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“Ignorance isn’t terminal. You can learn what you don’t know. I’ll help you.” Juniper held out a hand.

Adriel hesitated but slowly took the offering. When the witch’s fist tightened around herfingers, lending much-needed courage, she instantly calmed her.

“Thank you.”

Juniper nodded, then returned her gaze to the road. “We’ve got this. As long as we stick together, we can do anything.”

Adriel had grown so used to living alone and depending only on herself, she didn’t know if she possessed such trust. The girl had lived a mere fraction of a lifetime, but there was something worldly and brave about her. Something trustworthy and good.

Protectiveness raced through her, and her hand tightened. She could not let Cerberus hurt her.

“We cannot underestimate his cruelty.”

Juniper frowned. “We won’t. Once we find a place to rest, we’ll work on a plan.”

Adriel already had a plan. Should Cerberus find her, she would make certain he could not hurt her, ending her life before he had the chance to punish her, thereby not giving him the opportunity to harm her friend.

She wasn’t exactly sure what had shifted, but she could no longer look at Juniper as merely a liability. Without her, she never would have made it this far. In a way, she was starting to trust her. Yes, she was abrasive and somewhat more aggressive than Adriel was used to, but maybe that was a good thing.

Juniper might be the last person to see heralive. If her days were numbered, perhaps she could teach her how to live.

Adriel’s eyes tingled with the sharp sting of unanticipated tears. She’d wasted so much time hiding and being afraid. She didn’t know how to be brave. But she wanted to try. She wanted to be more than the elders believed any female could be.

Not Cerberus’s aimless mate or the troublesome female of The Order who rejected conformity, but rather a person with a purpose. Her life and story could not merely be a footnote to his. She wanted—desperately—to be remembered for something more.

She might not have much time left, but she was finally free to live her life as she chose. The last time she’d been free, she lived at home with her family, long before her calling and before she knew what suffering truly was. She’d forced her mind to forget that carefree life long ago—forget the parents who raised her and the brothers and sisters she’d lost when Cerberus went back to slaughter them.

As she tried to recall the shape of her mother’s face or the shade of her father’s hair, only blurred images filled her mind. Her heart could not bear to think of her parents and all the siblings she’d lost. Did her mother and father blame her? They should.

If not for her, Cerberus would have never hurt them. He would have never gone back and done those horrific things to punish her. But thatwas how he’d always been. Cruel. Calculating. Controlling through the most vile means necessary.

His viciousness cast a shadow over her entire life. She had been younger than Juniper when she was called, but that did nothing to gentle him. He stole her away, never allowing her the chance even to say goodbye. And that night, he rutted into her in the mud and rain. That primal wound was the first, but far from the last time he made her bleed.

Adriel tipped her head back, closing her eyes, pretending for a moment that she was safe in a place where neither history nor gravity could touch her. Wind teased the short strands of her uncovered hair as the present moment sank into her bones.

This was her life. Hers.

Freedom was a luxuriously terrifying privilege to wear, one she hadn’t tried on since reaching adulthood. The idea, alone, fit awkwardly and flooded her with self-doubt.

What would her last hours look like? Would she show courage or fear?

A sense of urgency surged through her as the invisible shackles she’d worn for centuries fell away. Her choices were now her own. Her heart leapt with uncertainty as the extraordinary pressure to decide her future weighed her down like gravity. Her path ahead was genuinely unknown.

CHAPTER 5

The fragile nightingale chirped and trilled from the branch below, uttering the same cheerful refrain until Cerberus snatched it in his fist and snapped its neck. Eyes on the freeway, he bit into the small songbird, spit out the head, and guzzled its blood.

She got away. The bitch somehow evaded him.

It didn’t make sense. She was weak and injured. Her fear alone should have left her lame, but she escaped.

Tossing the feathered carcass aside, he stared over the morning traffic, fanning out his senses for any trace of his mate. She was older now, so she would know how to block her thoughts, but she was no match for him. He’d been in her head before. He would get there again.

Kicking a small nest of fledglings from the branches, Cerberus settled into a comfortablecrook and tipped his head back, closing his eyes as his other senses went on guard.

He’d rest for a while, then find her. His body exulted at the impending hunt, the thrill of gaining on her. He would torment her like a weak little mouse, alerting her as soon as he was near but never letting her gain the upper hand.

Licking his lips, he recalled how delicate her body was in his arms. How she cried and screamed. How she broke under his will. Those memories had been long overlooked until he caught a glimpse of her forgotten beauty.