forgiveness and understanding existed between them, at last, and although he had felt Nina wasn’t yet ready to yield to their bond, he was optimistic for the first time.

Heart constricting with worry over his mate’s fate and their unenviable position, his feet stopped moving just before he reached the edge of his porch. Gripping the cool wooden railing, he exhaled through the tension of the past few days. He re-evaluated the clan network, hating the way his absence had made them anxious.

“Sovereign,” Tzuriel said. “Is Nina well?”

“Still alive. Resting.”

Halfway through examining clan lands, Kaien had confirmed that Nina was well protected, this time by himself, Aidan, and Lucy. When it should’ve given him peace of mind, all he could think about was getting back to her.

There’d been no additional intrusions onto his territory since the original riot days ago, but disquiet fretted along the bonds to his clansmen. A level of nervousness plagued the majority, but knowing the state of Zeke’s mind, they’d respectfully kept their distance.

Besides, his lieutenants were getting restless; their bonds with him betrayed as much. Das, a hotter head than the rest of them, was pacing along the perimeter of the deck, his hands clenching and unclenching in rhythmic intervals. When Zeke sent him calming waves through their clan bond, the hands stopped. The pacing did not.

Hemin closed the distance between them only seconds later. “I need to evaluate your wound, sovereign.”

Without waiting for a confirmation, the sandy-blond-haired Raeth proceeded to do just that. Hemin was a physician by trade but a scholar at heart. Though he could wield a blade with skill, he was far more adept at wielding a scalpel and far more comfortable palming a book than a battle axe. At a thousand years of age, Hemin was comfortable both giving orders and taking them, and Zeke trusted him emphatically.

After less than a minute’s examination, the healer growled low under his breath, shaking his head before shooting his sovereign a glare.

“It hasn’t healed, not fully.” In a rare showing of angst, Hemin cracked his knuckles. “Damn merjha.”

“It’s fine, Hemin. It’s not painful.”

Squeezing the healer’s shoulder reassuringly, he watched as Hemin lost the tension that hummed through his body. His eyes didn’t leave the wound, his soft grip sending healing waves into the sensitive flesh.

“Was the bullet meant for you?”

Zeke shook his head. “It was aimed at Nina.”

“And you took it for her?”

Zeke was unsurprised to hear the ire in Das’ voice. When he turned to meet his gaze, a matching expression tightened his features. Looking around, he realized that all of his lieutenants bore the same apprehension. In his own preoccupation, he’d missed it.

Guilt stabbed at him, threatening his honor. The truth of it burned him to the quick: in his focus to right past wrongs with his mate, he’d abandoned his clan. Not only for the last three days, but if he followed Nina in death, potentially forever.

The creed that stood at the heart of what it was to be a sovereign—the pledge to his people—could not be forgotten. The duality of their competing interest threatened to tear him apart, his mind alternating between loyalties and commitments.

Each of his stalwart lieutenants was motionless, waiting for an answer. He’d already taken too long to reply, and he felt their insecurity and fear tug at the clan bonds between them.

Das’ mouth was set in a firm line, his nostrils flaring. Several inches below Zeke’s six and a half feet, he was brawny and muscular, and was constantly finding ways to burn off extra energy. Today, a fine layer of perspiration shined on his warm umber skin, and his copper-colored eyes were sharp.

Wood creaking under his tightening hand, Zeke sighed. “She’s my mate. I can’t leave her alone in this fight.”

“But she isn’t your mate!” Das pointed out. “You’ve admitted that bridge is burned, sovereign, and now, she’s going to get you killed.”

“Clearly, Nina is a target,” Tzuriel murmured. “And by being with her, you’ve thrown your lot in with hers. It isn’t safe for you there, Ezekiel.”

Not sovereign. Not Zeke. No nod to his position. Tzuriel’s flat, straightforward truth was spoken from one man to another, his cousin far more interested in honesty than reassurance.

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