Rapture by L.V. Lane
CHAPTER TWENTY
Winter
I FLOAT IN a peaceful void of nothingness, disturbed only by occasional snatches of whispered conversation.
Consciousness is a rude intrusion, dragging me kicking to the surface of my once tranquil pond.
Untether.
That word pokes at me through the smoke of confusion, forcing my mind to the fullness of waking.
They have used the untether.
This revelation brings labor to my breath and sends my heartbeat hammering within the cage of my ribs. A single cry of horror erupts from my throat. I rise weakly, fighting the covers, my right hand pressed to the center of my chest, where the untether has caused unseeable damage.
How?
I did not realize the depth of our imprinting until it was ripped away. It was far stronger than the binding or even the Meld.
Imprinting. It hardly seems possible that we had started the imprinting process, yet my sore heart tells me that it was so.
“No!” Frantic thoughts crescendo, rising to a musical abomination that is all discord and distress.
Prizing my eyes open, I fight for breath amid tumultuous thoughts.
“Yes,” the softly spoken retort brings some steadiness to the manic assault.
I slump back, panting, sweating, and trembling.
Long minutes pass as I gather wits from slumber. Movements slow and measured, I turn to regard Blue, the Chosen whose life span far eclipses even mine as high Blood.
He does not rise from the ornate carver chair on which he sits, but his usually cold eyes offer a measure of compassion.
Compassionfrom a Chosen? Oh, how dire my fate must be.
“No,” I repeat weakly this time. I feel like a once wet cloth that has been wrung of the last drops of water—weak, exhausted, and empty.
“They were going to execute Jacob,” he says, not a hint of inflection at delivering this dreadful news. “He remained imprisoned during your long sleep toward recovery. They tortured him for many days and weeks, and still, he said nothing of what transpired. The Meld between the two of you was unnaturally strong, which is impressive, given how little you reputedly fed him. You held all his loyalty, even at the cost of his life.”
My heart beats an erratic tattoo, and my empty stomach roils.
“It was only old Cecil’s begging for the Meld to be broken that saved his life. All that they had previously done to the warrior was done again tenfold, until eventually, the tether broke.”
I throw my head over the side of the bed just in time as my stomach heaves up bile over the stone floor.
A servant approaches out of my periphery as I’m done, cleaning up the mess. After, she holds a cup of water to my lips. I tremble so badly that most of it spills over the bed and me.
“After the untethering, we were able to probe his mind.”
Everything, they know absolutely everything.
“A decision has been made,” Blue says, rising from the chair with sinuous grace.
My stomach begins churning again. If I attempt to do anything but breathe, I will empty the sip of water all over the floor.
“Change will come,” he says ominously. “Laws are being unwritten—laws pertaining to the binding.”
Death would be more welcoming than this fate.
“You are to become the first,” he continues, unnaturally blue eyes meeting mine. The compassion is back. “The first master gifted to a warrior—a warrior released from the binding.”
Turning, he walks away, booted feet ringing against the cold, stone floor.
The door creaks, and then silence.
My mournful cry rises to a high keening wail. I am shattering into pieces. Shock consumes me, so profound that it pierces the fabric of hope and turns it to dust.
This is my death.
This is a pathway to hell.
It is retribution for Jacob.
It is my ruination.
