Page 19 of The Survivors (The Children of the Sun God #4)

Emjay

“In the shadow of despair, even the faintest glimmer of dreams can ignite a fierce determination to fight against the darkness.”

Georgia holds the tent flap open for me, and I stifle a gasp.

In the dimly lit home—barely a home—a beautiful woman lies on her deathbed. Her once radiant features are now shrouded in a pale, ghostly hue.

The scent of approaching death hangs in the air, a somber, acrid smell of decay.

Her breaths come shallow and infrequent, each one a laborious struggle, a whispered reminder of the life slipping away from her fragile body.

Her once full and lustrous long, dark hair cascades in tangled waves over the straw pillow under her head, framing a face marked by illness and the cruel life she’s lived. High cheekbones stand out starkly beneath her delicate and translucent skin. Her once full and vibrant lips have faded to a pale, almost bluish tint. Despite the ravages of her condition, a lingering trace of her former beauty remains—a haunting reminder of the vitality that once coursed through her veins.

A young boy no more than three years old clings to her frail, lifeless hand with his chubby little fingers. He stares intently at her face with tear-filled eyes, as if willing her to wake up and smile at him one last time. He hasn’t taken his sights from her to see who’s entered the habitat.

The room is silent except for the occasional soft wheeze of her breathing and the quiet sniffles of the boy. A single tear escapes his eye, slowly tracing a path down his cheek before falling onto the woman’s hand and glistening like a tiny jewel.

He leans closer, resting his head against her tummy. He whispers, “Momma, wake up.” His words are a fragile thread in the stillness. But there’s no response. The woman lies still. Her spirit hovers on the precipice between life and death while the boy remains by her side, like a tiny beacon of love and hope in a world that seems to crumble around him.

“What’s her name?” I ask Georgia.

“Lena. And that’s her son Serafim.” Georgia’s tone is hushed with unspoken sorrow.

“How?”

Georgia pulls me back outside, away from the delicate scene and the ears of the child. “The witch who cursed me reminded the men that we can produce half Minotaur sons with humans.”

I gasp at the implications. She doesn’t need to give any more details for me to imagine what they forced these women to do. The yoke of their suffering is almost unbearable.

“Do you know what ails her?” I ask, desperate to understand—to help.

Georgia shakes her head, and her look reflects a deep sadness. “No one knows for sure. We’ve lost too many already.”

“Will the women be okay with an unmated male tending to her?” I ask.

“They’ll suffer anything to see our sister survive. We’ve lost too many,” she repeats firmly.

I take my phone out of my pocket and call Willow.

“Hello,” she answers in a calm timbre amid the chaos.

“We need the one who brought the medical supplies.” I should learn his name, but now is not the time for formalities.

“Frank?” Willow questions, her tone shifting to concern.

“Yes, one of them is dying, and we don’t know why.”

Willow is silent. The quiet drags on long enough that I pull my phone away from my ear to check the connection.

“It’s a rotten tooth,” Willow finally speaks.

“What?” I ask incredulously.

“Sorry. I had a vision just now. I’ll let Frank know what I saw. She’ll need her mate too, if she’s going to stand a chance. The infection is in her blood.”

“How do you know she has a mate?” I ask, puzzled.

“Besides the fact that he’s hovering over me as if he witnessed my vision too, I saw him,” Willow replies.

“Georgia said they will do anything to save her, so I guess he comes with Frank.”

“They’re already on their way,” Willow assures me.

I turn to Georgia. “You heard.”

She nods. “I’ll prepare the others, so they don’t panic.”

That’s probably a good idea. I can’t imagine the storm coming when this mate sees her condition.