Chapter 60

Draven’s POV

I had just left my office, bound for Maeve’s chamber, when Ronan and Galen blasted into my mind in a frantic torrent. Their panic was all I registered before a single thought surged through me: Thea was in danger. Fuck. I couldn’t think straight. I veered off course, abandoning Maeve’s wing, and sprinted toward Thea’s chamber at the far end of the castle.

Before I rounded the corner, the acrid stench of smoke hit me, along with flickers of orange through the corridor’s arches. My heart lurched as I raced on. Dorian and Mason were already fighting the blaze, buckets and blankets in hand. I barreled into Thea’s wide chamber—every surface was either alight or smoldering in ash.

My pulse hammered, and I scanned desperately for her. There she lay, motionless on the scorched floor, her skin smeared with black dirt and crisscrossed by angry burn marks. Fear sharpened every nerve. Without hesitating, I scooped her petite form into my arms and bolted fo