Page 93 of Creatures that Breathe

Draven’s mouth spreads in what I assume is a smile.

Run.

My legs are numb.

“I didn’t... I would’ve...” Cross falters to explain that I’m a fool who fell—dove—into his trap. I thought I was helping him.

The wind whips my hair around me, and through the tornado of blue, I spot him. Slinking between two of Draven’s uniformed males, draped in a smart black trench, moving with deadly purpose: Atlas.

The male Cross defended.

Draven extends a gloved hand through the fog, fingers stretching out to me.

I thrash against Cross, fighting to get free, but it just adds noise to the air. Useless. The spymaster will not release me. I’ve given him everything he need, and now he’ll return me to my keeper, a fulfilled loan.

“Your phone went dark,” Atlas informs Cross, approaching steadily, a black umbrella masquerading as a cane guides his steps. The Chire’s gaze drifts over me, disdain and disgust clear in the slash of his brows. “Princess,” he nods.

Deep down, I’m not surprised Atlas betrayed me. Prey do anything to survive. Part of me understands him, forgives him, makes me numb to him.

I wish I could say the same about his spymaster.

Heartbreak is not as simple as betrayal.

Draven snaps his outstretched fingers, not one to share attention. “Enough of this behavior, angel. I’ve allowed you your fit. It’s finished now.” He gestures dismissively toward Atlas. “Our deal, Blackguard?”

“As you command,” Atlas returns, monotone, bored. He forcefully rips me from Cross’s grasp, and throws across slick cobblestone to Draven.

My future husband doesn’t bother to catch me as I tumble. Instead, he grabs a handful of my hair and yanks my cheek to his knee like a disobedient animal.

“Rune lost communication,” Atlas is saying to Cross. “Right before you left. You wouldn’t try to ditch us, would you?

Cross is stone. Motionless. He’s not the male I know. He denies any involvement with a shake of his head, not once taking his eyes off my spot on the dirty ground.

Draven’s nails dig into my scalp, and it feels like he’s pulling out each blue strand one by one. I stagger to my feet to relieve the burn and he buries his nose into my throat. “You reek of him,” he snarls, voice hacking at the thick air, utterly filled with twisted pleasure. “I’ll have to clean you off. Scrape every soiled piece away until you’re fresh for me. And then, when you heal, angel, you’ll accept your punishment.

Atlas swings his umbrella to his shoulder and the palace sentries tense collectively.

Draven dismisses him. “Our business is done. Remove yourself from my sight.”

In the prince’s distraction, I crane to see Cross. Jaw clenched, lip bleeding, eyes black as night. Atlas’s palm rests easy on his shoulder.

It was all a cruel fantasy. Every part.

He told me to run. And each time, I didn’t, he rewarded me. A kiss, a compliment.

And here he is, handing me off, someone else’s problem.

Always handed off. Always the sacrifice. Always controlled.

Anger seethes within me. Roiling, burning anger.

“You couldn’t have left me to drown?” I spin at Cross, body trembling, stomach upside down.

“Shut up.” Draven twists his grip tighter, tearing at my roots. Pain shoots through my scalp.

Cross was never going to be gentle. His promises, his lies, they ferried me away, convinced me we were partners, searching for answers together. But it was all a ploy, a perfectly executed seduction orchestrated by the spymaster.

Tears stream down my face, a mix of betrayal and despair.

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