Chapter 7 · Seven Days Left

"Get your hands off me, Mara. Now."

Lucan didn't sound like he was in charge anymore. He sounded like he was drowning. He was slumped against the damp stone wall of the tunnel, his breathing ragged, coming in short, sharp hitches that rattled in his chest. The blood contract on Mara's wrist was humming, a low-frequency vibration that told her exactly how bad he was.

If he flatlined, the bond wouldn't just snap—it would drag her down with him, and Noah, wherever he was rotting in a cell, would be the first to feel the backlash.

"Shut up," Mara snapped, her fingers digging into the fabric of his coat. "You're shaking. Why are you shaking?"

"I'm fine," he lied. He tried to push her away, but his hand lacked any real weight. It just slid off her shoulder, useless.

"You're a liar and a terrible patient," she said, her voice tight. She didn't wait for his permission. She shoved him back against the wall and pressed her palm flat against his chest, right over his heart.

Heat blasted through her skin. It wasn't normal body heat—it was a searing, unnatural fever that felt like molten lead.