Page 35 of Tethered Fates

“You want to know what Summer is doing.” Bran shrugs. “I have no idea.”

“But you know about her?” I question, my eyes narrowing.

Bran’s mouth curves. “Her name is on everyone’s lips. She tricked Emma Roth and fucked with a powerful vampire family.”

“I don’t want to get involved in little dick politics,” Vidar snaps.

Bran chuckles good-naturedly. If I weren’t intimately familiar with Bran, I’d think he actually missed Vidar. “Ah, you really haven’t changed, have you, offspring?”

“Enough of all this.” I glare at Bran and Elio. “Why are you here?”

Bran grins, and as the sun rises, orange light filters through the dusty window to frame his silhouette in a ring of fire. But everything else, save for his deepening brown eyes flecked with shards of yellow, remains cloaked in shadows.

My patience snaps.

Vidar grabs hold of me before I can charge at Bran. “I know you don’t fucking care about soulmates, but I care about mine! TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW!”

Bran’s smile sharpens.

My stomach sinks.

Bran is the leering monster under the bed, the cackle from the deepest part of the forest. The friend holding the knife in your back—he cannot be trusted and must always be feared.

But for Teagan, I will face anything.

“Your offspring’s offspring will have four chances.” Bran’s voice turns lyrical and familiar, like he’s recited these confusing words a thousand times. “The last will end in pain.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I demand.

“Bran, enough. Speak plainly,” Vidar demands.

Lucero comes forward, his face hard and gaze piercing. “Golden. He’s talking about Golden.”

Bran takes a step towards us, and my throat dries. “While your offspring will only have one chance, that’ll be hidden within flames.”

“Kai.” Vidar sucks in a breath. “What have you done, Maker?”

Elio crosses his arms, his feet shifting and eyes darting like he’s looking for a way out.

“A grave for the third,” Bran continues in his sing-song Welsh.

My mind goes quiet—Apollo. Rurik.

“A sacrifice for the first.”

Teagan.

Vidar holds me so tight, his fingers dig into my bones, and only then do I realise I tried to lash out at Bran.

“‘A sacrifice for the first’? What does that fucking mean?” I shout. “Tell me what’s happening with Teagan!”

I reach for the connection with Teagan—it’s weak but steady. But my heart doesn’t calm down.

“And the youngest will not cave.”

“Ramy,” Vidar growls. “Fucking hell, Maker.”

Bran stands before us, backlit by the heavy orange sun. The yellow in his eyes bleeds into the brown, making them appear red—two sharp points fixed on us.