Page 2 of Dark Rebel's Reckoning

She hadn't been immortal when Max met her half a century ago—he was sure of that—so the only logical explanation was that she'd been a Dormant, and he'd unknowingly induced her transition.

Fenella had been on the pill, so they hadn't bothered with condoms, and her transition must have been uneventful, so she hadn't been hospitalized.

Max had only been with her twice before realizing that Din was in love with her, and after his best friend confronted him, hurling accusations, Max hadn't kept in touch with Fenella.

He could only speculate, but he imagined that she'd freaked out after realizing she was changed, not understanding how and what had happened to her.

That was probably what had prompted Fenella to quit her job at the pub and go backpacking on a self-discovery trip to the East. She must have been either searching for answers or afraid of being found out, so she'd continued moving from place to place.

Remembering how he'd found her, chained up and delirious, Max felt a swirl of emotions seizing his gut—shock, guilt, and relief.

It was surreal.

Now she was in his arms, and he owed her answers. Maybe even more than that.

He should call Din and let him know that he'd found her.

What was he going to tell him, though? How would he even start that conversation? The guy had been his closest friend until Fenella had come between them, and now he needed to tell him that he'd found his girl half a world away from the Scottish pub where the three of them had first met.

Knowing Din, he would say that he was no longer interested and that Max could keep Fenella for himself. That was what he'd said over fifty years ago when Max had offered to stay away from her.

With a sigh, Max leaned his head against the grimy cabin wall.

From across the cabin, Jasmine gave him a searching look and then returned her gaze to her mother.

Kyra's hair was stuck to her clammy face, and her skin was pale. At first, he'd thought it was because of the cold, but she was wearing his thick sweater and was wrapped in blankets on top of that. Besides, as an immortal, she shouldn't be as sensitive to temperature fluctuations.

Jasmine's worried expression echoed his concerns, but she said nothing—just rested her hand on her mother's shoulder.

As Kyra stirred in Ell-rom's arms, Max tensed. He hated the thought of her opening her golden eyes only to gaze at another male's face, but there wasn't much he could do about it. After all, he couldn't just put Fenella on the floor and demand Kyra be handed over to him.

"Twelve?" Kyra murmured.

"We've got her," Jasmine said. "Max is holding her. If you turn your head that way, you'll be able to see her."

Kyra's heavy-lidded eyes darted toward Max, hovering over his face for a split second, but there was no recognition in them.

When she shifted her gaze to Fenella, a soft sigh escaped Kyra's lips. "Safe," she murmured, and then her eyes drifted closed again.

What an amazing woman she was, worrying for another when she herself was in such a bad state.

Feeling that she was the focus of everyone's attention, Fenella blinked her eyes open. They were dull from sedation, but recognition bloomed in them, and she parted her lips, trying to speak.

A wave of pity coursed through Max.

Fenella, who once had so much youthful energy, zest and spunk, had been reduced to this fragile shell, and that was despite being immortal.

"Whe…?" Her voice was a mere croak when it finally came out. "Max?" Her throat seemed to close around his name.

"Yes, it's me, in the flesh, and you are not dead, and you're not dreaming, either. You and I are alike. We don't age."

He expected her to ask how, but instead, she asked, "Where?"

"We're in a helicopter," Max said, leaning in so she could hear him above the roar of the rotors. "You are free."

Fenella's eyes fluttered. "Are you real?"

Her mind must still be foggy, and she either hadn't heard what he'd said or hadn't understood.

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