Page 13

Chapter

Twelve

Time meant nothing.

Guards came at odd intervals, shoving cold meals through the slot in the iron door. It could have been days or weeks since Jaxon had brought her here. Every time Loren closed his eyes, he found himself desperately hoping to find her waiting for him.

She hadn’t come.

Loren told himself he was relieved. Better for her—safer—if he never saw her again.

The bond still tugged at him. Raw, insistent—he hated it. Hated how it put her in danger. What if Jaxon knew? What if he had hurt her? The strangled squeal she’d made when the human mage shoved his hand into the neck of her dress haunted Loren’s nightmares.

Jaxon had purchased her. The thought of it made him sick—that she’d insisted it was her choice made it worse. Did she kneel willingly before the monster that would destroy their people? Did she look up into his eyes and smile?

The shadows stirred at the edges of the cell, sensing his turmoil. They slithered around him, their angry whispers scraping over his mind like shards of glass. They all spoke over each other, their voices a confused cacophony of orders and accusations. Loren could almost never understand them now, except when they chanted her name, tearing at the already frayed threads of his sanity.

Somewhere outside, footsteps echoed. Loren's eyes snapped open, his heart hammering in time with the heavy cadence. He knew that gait—Jaxon was back.

The door groaned open, and the shadows scattered like rats, slinking away to hide in the corners of the cell like they always did when someone came. Loren glared after them. What good was being heir to the shadows if they only ever tormented him?

“Your Highness,” Jaxon drawled, his smirk firmly in place. The guard closed the door behind him, the key grating in the lock again. “I hope I’m not interrupting. I know you have a busy schedule.”

Loren fixed his gaze on the far wall, locking his eyes onto the cracked stone there. His silence had been his shield for years. He'd faltered when he spoke to her—but he wouldn't give Jaxon the satisfaction of getting under his skin a second time.

Jaxon chuckled, shaking his head like a teacher humoring a stubborn pupil. “Back to pretending to be mute? That’s fine.”

He crossed the cell with measured steps, unrolling his leather kit and hanging it from the hook driven into the wall. The dim light glinted off the tools inside—blades, hooks, clamps—Loren knew the iron-edged bite of every one of them at this point.

“Let’s make this easy,” Jaxon said, selecting a wickedly curved blade. “Tell me your true name, and we can skip the rest—” he waved the knife lazily. “Maybe I even get you some real food, hm?”

Loren pressed his lips into a firm line. He wouldn’t hand over his name—not ever. That Jaxon already had hers …that was bad enough. He could use it to make her do anything he wanted—and she wouldn’t even have the power, or the knowledge, to fight back.

She’d been seven years old when they took it from her. When they killed her mother in front of her. When they mutilated her body and branded her with their runes. And now he owned it—owned her.

Humanity had a lot to answer for. And if Loren ever got the chance, he would make Jaxon Shaw choke on what he’d stolen from her.

Jaxon sighed, rolling his shoulders before tilting his head until his neck cracked. “Have it your way, then,” he said, grinning. “I’ll have fun either way.” He lifted a hand, flicking his fingers with lazy precision as the burnt stench of his stolen magic filled the cell.

Loren hissed as his bindings wrenched tighter, iron biting deep into the raw, open wounds on his wrists. The manacles glowed faintly, the runes etched into the metal pulsing as they forced Loren’s arms out, stretching them painfully wide against the cold stone.

Jaxon closed the distance between them in a few leisurely strides, twirling the knife in his hand. Loren bared his teeth as the man ran his eyes over Loren’s pinned body, assessing. Then, almost casually, Jaxon pressed the blade against Loren’s shoulder.

Loren swallowed his scream as cold iron bit through the thin, filthy shirt and into his skin. Sharp, searing pain blazed along the thin line. Hot, sticky blood soaked his shirt, spilling down his arm and splashing onto the stones.

"See? I’m trying to be gentle," Jaxon sighed deeply, twisting the blade slightly. “But you make it so difficult.”

Loren ground his teeth, locking his jaw as he forced himself to remain silent. He fixed his gaze on the far wall, willing himself to think of nothing but the crack in that stone until Jaxon’s voice faded and blurred?—

The iron edge scraped bone, wrenching a ragged cry from his throat.

“Focus, Your Highness,” Jaxon chided, clicking his tongue softly. “I’m speaking to you.”

He stepped back, letting the knife hang lazily at his side as his dark eyes swept over Loren’s blood-soaked shirt, admiring his work.

“Araya came up with a very interesting theory about the Shadowed Veil,” he said idly. “She doesn’t think it’s a curse at all. She thinks it’s some sort of ancient magic tied to your bloodline. Isn’t that a fascinating theory? ”

Do not react. Loren hung from his restraints. He ached, every breath coming slow and measured as he fought the instinct to look up and snarl. She was close—too close to the truth.

“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Jaxon continued. “Your ancestors—they must have kept it tethered somehow. But when your father died you didn’t step up.”

Loren’s jaw tightened at the accusation. Only because the Arcanum had him shackled in iron in this cursed cell, where the shadows cowered in corners instead of obeying him. But he couldn’t say that, couldn’t defend himself. He needed to stay silent.

“It’s such a shame, really,” Jaxon shook his head. “She’s brilliant. She could have been extraordinary—if only she was human.”

Loren’s fists clenched, the iron shackles biting deeper into his raw wrists. His breath hitched, a slight tremor betraying the storm raging inside him. Jaxon didn’t miss it. His expression sharpened, satisfaction gleaming in his dark eyes.

“But you’ve noticed that, haven’t you?” He continued, trailing the tip of his knife across Loren’s chest. “Is that why you can’t stand the thought of her being with me?”

Loren stared at the crack in the wall, his vision blurring as Jaxon wielded her name like another blade, twisting deeply into an already gaping wound. But the human stepped closer, leaning in until Loren could feel his breath against his blood and sweat-slicked skin.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she? So eager to please. And when she touches me…” Jaxon’s soft laugh slid under Loren’s skin. “You should have seen her last night.”

The words dug into Loren like iron barbs, twisting and cruel. His chest heaved, each breath trembling with barely-contained fury. Jaxon didn’t just own her name—he owned her . Loren pictured those hands on her skin, that voice whispering lies into her ear—and she would have no defense against him.

Blood pooled on his tongue, hot and metallic, and before he could stop himself, Loren twisted his head and spat.

Jaxon’s grin faltered, his dark eyes narrowing as he slowly dragged his hand over his face, studying the blood smeared there. Then, his lips curled into a new smile—one sharper, colder, and infinitely more dangerous.

“Now we’re getting somewhere, Your Highness,” Jaxon purred. “What is it about her that puts that fire in you? Do you think you can actually do anything to save her?”

Loren stayed silent, his jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ached. Jaxon could never know why he cared so deeply about her.

Jaxon sighed, shaking his head. “So predictable.”

He wiped his blade clean, tucking it back into his kit before rolling it up, bundling his tools away. “Don’t worry—we have all the time in the world. Who knows—you started down here with my father. Maybe one day it will be my child here torturing you instead of me. Do you think they’ll get Araya’s hair? It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? I love seeing it wrapped around my fist?—”

A violent snarl ripped from Loren’s throat as he strained against his chains, but they didn’t give this time.

Not like before.

It hadn’t been strength that freed him that night—it had been fear. Fear for her , fueling his desperate, all-consuming need to reach her. To save her.

But she didn’t need to be saved. She’d chosen Jaxon Shaw.

The knowledge burned hotter than iron. She had returned to the man who hurt him, the man who owned her name—who wielded it like a weapon. She had gone back to the man who carved into him like meat. Back to the hands that held the blade. The bond didn’t care. It pulled at him anyway—tight, unrelenting, aching with every breath. It refused to let go of her, even as his pride screamed that he should.

Because gods help him… he still wanted her safe.

Jaxon didn’t even flinch. He took his time, wiping his blade clean with a deliberate slowness, savoring Loren’s ragged breathing.

“Rest up, Your Highness,” he said, shouldering his kit and rapping twice on the door. “Maybe if you cooperate, I’ll let you see her again.”

The chains loosened as soon as the door slammed shut behind him, dropping Loren’s broken body onto the sticky puddle of blood on the stone floor. He retched from the pain, but nothing came up. His head spun, hazy from pain and blood loss.

The shadows slunk out of their corners, coiling around him like silent sentinels now that Jaxon was gone. Their whispers brushed over him, her name echoing in the darkness. They wanted to see her again.

Goddess, so did he.

But it was too dangerous. Jaxon already had her name—if he ever learned she was Loren’s mate...he wouldn’t need chains. Just her.