Caralee ran until her legs burned and the corridors blurred. Her vision swam with tears, hot and relentless, streaking her pale cheeks. She stumbled once, then again, clutching at the marble walls for support, gasping though she needed no air. The weight of his command still clung to her, heavy as chains, suffocating as though a phantom hand still gripped the back of her neck, forcing her to kneel in memory.
She bit her lip until she tasted blood, but it didn't stop the ache gnawing at her chest. What have I done? What has he done?
She fled blindly, driven by nothing but instinct, by the desperate ache to be anywhere but near him. Her feet padded over cold stone, through gilded halls and towering archways, until she reached the heavy wooden door that led to the servant's quarters—the old wing. No guards stopped her. No maids dared question her. None would challenge the King's bride, though they watched with wide eyes as she passed, a white wraith fleeing through the palace.
Down the winding stairwells she fled, further and further, until the air grew damp and stale with the scent of earth and cold iron. The dungeon.
Her heart pounded—not from fear this time, but from desperation. She had only one place left to turn. One soul left in this cursed place who would not command her, would not bind her in silken chains and call it love.
Donovan.
The guards outside the dungeon doors stiffened at her approach, but the fire in her eyes, the tremble in her lip, stilled their tongues. Wordlessly, they stepped aside, bowing their heads as she passed. Whether out of duty or pity, she didn't know. Nor did she care.
The iron door groaned on its hinges as she pushed it open, the dim torchlight flickering like dying stars against the damp stone walls. The familiar scent struck her first—blood, old and faint, mingled with the bitter tang of fear.
And then she saw him.
Donovan lay slumped against the far wall of his cell, head bowed, arms stretched out on his knees in front of him. His once-proud frame had withered beneath the weight of captivity—cheeks hollow, skin pale, lips cracked and dry. Yet when her footfalls echoed down the corridor, he stirred. Slowly, painfully, he lifted his head.
For a moment, he simply stared at her, disbelief widening his dark eyes.
Then, hoarsely, his voice broke the silence. "Caralee?"
The sound of her name on his lips unraveled her. She fell to her knees before the bars, clutching the cold iron as though it might anchor her to this moment—this terrible, beautiful, unbearable moment.
"I'm here," she whispered, her voice splintering with raw emotion. "I'm here, Donovan."
He struggled weakly against newly bound restraints chaining him in the cell, a spark of frantic energy flickering in his eyes. "What are you doing here? You shouldn't be—he'll—" His voice cracked, fear lacing every word.
"I don't care," she sobbed. "I couldn't… I couldn't stay with him. Not after what he did." She pressed her forehead to the bars, her tears soaking into the rusted metal. "I needed to see you. I needed— someone."
His breath hitched, eyes scanning her face, taking in her trembling form, her blood-streaked lips, her haunted eyes. "He hurt you?"
She shook her head, choking on a broken gasp. "He— he commanded me, Donovan. Like I was nothing. Like I was some— thing to be owned, because I was trying to probe him— about you."
A flicker of rage lit in Donovan's weakened frame, but he could do nothing—trapped, helpless.
Caralee reached through the bars, cupping his bruised face with trembling hands. "I can't bear it," she whispered. "I can't bear what I've become— what I've done."
He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes as though it was the only warmth he had felt in days. "You haven't done anything wrong, ma chérie," he murmured. "You're still you."
But her tears only fell harder. "I've betrayed you," she whispered. "I fed from you. I— I took you into myself. I—"
He silenced her with a strained breath, his forehead pressing to the cold iron between them. "I do not know, what you are saying Cara—"
The sob that tore from her throat shook her whole body. She couldn't think—couldn't reason. All she knew was that she couldn't leave him here. Not like this. Not again.
"Hold on," she whispered, pressing her lips to the iron. "I'll find the key. I'll get you out."
"No—Caralee, you can't—"
But she was already on her feet, wild determination blazing in her tear-soaked gaze. She turned and fled back up the corridor, ignoring his hoarse pleas to stop.
She didn't care what Merrick would do. She didn't care what consequences awaited her. She had already broken the unspoken laws of their bond. What more could she lose?
She had already lost him.
And she wasn't going to lose Donovan too. She found a ring of keys on the wall near the entrance. Clutching them to her chest she scurried back to his cell. She tried key after key, working her way through the lot until finally— click— echoed loudly off the stone walls. Donovan stood with frozen with his mouth open.
Caralee trembled, the sound resonating off of the walls brought the realization of what she was doing to the forefront of her mind. Her hands shook thinking of what punishment would await her for this offense.
The iron hinges of the cell door groaned as Caralee thrust it open, the sound slicing through the oppressive silence like a blade. The torchlight flickered along the damp stone walls, painting Donovan's pale face in trembling shades of gold and shadow. For a moment, neither of them moved, as though time itself had frozen in disbelief.
Then she ran to him.
With a soft cry, she flung herself into his arms, and his embrace closed around her instantly, fiercely, as though he feared she might dissolve into smoke if he dared loosen his grip. His fingers curled into her hair, trembling with relief, and he whispered into the hollow of her neck, "Cara—mon Dieu— I thought—" His voice cracked, faltering beneath the weight of too many unanswered prayers.
Caralee clutched him as though the walls themselves might close in and steal him from her again. Yet, as her cheek pressed against his chest, she felt it—the cold, heavy chain wrapped cruelly around his ankle.
She pulled back, her hands tracing the iron links, her breath catching when she saw the thick manacle fastened tightly around him. Her eyes flicked to his face, silently demanding an explanation.
Donovan let out a slow, bitter breath. "The man who came for you—" His jaw tightened. "He placed it on me himself when he arrived earlier. Said it was safer this way." His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "The key— it's in his vest pocket, Cara. I'm sorry. It's no use."
"No," she choked out, shaking her head, her throat burning. "No. I will find a way, Donovan. I swear it." Her words trembled as they fell from her lips, as fragile and desperate as the girl who spoke them.
He held her tighter as she broke down, her body convulsing with helpless sobs. "Shh—I'm here, Cara. It's okay. I'm here now." His hands slid up her back, cradling her head, soothing her as though he could will her pain into silence.
Their lips found each other in the aching quiet, a kiss born of sorrow and longing. Yet as her mouth pressed against his, something dark and primal began to stir deep within her. A shiver rolled through her, sharp and unfamiliar. It wasn't the warm, fluttering ache of love. Nor was it the electrifying pull she felt for Merrick. Not even the tender comfort Renauld's presence often brought could compare to this.
This was different. Terrifyingly different.
Her mond began to race, blood thundering in her ears like a war drum. Heat flared beneath her skin, searing her throat, setting her veins alight. A hunger—vicious and unrelenting—clawed its way to the surface. Her fangs, unbidden, slid down with a soft click. She felt the sharp tips graze Donovan's lip.
He flinched with a quiet gasp.
She recoiled at once, her breath hitching in horror as he raised his fingers to his mouth, inspecting the crimson smear staining his skin. His brow furrowed in confusion, but as his gaze lifted to meet hers—truly meet hers—his expression shifted. His breath hitched.
He saw her. All of her.
The creature she had become.
The air thickened, charged with something darker than fear. The scent of his blood struck her senses like a tidal wave. Rich. Warm. Alive. Her body trembled as the hunger roared louder, merciless and demanding.
"No," she rasped, stumbling back a step, clutching her mouth with both hands as her eyes filled with panic. "No. No, not like this. Not again." She backed away, her movements frantic, her fingers shaking as they pressed over her lips in a futile effort to hide her fangs. "Not again—I can't— I can't—"
"Cara?" Donovan's voice broke, lined with fear. "Cara, what's happening? You're scaring me."
She whimpered as she reached the edge of the cell, fumbled with the iron door, and shoved it closed between them with a clang. Turning the key in the lock with trembling fingers, she secured him inside once more, locking herself out—away from him.
Tears blurred her vision as she stepped back, as if distance could silence the screaming hunger inside her. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her body shaking violently. She could still taste his blood on her tongue, feel the pulsing beat of his heart calling to her. She shook her head, sobbing softly.
Donovan reached for the bars, gripping them tight, his knuckles white. "Cara—"
But he stopped.
Frozen, wide-eyed, his mouth fell open on a breathless gasp.
Caralee stilled, her heart sinking like a stone in her chest. She knew—knew without needing to turn—what had caused that terror to bloom across his face.