Page 3 of The Survivors (The Children of the Sun God #4)

Ioannis

“The Fates may bind our souls, but no thread can force the heart to stay—her betrayal demands a reckoning.”

The sparring should’ve helped ease the frustration from Persephone’s refusal to mate, but today it only amplifies my fury.

It’s not rare for the Fates to entwine mates in the same herd, growing up as one and knowing from early on that they are bound. Persephone’s presence entered my soul the day she was born. I was five, playing outside with my sisters, when her first cry sang through me, filling me like warm milk before bed. Even then, I knew she was meant for me.

But why resist? Together, we would be whole. The Fates decided this.

She turned eighteen three years ago, and I don’t need her clock to tick to know that she’s my destiny .

George’s tusks catch me off guard, ramming into my shoulder and throwing me off balance. I hit the ground hard. It’s a reminder that I need to pull myself out of my thoughts and focus. Training is essential to the herd’s strength, as much as mating is to its survival. Without it, our numbers suffer. The Fates allow us just one son each, which is a mercy and a curse. It keeps us in hiding—our numbers are too few to openly claim our place in the world. And we are left to live like exiles in the bowels of the Earth.

I push myself back up, snorting dust and charging George. I launch forward, and he sidesteps, sending me crashing into a tree I hadn’t noticed in my distracted state. With a snarl, I punch the rough bark, venting my aggravation on the wood.

George’s hand lands on my shoulder with a slap. I turn, and he’s grinning with that ugly smirk of his. “Did she say no again?”

His taunt refocuses me, snapping me back to the present. Before he knows it, I grab him and heave his massive eight-foot frame over my shoulder, throwing him down with enough force to crack the ground.

My laughter shakes the leaves on the trees as George hauls himself up, brushing dirt off his shoulders. He balls his fists, crouching with the same grin, prepared to lunge again.

But I freeze. A raw, tearing ache flares through me like fire ripping into every fiber of my being. The pain is relentless. A searing split that digs through me as if my very soul is being shredded from within.

A realization takes hold. My beast inside awakens, howling in anguish. I punch the tree beside me with a force that sends it crashing to the ground. My beast form is slipping—I can’t contain it under the force of this grief. Naked and trembling, I collapse to the earth. My cries becoming unbridled wails.

Why, Persephone? Why would you sever what was woven into us before we were born?