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Remmus wailed, “No, she’s not! I have to find her—she hates me!”
Instantly, another set of hands gripped around his arms, and anger flared, hot and black like the tar encasing his mind. His only clear thought was of getting back to his mate, of explaining—of explaining …
“Let go of me!”
His strength was failing, and the small amount of psychic energy that remained within was squashed when he attempted to teleport. The full weight of Zeke’s Blunting power rammed into him, and it had the same effect as taking the wind out of a ship’s sails.
He collapsed.
Remotely, he heard Nina’s voice shout. “It needs psychic fire; it’s too deep for you to heal, Kaien. Zeke, you’ll have to burn it!”
When Remmus’ back hit the floor, his eyes flashed open—when had he shut them?—as his body recognized the threat before his mind did. Primal instincts arose with his panic, his base nature lashing out as Kaien and Hemin caged his arms against the ground. Terrified, he bucked against their immovable grip.
Remmus had never known truer fear than when Zeke’s jade eyes caught his own, his sovereign hovering above him as his tether in the psychic network began to illuminate.
Zeke’s pointer and middle fingers pressed into his temples. The connection between them flared open for one shining moment, one single second of recognition when Zeke was all he knew and all he saw.
And then the psychic fire crashed into his mind.
Nothing compared to the instant, consuming agony that engulfed his mind in a devouring flame. Devastating heat burned within him, searing away conscious thought and any remaining energy from Remmus’ body.
A scream tore from his throat. His eyes frosted white beneath the unrelenting pressure that continued to build and char the psychic cradle that contained his power, his personality, and his soul.
Zeke’s fire incinerated every ounce of alien poison that’d infiltrated him, but its tarry black tendrils had dug deep, and it’d begun to stain his soul.
And below the proverbial smoke, beneath the fire, Remmus’ light was snuffed out.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Before
The blond-haired child laughed, his seafoam green eyes dancing with joy as he raced into his parents’ cottage on the heels of his mother’s call. Stumbling slightly on wobbly, two-and-a-half-year-old legs, Remmus bounded inside with a grin and a crudely sharpened stick.
“Mama, look!”
Proudly showing off his latest treasure to the woman who had her back turned to him, he held still until she caught sight of him.
“I made a sword!”
“Sit, Ciru.” Mithelda’s eyes, dark with a lunacy Remmus saw but never understood, tracked over his muddy barren feet with a sneer. “Feral child. You will clean up every speck of dirt you’ve tracked into my home.”
Ciru was the name she’d gifted him whenever she was cross with him—which was most of the time. Translated simply as ‘boy’, it went to show just how little she cared for him.
Remmus dropped his stick on the floor, forgotten for the time being.
She shoved a bowl of broth into his hands, the hot liquid spilling over and burning his small fingers. He’d long ago learned not to cry out in distress in his mother’s presence.
Slowly, careful not to arise her anger, Remmus leaned over the table and delicately tugged on a dirty spoon beneath a bundle of cloth. The first tug was unsuccessful, but he added a bit more strength and happily pulled the spoon free.
His elbow jerked back into his bowl, the liquid splashing out of its borders. Though only a few droplets spilled, his mother spun and backhanded him across the face, hitting him hard enough to send him flying to the floor beside his sharpened stick.
“Worthless fool.”
“I’m sorry, mommy.”
Frozen in terror, Remmus’ little hands had slapped against the cool flooring of their house, not daring to move a single muscle for fear of reprisal. He had gone without eating before, and though his tummy hated feeling empty, he feared his mother’s punishment even more.
As he watched, the furious expression on his mother’s face turned pensive, then cruel. And then his mother did something she’d never done before.
