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Nightclaw let out an anguished roar as he spiraled downwards into the abyss, his wings drooping by his sides.

I screamed, hands reaching out towards my exmoor. But before I could step past the doorway, Draven’s arms were tight around my waist, pulling me across the threshold and kicking the heavy metal door shut behind us with a deafening bang.

As we stumbled forward into the dim chamber, I wrenched myself away.

My head was spinning. Nightclaw’s cry rang through my mind unendingly. I would never forget the sound.

“Open the door,” I demanded.

Draven said nothing, simply leaned back against the wall and slid down to the floor. His face was numb.

I yanked against the iron door. It wouldn’t budge. Of course it wouldn’t.

“Open the fucking door, Draven,” I screamed at him.

I was a gaping wound. Bereft. Emptied. I had no flames.

And now... I had no Nightclaw.

Over and over, the image of the exmoor tumbling through the air replayed in my mind.

I reached out for the battlecat with my senses, searching and scanning with my mind harder than I ever had. Nothing.

I looked at Draven again. He was sitting with his head in his hands.

“Draven.”

He wouldn’t look at me.

“Draven,” I said again, softer this time.

I forced myself to take a step towards him.

Draven wasn’t Vesper. He was my mate. He was the furthest thing from hurt or treachery or betrayal that I could possibly imagine.

He had known why Nightclaw had come from the very start, and he had refused to let the exmoor’s sacrifice be in vain.

He had saved me. Even though he’d known I would hate him for it.

“Draven, I’m...” I started to say just as he lifted his head.

“What was that?” he said quickly, looking around. He sniffed. “Do you smell that?”

“I don’t smell anything,” I began, just as a sweet, honeyed scent filled my nostrils and my vision dimmed.

CHAPTER 34 - MORGAN

I woke to the sound of an owl hooting.

Slowly, I sat up. I was lying on a bed in a large but otherwise empty room. The chamber was colorless. Everything from the bed furnishings to the walls was a stark, soulless white.

Despite the hooting I had heard, Tuva was nowhere to be seen. I was alone.

I walked across the white marble floor towards a tall, arched window and stopped.

I was no longer within the mountain. The window I looked out of commanded a view of the clouds.

As I leaned against the windowsill, I could feel a gentle sway beneath my feet and realized the building, the palace, was itself in motion.