<h4>Chapter 241: Fucking Mad Sorcerer</h4>
"Fucking mad sorcerer," Kyllian swore. "What if I didn’t figure it out?" His hand throbbed, but he barely felt it, his gaze locked on the words searing into his sight.
The message was simple. Come get the queen.
He didn’t wait another minute. The paper fluttered from his bloody fingers to the floor as he surged toward the door. His stride was feral, every step filled with savage intent. Through the great corridors, his energy whipped like a storm, rattling maids and guards who scrambled out of his path. He was a predator unleashed.
He raced down the staircase, and through the pce doors. Across the courtyard, he saw Talon still organizing the next search shift.
Kyllian sprinted toward the waiting cars, his bloodied hand leaving a streak of red against the handle as he yanked a door open. "Talon!"
Talon turned sharply, eyes narrowing when he saw his king’s face. "Your majesty!" he called, jogging forward.
"Let’s go," Kyllian barked. His chest rose and fell. "Leave the men. Now."
Confusion flickered across Talon’s face, but he obeyed, slipping into the car beside him. "But your highness, the men—"
"Forget them!" Kyllian snapped, already shoving the vehicle into gear. The engine roared to life, echoing his fury.
And then, softer, barely audible, as if it was meant only for himself, he muttered, "I’ming, Princess."
*****
Talon was the first through the door as soon as they arrived at Morvakar’s building. His shoulders were squared, muscles coiled tight. The door mmed against the stone wall, vibrating with the impact. Kyllian was right behind him, heart pounding with dread. The parlor opened before them.
And then—he saw her.
Luna sat in a chair, her back straight despite the weariness shadowing her face. In her arms was the baby. Her fingers stroked the child absently. Beside her, Doctor Thessa leaned close, murmuring low reassurances, while at the far end of the table Morvakar stood, his pale hands deftly working with vials and powders. A soft glow red briefly from the mixture, ominous and alive.
The sight punched the breath out of Kyllian. Relief and fury warred inside him, one demanding he fall to his knees, the other that he rip Morvakar apart.
Immediately, Kyllian’s gaze locked with Morvakar’s. The sorcerer’s eyes gleamed with infuriating calm, as though he’d been expecting him, as though the chaos and grief of thest hours had been part of some meticulous design. Morvakar knew that look, knew what wasing. Werewolves and their tempers.
"You said you didn’t have her!" Kyllian’s voice was a growl, low and deadly. His hand curled into a fist.
"Don’t do it!" Morvakar’s voice cracked like a whip. His fingers never faltered in their work, but his eyes shed, cial and dangerous. "I can put you to sleep again, wolf."
"I told him not to tell anyone!" Luna’s words rang through the chamber, firm yet weary.
Kyllian froze mid-step, his entire body faltering as if someone had yanked the ground from beneath him. Slowly, his head turned, his eyes fastening on her—his obsession—sitting there with the child clutched to her chest.
The tension in his shoulders bled away as he pivoted toward her. His heart twisted painfully in his chest, an ache he couldn’t hide even if he wanted to. In three strides he crossed to her side, his knees giving out as he sank before her.
"You’re okay," he breathed, the words fractured, as though saying them could make them true. His hand reached out, trembling, desperate to touch her, but he stopped short, afraid she might vanish if he did. His eyes searched hers, drinking in her every blink, every breath. "Are you okay?" The question cracked out of him like a prayer, ragged and unsteady.
Luna’s lips curved, and though her exhaustion showed, she still found room for humor. A chuckle escaped her, soft but radiant. "I’m fine," she murmured. Her gaze swept over his face, noting the wild hair, the sleepless shadows beneath his eyes. "You look terrible."
"Give me a break," Kyllian exhaled with a raggedugh. "I have been looking for you for two days straight."
"How is Damien?" Her eyes searched his face.
Of course. She would still be worried about her bloodsucking husband. A sour taste flooded Kyllian’s mouth, jealousy twisting hot in his gut. Even now—after everything—she was thinking about Damien. His lips curled into a sharp line, and the words came out harsher than he intended. "I don’t know," he bit out. Then, softer, betraying more than he wanted: "Last I saw him, he was rushed back to Blood City after copsing looking for you."
Her lips parted, a sharp breath escaping, guilt clouding her face. "I’m sorry I worried you all," she murmured. "But I had to be sure information got to you the right way."
The apology sank into him, dulling the bite of his jealousy. Damn her. She always knew how to disarm him. His chest tightened, the memory of those two days wing up his throat—every wasted hour, every fear that he’d been toote. "I’m just d you are fine."
Then his gaze fell downward, to the fragile bundle in her arms. For the first time, he noticed the baby’s trembling lips, the tiny chest rising in stilted rhythm. The child was crying—silently. No sound came out. Kyllian’s breath caught, his throat constricting. "Is... is he okay?"
Luna’s eyes flicked down, her arms instinctively pulling the baby closer, protective. "It’splicated," she admitted softly. Her fingers stroked the infant’s hair, soothing herself as much as the child. Then her gaze lifted to his, sharp with purpose. "I need you to get me to ournd secretly. I need to stay for a few days."
"A... a few days?" he echoed. "You aren’t really thinking of going back to Blood City after everything they’ve put you through," he pressed, frustration rising like a tide. His hands flexed against his thighs, aching to grip her shoulders, to shake sense into her, to beg her to stay.
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