There was a ripple of golden heated light, and then silence.

“Zayne,” Roth called out. “My man...”

I saw Zayne’s legs crumple and fold. He went down on his knees, his back to me. I tried to say his name. His hand moved to his front, to his chest. He grunted as his body jerked.

A dagger fell to the ground.

My dagger.

Then he, too, fell.

Zayne landed next to me, on his back and broken wing. Why would he fall like that? I didn’t understand what was happening, why Roth was suddenly there beside Zayne. The demon was shouting for someone—for Cayman and then Layla, trying to hold Zayne down, but Zayne pushed Roth off and rolled onto his side facing me.

I saw his chest—I saw the wound over his heart and the blood that gushed with every heartbeat.

“No,” I whispered, a great horror sinking its claws into me. “Zayne...”

“It’s okay,” he said, and blood leaked from the corner of his mouth.

I tried to lift my arm, and all I managed was a twitch that made it feel like I’d been run over by a dump truck. Panic rose like a cyclone as I tried to reach for him again. Suddenly, Roth was behind me. He scooped me up and laid me down so I was right next to Zayne. “You can’t. No. Please, God, no. Zayne, please...”

Roth carefully took my hand, placing it on Zayne’s cheek. The movement hurt, but I didn’t care. His granitelike skin was too cool. It wasn’t right at all. My fingers moved, trying to rub heat back into his skin. Those pale wolf eyes were open, but they... There was no light in them. His chest wasn’t moving. It was still. He was still. I didn’t understand, didn’t want to. I rubbed his skin, kept rubbing his skin, even as it stopped feeling real.

“Trinity,” Roth began, voice all wrong. He rocked back, hands dropping to his knees, and then he looked away, rising to his feet. He staggered a step, hands lifting to his hair as he bent over. “He’s—”

“No. No.” I searched Zayne’s face. “Zayne?”

The only answer was the bond wrenching deep inside me, as if it were a cord stretched too tight. It snapped free as a keening wail tore through the air, ripped from my very soul. I no longer felt the bond.

And then I no longer felt anything.

42

Hell wasn’t just being trapped in a broken body. Hell was being unable to escape soul-deep grief while trapped. I thought I’d experienced the worst possible loss with my mother, and then with Misha, but I’d been wrong. Not that their losses were any less devastating. This was...different and it was too much.

This was like purgatory.