Page 42 of King of Pride and Talons

It was an unseemly sight that Breya turned away from and focused on the bindings around her wrist. Her stomach churned, and she thought for a moment that she might faint after all, or vomit. She had never taken a life like that, or at all. The idea made her saintly soul sick, so she rushed with the cuffs around her wrists, then her ankles, her survival instinct kicking in tenfold.

Breya was careful to keep herself steady as she climbed off the table, intentionally avoiding the sight of Nyfain’s upturned, lifeless glare. She carried herself through the black, following the single beam of light along the slabs of damp stone, until she came upon a big steel door.

She pushed it open gingerly and was surprised to find that it hadn’t been locked. In her daze and exhaustion, Breya stepped out of the room and was met by a severe blinding white light, as well as Nyfain’s awaiting guards.

“She’s trying to escape!"

Breya was squinting and stumbling down the hallway, holding her hands out in front of her to keep from colliding with a wall. She heard the guards chasing her down and considered risking it all by sprinting.

It was far better than the opposing option, which felt like an awful branding on her soul. She could try to kill the guards, but one extinguished soul was already enough. It made her feel horrible, every muscle in her body crying with despair.

But in the end, Breya didn’t have to do anything more.

She heard the lions racing toward her before she was able to see them. The light of day was strong, and her eyesight was frail. Their big bodies hammered against the ground and passed her. Breya felt in front of her for a wall, and when she found one, she slid to the floor.

The lions were engaged in battle with the guards. She heard cries of agony and roars of victory. The witch curled up into the fetal position and buried her face into the crook of her arm praying to some unseen force that she would get to see her family again.

And Thorne. She dearly needed to see him again too.

She rocked back and forth and sang herself a lullaby, one that she hadn't heard from her mother's lips since she was a child. It came up like a loving ghost, soothing her fears and terrified heart.

“The sun is here, the sun is ours, the sun is yours. Even when it is a cloudy day, the sun is there, the sun is yours, the sun is ours."

Tears streaked the witch's cheeks. She shoved her fingers into her ears to block the sounds of the ongoing battle and continued to rock and sing to herself. The tune did the trick and lulled her into a palliative state where every meadow was a glimmering green, and death was far beyond reach.

“Breya? Breya?"

Someone was shaking her shoulders. Her eyes were stuck closed, and she refused to let death take her. The phantom didn't know her. She was scared; she was desperate.

“Breya, it's all right.”

Whoever was touching her had a voice like an angel. She opened her eyes and then began to weep in frenzied anguish.

“Thorne, Thorne, please hold me!”

Her hero did.

TWENTY-THREE

THORNE

The sight of Breya curled up into a ball splintered Thorne's heart into a million pieces. While his men had made their way ahead of him, he lingered back, sensing her fluttering around him like a beautiful sea breeze. When he found her, he quickly shifted back into his human form and crashed against the stone floor on his knees.

She was in a dire state, her limbs shaking like leaves caught in a windstorm. When he laid his hands upon her skin, it was damp and cold. He also immediately knew what she was forced to do and why she was so distraught about it.

“Breya? Breya?” he whispered her name softly.

She begged him to hold her once she saw who it was. The sight of those glowing green eyes relieved by his presence made the king feel reborn.

He held her as she sobbed into his chest. He stroked her tangled hair and rested his chin on her head, speaking in a soft, peaceful tone.

“Everything is fine now, my sweet. I promise you. I'm here.”

His men finished off Nyfain’s guards and entered the dungeon lair as he comforted his mate. When they returned, he already knew what they were going to inform him of.

Vale, his lead enforcer with whom he had the strongest connection, stood before him. The enforcer’s knitted brow told the king that Nyfain was dead. His hearted twist, overwhelming empathy for what his beloved must have been enduring.

Thorne raised a finger into the air and shook his head. Vale understood inherently.

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