Chapter 33. Fire and Ice

The air in the hidden pocket of the Sunkenwood was stagnant, cold, and smelled sharply of medicinal herbs and scorched earth. They had escaped the Silver Cage by the thinnest margin, relying on a desperate, explosive final flare of the Ashen Flame—a sacrifice of power that had left Neriah dizzy and hollow.

Now, she lay on a bed of dry moss in a small, concealed hunter’s cave, her body shivering despite the wolf-pelt blanket pulled up to her chin. The constant, comforting thrum of the mate bond, usually a background hum, was a jarringly painful vibration in her chest, reacting to her exhaustion and Caius’s proximity.

He knelt by a small, smokeless fire, nursing a shallow but nasty cut on his shoulder, his back radiating a coiled tension that felt heavier than the weight of his own betrayal.

“The dampener worked exactly as they intended,” Neriah stated, her voice a low, raspy sound that scraped against the silence. “The Silver Cage didn’t just suppress the Flame, it