I wouldn’t cry.

I backed into the corner again, blinking away tears. I could just shift away at any time, couldn’t I? The thought helped to keep my panic at bay and my breathing steady. It was so cold here. I wished for once I had worn more clothing. I wished for a lot of things, but mostly, just to lay my head against the chests of my mates one last time.

I had no idea how much time had passed, but eventually the iron door opened again. I stumbled to my feet as the door opened. Ugly Face was back, along with his friends.

“Move.”

He reached a fat hand out to my neck, and everything in me wanted to fight him. For a split second I considered it. Wouldn’t it feel good to take all my rage and frustration out on the remaining good side of his face? I dismissed the possibility just as quickly because it wouldn’t get me answers. I snarled but didn’t resist as he clamped a large iron collar around my neck. I bit down on the urge to lash out even as the feeling of being trapped and enclosed sent my inner draken screeching in indignation. My eyes closed as I tried to breathe through the layer of panic that settled over my shoulders.

“Move!”

The collar was connected to a chain which Ugly Face yanked on hard. I fell on my own face and barely had time to scramble to my feet before the line went taut again. He led me through the dungeons and up a winding staircase. My eyes were wide, taking in as many details as I could and committing them to memory, not that there was much to see.

The stone fortress was dark, cold, and wet. The dungeon had one way out; the steps I was now being dragged up. At the top was a narrow, dimly-lit hallway—thank the gods I had better vision as a draken—and more stairs. We went up three more sets before the sun started filtering in through the narrow slats that passed for windows, the wind adding to the chill even if the air wasn’t as damp. The passage opened up into what was once a covered parapet but had been damaged and now opened to the elements. I stopped, trying to wipe off some of the blood dripping down my face from my earlier fall. Hunger made my head fuzzy, but it was the lack of water that was going to be the bigger problem as I tried to keep pace, stumbling after the demon who tugged me along.

The parapet led into a small courtyard, pointing towards two massive, iron-bolted doors. They were guarded by a pair of foreboding shadow demons, and I met their eyes as we passed, knowing I looked half-crazed and filthy. The massive doors opened, and the shadow demons stood aside with matching growls. As I was yanked over the threshold, my eyes landed on a garish, purple carpet that stretched from the doorway across the floor, leading straight to a throne. Purple, like Benedict’s eyes. I squeezed mine shut, but my mate’s gaze was still there in my head. Just like trees reminded me of my mate Kieran and the color of fresh blood reminded me of Ronan, purple reminded me of Benedict. Why did it hurt so much to think about them?