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Chapter 12: Colt

Chapter 12: Colt

I couldn’t get attached to Kiara. I wanted to drown myself in her smell and hold her close to me for eternity, but I couldn’t lose myself in desires that would never come to fruition. I couldn’t forget that she wanted nothing to do with me, even if, for passing moments, we became entangled. Making her cum wouldn’t change the fact that she still hated me.

Against my better judgment, I was still pissed off when she rejected me. It hurt worse than I expected it to.

At least keeping her in the manor would give me an excuse to stay there instead of the mine. I had just gotten out of the shower, looking forward to sleeping in my own bed for the few hours I had left that night, when my phone rang. It was my father.

“Hey,” I answered, clutching the towel around my waist.

“Did you capture the girl?” my father asked immediately. A sense of urgency hastened his voice.

I hesitated and couldn’t exactly explain why I chose to lie. “No. Tracked her down, she attacked me and ran off again.”

David growled. “Sibyelle went into labor early, and I don’t think it’s going well. We need all the healing magic we can possibly get.”

The news made my stomach clench. Changing my mind and revealing I did have Kiara wouldn’t bode well for me. “Sorry. I’m at the manor now. Do you need me to bring anything?”

“Yes. Bring towels, water, and blankets.”

“Okay. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

While gathering supplies, my mind ran wild. What exactly did he mean that he didn’t think it was going well? Obviously, we couldn’t take Sibyelle to a hospital, she had likely been on the run from authorities alongside Lothair this entire time, and I didn’t even know if she had identification on her. If she was giving birth now, chances were the child would be premature by a few weeks. Shifters were resilient, but there was only so much trauma and stress a body could endure, especially in a dirty, dusty, dark cave.

I took care not to throw anything in the trunk where it might collect Kiara’s smell. Driving as quickly as possible, I arrived at the mine thirty minutes after the phone call, gathering blankets, towels, and a duffle bag full of water bottles up in my arms. Dragons and wolves milled around outside with an air of anxiety. Inside the mine, shifters had taken on their human form to be as helpful as possible. A crowd gathered in the tunnel Lothair and Sibyelle claimed as their own. I pushed past everyone to see my father and Lothair kneeling beside Sibyelle on a pile of blankets, wearing a bloodied grey nightgown and legs bent. She had her body arched, her rigid windpipe exposed as she groaned in tumultuous agony. Sweat and grime slicked both men. Lothair, usually refined and suave, peered up at me with worried eyes. “Soak a towel and hand it here,” he said.

Nodding, I poured the contents of one bottle into a towel until it was thoroughly drenched, then handed it off. Lothair wiped Sibyelle’s forehead with the cold towel, hushing gently.

“Where’s Muriel?” I asked.

“She’s still in the other room and has resisted helping us,” snarled David. “Go convince her. Without her help, Sibyelle and this child could die.”

There was already so much blood smearing the inside of Sibyelle’s thighs and pooling on the blankets underneath. David handed me a small key, and I hurried away from the tunnel, back to where they had left Muriel.

A few dragons were stationed in the room with her. The unicorn slumped on her knees, her skin unwashed and greasy silver hair pulled back in a loose scrunchy, her fists balled on the stone floor. From her posture alone, I could tell she was tired, the effects of being kept prisoner within the mine taking their toll. She didn’t look up at me until I was close enough, and then her soft violet eyes hit my face, and her lips tugged into a frown. “My daughter,” she murmured.

Muriel probably smelled her on me.

“She escaped,” I told her, bolstering the lie I shared earlier and perhaps to give the reassurance that might persuade her to help us. “Sibyelle is bleeding out badly. They need your help, or she and her baby could both die.”

The unicorn lowered her gaze, lips taut. “If circumstances had introduced her to me as a stranger, I would have helped. But I know too much about what she and her kin have done. What you all intend to do next.” Muriel spoke slowly and carefully, wincing at her own refusal. I could tell it harmed her to do this. “I cannot help you knowing that her survival will enable more death and destruction.”

Tragically, I understood where she was coming from. I empathized with her. Of course, she wouldn’t want to help us. The dragons had kidnapped her and made the last few months hell. Lothair and David planned to kill her and harvest her horn for the Lycan ritual. We had even threatened the life of her daughter. She’d seen us kill innocent shifters. Even if it meant two lives—including an infant—would be lost, Muriel was going to stand by her morals and withhold her healing magic from us. I breathed in slowly, scrambling to think of what to say. Part of me wanted to just let Sibyelle and her child die, but duty implored me to try.

“I get that,” I began, stepping closer to Muriel and crouching down to be on her level. “You aren’t obligated to help. My family has done too much to harm yours. And… it’s selfish and manipulative of me to convince you otherwise. Don’t think I’m not aware of how it will come off.” I sought her gaze, but she was steadfast in averting her eyes, depriving me of the emotional connection that might have otherwise enticed her. “What I’m saying is pure speculation I think you should consider.”

The older woman grazed the floor with her nails, listening.

“There will be consequences if you allow Sibyelle and her baby to die,” I told her. “Not just on you, but Kiara too. My father will direct his wrath at anything and anyone. No quick death will precede the Lycan ritual, and he’ll make you suffer. He’ll find any way to punish you for your refusal, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that meant forcing you to endure a long, painful removal of your horn before you’re even dead. And he’ll do the same to Kiara. If Sibyelle and her baby die, the dragons will be relentless in their hunt.”

“But we will be slaughtered all the same,” muttered Muriel.

“I will suffer too,” I insisted. With a quick glance at the dragons behind me, I leaned even closer to Muriel, lowering my voice so that she knew my attempts to plead with her were genuine. “Kiara is my fated mate.”

Finally, Muriel looked up at me. She had learned of this early Monday morning but didn’t reveal to anyone whether or not she approved, clutching her feelings on the matter close to her heart.

“You may not believe me, but I want mercy for my fated mate. Her pain will be my pain, and her sorrow will be my sorrow. Muriel, if there’s anything I can do to protect Kiara, I’ll do it. I want you to know that. So I’m hoping by telling you this, you will reason that the most you can do for her right now is have mercy. Don’t give my father a reason to be even angrier.”

The unicorn’s shoulders fell in a long sigh. When she hung her head, I suspected my persuasions were in vain and stood up. I didn’t want it to sound like I was threatening her because, in part, I did truly want Kiara to come out of this alive. I did feel bad for Muriel and would never endorse what the dragons intended to do. But my hands were tied. I just wished I could make her—or anyone—understand that.

I began to turn, heading back to the haunting chorus of Sibyelle’s agonized screams before Muriel’s voice rose behind me.

“Very well,” she said softly.

I glanced back at her.

The unicorn raised her head, her eyes looking sunken and sad. “I’ll help Sibyelle. Take me to her.”

With a nod, I went to the cable wrapped around the metal hooks and unlocked the padlock on it. Fastening the cable around my non-injured hand, I then led Muriel through the tunnel, where Sibyelle’s condition had deteriorated even worse. Her body was wracked with contractions, Lothair urging her to push while two women and my father knelt by her knees. Muriel gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. I imagined the thick stench of blood was already making her nauseous, stinging her nose and throat.

“The unicorn’s here,” Lothair murmured to his wife. “You’re going to be okay, Sibyelle. You and our child will be okay.”

Sibyelle belted out an ungodly noise, crying and shaking as her body went rigid. “Help me! Please, do something!” she begged, her voice reeling in frantic, anguished moans.

Muriel dropped beside her, placing her hands on the dragon’s swollen belly. “Shh, shh. Okay. Just breathe. Just focus on the warmth of my hands,” she cooed. Although her wrists were still bound in cuffs, she tried her best to gently stroke the skin with her palms, prescribing magical heat that would infuse the dragon and hopefully lend ease to her suffering.

I could do nothing but stand by and watch.

There was no relief. Even though Muriel had agreed to help, help had come too late.

Sibyelle’s screams ripped through the cavern. Blood poured from between her legs as the midwives wrestled a small, fragile body out of her womb. It was difficult for me to watch—the pain in Sibyelle, the way her body seemed to tear open, Lothair quaking and pleading quietly for Sibyelle to be strong.

A cloud of murmurs and instructions, wails, and harsh commands overwhelmed the tunnel, deafening me. I was frozen to the spot, wishing there was something more I could do. The stench of blood and amniotic fluid was strong enough that even I wanted to be sick. The birth of Sibyelle’s child became chaotic with panic and desperation. The slimy pink infant didn’t move once it was extracted from Sibyelle; its dark umbilical cord was cut perhaps too quickly. Sibyelle wept and went dizzy, barely clinging to consciousness as Lothair frantically pleaded for her to stay with them. Muriel had blood on her hands, gasping through the pain of blood poisoning to mend all that had broken in Sibyelle.

Then, the new mother fell still. The air in our collective lungs trickled out in grief to the undertones of Lothair’s hysterical mumbles.

For long minutes, silence dominated the tunnel until it was abruptly shattered by a neonatal cry. We all looked at the premature child cradled in David’s arms, taking her first jagged breath.

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