Chapter 296: She Is With Doctor Thessa
And then—a loud, merciless knock shattered the spell. Damien froze, every muscle snapping taut. He tore his gaze from her mouth as if ripping flesh from bone. His sanity came crashing back with the noise.
"No! ... no, don’t go." Isolde’s cry rang out sharp and desperate, her hand clutching his arm, nails digging in.
Damien didn’t dignify her plea with an answer. His body moved, untangling from her grip. He stalked toward the door. The handle turned beneath his palm, blessedly cool, grounding him when he needed it most.
When the door swung open, relief hit him hard. Talon stood there, framed by the moonlight spilling in from the compound courtyard. Thank the goddess. Someone who could anchor him back to the only woman who mattered.
"Where the hell is the queen?" Damien demanded. Behind him, Isolde wilted in the shadows, her chance gone, her triumph slipping through her fingers.
"She is with Doctor Thessa," Talon said firmly. He had been lurking in the shadows, watching as the king entered Isolde’s building.
"Where?" His eyes burned with intensity.
"At Doctor Thessa’s house."
Damien didn’t waste a single breath. He moved—no, fled—out of the house. His long strides ate up the distance, and every clench of his jaw screamed of a man who had nearly lost himself. Behind him, Isolde’s voice cracked the silence.
"Your Highness!" she cried in desperation. It was a plea, a last thread thrown into the night to pull him back to her. But Damien didn’t even slow.
When he burst into the night air, Damien staggered for a moment, dragging in a breath that burned. His fingers clawed at the collar of his shirt, undoing the first two buttons with jerky, impatient movements. The fabric gaped, exposing the tense ridges of his chest. He gasped, a raw sound dragged from deep within him, a man barely clinging to his sanity, his vows.
Talon stood behind him, his posture rigid. He didn’t move, didn’t dare intrude. He had felt the queen’s pain earlier that night; now he saw the king’s torment.
Finally, Damien straightened, dragging composure back onto his frame. He turned to Talon, his eyes clearer now, and clapped the werewolf on the back. "Thank you," he said simply.
"What are you doing here anyway?" Damien asked in suspicion.
"Instructions of the queen," Talon replied.
Damien didn’t push. If the queen thought it right, then it was. That truth needed no argument, no further words. His trust in her was absolute. He was about to slide into his car, when something sharp and strange pulled at his awareness.
A pulse.
It thrummed against his thigh, faint at first, then steady. He froze, brow furrowing. "What the hell?" he muttered. His hand slipped into his pocket, and when it emerged, a small glint of silver gleamed against his palm.
Isolde’s necklace.
It shimmered faintly, the embedded compass glowing. A shiver crept along his spine.
He turned slowly, eyes narrowing on Talon, who still stood alert behind him.
"Did you see anyone around?" Damien asked.
"No," Talon answered, his eyes sweeping the darkness once more, wolf-senses straining against the silence. "Is everything okay?"
"I don’t know," he admitted. "Morvakar said this thing can find the sorcerer Gabriel was working with. If it’s pulsing, it means he’s nearby. But there’s no one here." His eyes flicked toward Isolde’s door, the instinct to protect gnawing at him.
He made to stride back toward the house, but Talon moved, stepping into his path. "I will have a look around."
Damien met his eyes. The king’s hand tightened around the necklace, then he gave a small, weary nod of gratitude.
Talon slipped away into the night. His body became part of the darkness, his wolf ears catching even the whisper of leaves. He circled wide, scanning every corner, every shadow. His wolf nose tested the air for a stranger’s sweat. His mind catalogued each creak and shuffle, every tremor of the night. But there was merely quiet.
When he returned, his expression was grim. "Is the necklace still pulsing?" he asked.
"It stopped," Damien muttered, shaking his head. "Maybe it’s on the fritz. No one came or went while I was standing here. I would’ve seen them."
Talon inclined his head respectfully. "I will keep an eye out for any oddities."
Damien exhaled hard through his nose, forcing himself to let go. He pocketed the necklace once more, slid into his car, and slammed the door. The engine roared to life, headlights cutting through the gloom.
Talon watched him go, his silhouette a lone figure against the wash of the departing headlights. Then he turned back to the house. The queen had tasked him with this, and so he would see it through. He padded up the slope of the nearby hill where he had made his temporary perch—his bed nothing more than a blanket rolled across rock and earth, but the vantage perfect. From there he had a clear view of Isolde’s building. Every flicker of her curtains, every shift of shadow across her window was his to watch.
He settled in, arms crossed. Yet in his marrow, unease stirred. He could still feel the queen’s anguish from earlier, the raw crack of her cry, the sting of her tears pressed into his soul.
*****
Luna lay sprawled across the edge of Thessa’s guest bed, her body sinking into the mattress. Her mind was a mess, her heart still bleeding. She missed her son. And goddess, she wanted her husband. She wanted Damien to wrap those broad arms around her waist, press her against his chest until she melted into him, and whisper that everything was going to be okay. That no other woman, no cursed bond could ever undo what they were.
Her guilt gnawed at her even as her rage simmered. She shouldn’t have lashed out at him. Deep inside she knew it—she had been the one to insist he complete the bond with Isolde, to mark her when his life hung in the balance. It had been her desperate choice, her selfish fear. She couldn’t face the idea of losing Damien, of raising their child alone. She had chosen his survival, and now the cost of that choice was eating her alive.