Page 20 of Revealing Fate

Chapter 6

LOYALTIES

IMOGEN TURNED DOWN THE LONG, cold subterranean hallway that led to her new rooms. The flickering of torch flames threw macabre shadows onto the otherwise lifeless stone walls as she passed each sconce. Absently, she wondered which part of Asteros she walked beneath. When she’d last been here, Imogen had assumed the Stronghold was roughly the size of a tavern. She’d been wrong. The network of tunnels and rooms was massive, spanning what had to be a good portion of the city above, and extending at least five stories deep.

Upon her return, Imogen had been granted much more freedom to explore the underground fortress, something that had initially surprised her. But then, she was no longer one of the prisoners here. No longer a Fate sequestered to one small section of the Stronghold. She was an elder, and as much as Vulgren undoubtedly longed to sink his skeletal fingers into her tender flesh and claim her as his, Imogen remained blessedly beyond his grasp. She was forced to tolerate his nauseating presence, but she was no longer one of his playthings.

No longer forced to withstand his inspections. No longer shaking with fear and cold as he looked upon her most sensitive parts with those eerie, near-colorless eyes. No longer helplessly strapped to one of his exam tables as he reached for his instruments, trembling with shame and pain as he probed and prodded.

No. Imogen was free of that unending torture. Now she just had to witness other females suffer the same ministrations.

Imogen’s fists clenched at her sides on reflex, and she felt the healing grooves in her palm, made by her own claws. On her second night, she’d been asked to assist Vulgren with one of his inspections. As the first set of fearful tremors wracked that female’s slender frame, Imogen had nearly broken. It had taken every ounce of will she possessed to prevent reaching for one of the sterile blades on Vulgren’s tray table and plunging it into the side of his pale neck. Perhaps she should have. Her hands had been clenched so hard that her claws elongated and pierced her palms, leaking drops of blood onto the polished concrete floor. She’d excused herself, returned to her room, and sobbed against the cold stone.

She may no longer have been a Fated Mother, but she was still a prisoner. Now, instead of physical restraint, she was subjected to the torment of her own memories. Her own knowledge. Forced to bear witness to another group of women as they endeavored to survive the dangerous coupling with a second form male.

And not just any male.

The Primordial Male. Karrick Kaine.

Her male.

Imogen reached the end of the hallway and the single unadorned wooden door that identified the entrance to her private chambers. She’d even been given a key to offer the illusion of privacy. No doubt Vulgren possessed a spare. Imogen threw the deadbolt behind her anyway, shutting herself into the impersonal space.

A lumpy mattress fit for one, a creaky armoire, a raised basin under a slightly corroded copper tap, a cold, stiff leather settee, and a cracked mirror hanging on one wall were all that greeted her upon entry. Imogen had initially been offered one of the suites intended for expecting Fates, and without moving so much as a toe over the threshold, she’d vehemently refused. Never mind the plush accommodations. The mere thought of reliving her months secluded in luxury while Karrick’s baby grew inside her womb was enough to send her into a fit of panic. No. She’d expended far too much effort compartmentalizing her pain to dredge it up from the depths of her soul.

Imogen plopped down onto the bed, the edge sinking like her spirit.

Karrick.

The shock of seeing him when she’d first arrived reverberated within her. The shock of learning who he was…that was something else entirely. All this time, and they hadn’t told her. But why would they? She’d been a Fate. Now she was an elder.

“How?”

That was the only word she’d been able to speak.

“Oh, he’s been ours for decades, dearest,” Vulgren had preened. “But Elder Frest was…an obstacle.”

Imogen knew that name. She hadn’t known Elder Frest well, but there’d been no denying the man’s dedication to the elder society and their sacred mission to prepare Felíne. He’d performed her induction at Queen Serebine’s insistence. Imogen hadn’t seen him since.

“I told the queen I’d studied the godscripts, despite Frest’s baseless protesting,” Vulgren explained. “There is nothing written about the Primordial Male maintaining a chaste existence; only that the Prima remain unmolested. I incurred the elder’s wrath when we paired him with you, but I was right! It worked.”

Imogen’s insides knotted painfully, and she locked her torturous memories within an iron vault before they could overwhelm her.

“When all others failed, the Primordial Male’s seed worked. And now Elder Frest is dead,” Vulgren continued with poorly feigned sympathy. Imogen had stared, words failing her. “With a little persuasion from her priests, my queen has given her blessing. We can use him to our hearts’ content.” A chuckle bubbled out of Vulgren’s wrinkled gullet. “Never mind the unviable outcome of our first attempt. There is no denying the potency of his seed! I am certain we shall achieve additional successful couplings in preparation for our Prima’s presentation.”

Imogen had experienced a numb stupor. Karrick had faced the black glass, proud snout raised, lips curled, ears perked, as though he could sense her proximity. Those bottomless black eyes had searched the shadows, seeming to penetrate the one-way pane and pierce straight through her hammering heart. She’d turned her back, overcome, and walked away from the room, from Vulgren and the guard, from him. But she could walk the rest of her miserable existence and never outpace her past.

She left that viewing room with two certainties clamoring for space in her head.

One: She loved him. Damn her to the darkest depths of hell, but she still loved him.

Two: He was promised to Felíne. Karrick was the Prima’s prophesied mate. The only way to break the Goddess’s wretched curse.

And until the Prima was found, Vulgren intended to force Karrick to sire another generation upon the Fates. Now that Imogen was here as an elder, it was expected that she assist in this process. Vulgren wanted Imogen personally present for the couplings to facilitate their success.

The thought of it…

Imogen lurched to the basin and would have vomited her lunch if she’d had anything in her stomach to expel. Instead, she braced herself against the lip of the basin as dry heaves wracked her frame.