Page 41 of Ulfar

Without a map, I’ve got to navigate based on feel. That’s never been my strong suit, but if I’m ever going to see Sarah again, I have to figure this out. Ducking into a small alcove, I let out a breath and close my eyes, trying to home in on her location.

Or something like that. If Sarah is really my heart-mate, I should be able to sense her, right?

That’s what my people believe, anyway. I never know what to believe about any of that supernatural fated-mates stuff, but my time with Sarah has me questioning everything. Orri told me that he could follow Isabella through their bond when she was lost and in need of help.

Would I be able to do that, too?

I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, trying to focus. I’m a soldier, not a shaman. I don’t know how any of this is supposed to work and yet—

There it is. A spark of light, ever so faint, materializes in my mind’s eye. It floats across the passage and then pauses, as if beckoning me to follow.

When I open my eyes, the same scene greets me. I don’t question it. I just know I have to follow, and I’ll find her at last.

I weave through the labyrinth of tunnels, following my senses and my instincts to lead me to Sarah. I don’t run into any other guards, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. But her smell fills my nostrils and her presence warms my soul. She’s close. I can feel it.

We come to a crossroads and the spark leading the way sputters, fizzles, and dies. Cursing under my breath, I peer through the darkness and try to figure out which way to go next. My equipment is still jammed, and with it my communications and shield. But I’m too close to give up now.

As if in answer, a scream rings out from nearby and I recognize it at once.

“Sarah!” I roar and charge forward, down the lefthand path toward the source of the noise. Not once do I think that it could be a diversion or a trap. My senses are on full alert, my heart racing in time with each frantic, panted breath. It’s her. It has to be. She’s close!

And there, just out of the corner of my vision, I see it: a tall, bulky alien woman shoving a squirming, crying Sarah into cuffs and dragging her into another room. She doesn’t see me, but I’ve seen all I need to see.

I’m going in. And this time, I won’t fail.

RESCUED

SARAH

The moment the sounds of sirens fill the air, I know.

Hope surges to life for the first time in what feels like ages, a heady brightness—maybe I might make it out of this after all. Something tingles deep inside me, an itch I can’t quite scratch, and I recognize it as the feeling I had during those long, drugged-out dreamscapes.

It’s Ulfar. He’s close.

He came for me.

“Help!” I scream at the top of my lungs, hoping that he’s close enough to hear me. The sounds of gunfire ring out from just beyond the door, and I hear shouts and the heavy sounds of footsteps.

Are those the Syndicate soldiers...or his?

“Help!” I cry out again, but this time it attracts the wrong kind of attention.

Atraxia herself bursts into the room, dragging my father in cuffs alongside her. I hop up, trying to duck her charge, but she’s too fast. Her heavy alien bulk pins me to the wall, snarling. “What have you done?” she hisses into my ear. “Your little friends won’t be able to save you.”

Strong hands force cuffs onto my wrists, and they lock with an eerie digital beep. “No!” I scream, kicking out at her as hard as I can. It’s like kicking a brick wall—she doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move an inch. The impact vibrates through my foot and leg, sending spikes of pain surging past the rushes of adrenaline.

I curse and snarl and spit, but none of it does any good. She’s got me. Me and my father both. Speaking of which...

“What are you doing here?” I growl at the man who calls himself my father. He’s not looking so high and mighty now. I’m still hurting from the sudden betrayal, surprised he doesn’t have anything to say for himself. I guess that just goes to show that the Syndicate can turn on anyone at any time.

“Sarah,” he wails, big eyes filled with fear and fatherly concern. “I’m so sorry to get you wrapped into this, so sorry...”

“What are you talking about?” I mutter, but a seed of confusion sows its way deep into my chest. “You sold out, remember? I saw you at the bar with those women. You acted like I didn’t even matter!”

His brow furrows in confusion. “The bar? Sarah, are you well? I’ve been in my cell this whole time. I think I would know if I saw my baby girl. Did they drug you too...? Oh, this is all my fault.” His face crumples into a dejected sob.

Two conflicting notions war in my exhausted mind. Is he telling the truth, or is this another manipulation? Or what if...

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