Another shadowed doorway appears a few steps in, the archway crudely carved and cracked in several spots. Kaebl gestures for me to step inside, and despite the anxiety coursing through my veins, I don’t hesitate. As soon as I step into the room, a flash of green in the corner catches my eye. I blink against the dark shadows coating the air, my heart thudding wildly against its cage as I take in the sight of my mate curled in the corner—seemingly deceased. His eyes are closed, body utterly still, save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

In the next moment, I’m crouched in front of him, my hand reaching for his face, far paler than the last time I remember. At my touch, his eyes twitch but refuse to open, and my heart clenches with fear. “Why won’t he wake up?”

“He will eventually,” Malice answers, stepping out from the dark corner where he lurked. “Just give it time.”

I brush my hand over his forehead, my eyes widening as I take in the raw pink flesh around his mouth—rubbed raw and scarred from months of being stuck in that awful muzzle. I brush my fingers over his cupid's bow, tracing the peaks and valleys of his face and committing them to memory. My eyes scan Fenryr’s freshly healed skin, stopping at the glowing bond mark shining through the fabric covering his hip. With everything that happened, I haven’t had time to process this newest bond. It all happened so fast that I haven’t even asked his familiar’s name.

“Where are the familiars?” I ask, turning my head to face Malice. “Shouldn’t they be here?”

Malice’s lips spread in a sly smile. “They’re in the human realm with Nya, hunting. She’s keeping them preoccupied.” His expression changes, turning to one of amusement. “If you miss them, I’ll have her bring them back.”

“That would be nice,” I murmur, turning my attention back to Fenryr. “Maybe if his wolf comes, he’ll wake up?”

“Maybe.”

Before I can say anything else, Lir, Roark, and Cyprien barrel into the room, their multicolored eyes shining like fog lights through the dark.

“What are you doing to her?” Lir demands, stalking over to Malice with an accusatory expression. “What have you done?”

“Wha—nothing!” he scoffs. “Get that fucking finger out of my face before I snap it off.”

“I felt her pain through the bond—we all did,” Lir snarls, his canines lengthening and shoulder muscles rippling with his transformation.

“She’s hurting over Fenryr, you pea-brained imbecile.” Malice rolls his eyes, smacking Lir’s arm out of the way as he stalks toward me. “She’s perfectly fine otherwise.”