Days had passed.
Days since he took her.
Days since he poisoned her.
Yet now, Eyrx sat in silence, unmoving, watching.
Thalina lay on the moss-and-fur bed he had carefully built for her, her body motionless, her face unnervingly pale against the dim glow of the cave. Sweat clung to her skin, soaking into the fur beneath her, but her fever never broke.
She wouldn't wake up.
No matter what he did—no matter what remedies, spells, or energy he tried—she wouldn't wake up.
His fingers curled into a fist.
His poison shouldn't have done this.
It was meant to suppress the mating bond between her and those filthy beasts, nothing more. If he had truly poisoned her with intent to kill, she would be dead by now.
So why?
Why wasn't she getting better?
Eyrx's tail slowly uncoiled and slithered across the damp, stone floor. His frustration simmered. His mind, usually so cold and calculating, felt restless.
This shouldn't be happening.
