Page 112 of A Shattered Kingdom of Steel

“Lymseia,” I murmur, over and over again. “Lymseia!”

She’s afraid. Gods, she’s so afraid.

I need to get to her. Right now.

Scrambling from the bed, I throw myself into the hall, not sparing a moment to bother with shoes or lighting a candle. I scan the dark hallway, aimless. I have no idea where she’s gone, or how to reach her.

Panic muddles my thoughts, the drive to protect the only identifiable thing I can hold onto.

“Focus,” I urge myself like Lymseia does when she’s feeling overwhelmed. It’s the only way to be of any help to her. Pressing my eyes tightly shut, I lean forward, looking inward to our bond. If there’s anything that can lead me to her, it’s that.

Searching my mind, I wade past the well of my magic waiting to be used and reach a wide, open space. If my untapped power is a lake, then my bond with Lymseia is a forest—tall, stable trees that provide shelter and withstand even the harshest of elements.

I feel her there.

Her fear.

“I’m coming, Bladesinger,” I mutter, like a prayer. “I’m coming for you.”

Not giving a second thought to my surroundings, I break into a run, blindly following the tug in my mind that feels like my mate when she’s near. The only thing I can comprehend, the only thing I can perceive, is her.

I weave through the manor’s unlit halls, stumbling through the dark. I burst through doors and run over neatly trimmed grass.

Where is she where is she where is she—

When I see her fall, something inside me snaps. My legs propel me forward, numbed to the burn in my muscles. I barely even discern the male figure standing over her like a shadow, black wings nearly invisible against the night. My mind runs wild, frantic, like my entire world is crashing and colliding and imploding in on itself.

All I can think about, all I can look at, is her.

Catching a glimpse of me, the male shoots into the skies, black wings flapping like a vulture’s. I pray to every damn god in the pantheon that I’m not too late.

Praying that whatever he did to her can be undone.

Praying that I can help her.

When I’m within an arm’s reach of her, I fall to my knees, running my hands over her body to feel for injuries. But there’s nothing.

Nothing.

Her eyes are closed, and she’s so still I’m afraid she’s—

I can’t even finish that thought.

Swallowing, I press two fingers to the side of her throat, beneath her jawline, relieved out of my mind to feel a pulse there. A slow, faint pulse, but a pulse, nonetheless. Lowering my ear to her mouth, I feel a faint breath. Her breathing is slow and strained, but gods, she’s breathing.

She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive.

Urgency powers my movements, possessiveness taking over me. Scooping her into my arms, I cradle her to my chest and break into a sprint. I barrel into the manor, yelling as loud as I can.

I don’t care if I wake the entire gods-damned city.

My mate needs help.

“Help!” I cry, screaming until my voice runs ragged and my throat stings from shouting. “I need help!”

Savell’s the first to come into view, his entire body on high alert. I’ve never been so fucking glad to see him. A question forms on his lips but vanishes when he sees my mate’s limp form in my arms. Kheldryn, then Gryska, and then Ronan follow, their faces void of color.

More bodies flood the hall, shock and fear etched into their expressions.

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