Chapter 9 A Heartbeat That Held Me Here
Lyanna
I surfaced from darkness like someone dragging themselves out of deep water—slow, disoriented, and with the awful certainty that the world above hurt more than whatever waited below.
Cold air pricked my skin.
Then—pain.
It caught like a fuse along every muscle, blooming through my bones in white, blinding bursts. My eyes snapped open to a ceiling of warped wooden planks. For a breath I didn’t know where I was—or if I even was anything at all.
I inhaled dust, metal, and bitter herbs.
The cot beneath me felt wrong. Soft. Foreign.
A low sound clawed up my throat.
I tried to roll onto my side. The world lurched. Not the cages. Not the pits. The room was narrow, half-infirmary, half-storage—crates stacked along one wall, rope coils on the other, a lantern swaying overhead like the room itself was breathing with me.
My mark burned.
Instinct overrode thought. My hand flew to my neck—and agony detonated under my fingers. The wound was still raw and wet in places, swollen and jagged. A fresh tear. A violation. Pain shot through my skull so sharply my vision fizzed white.
My breath hitched.
Rubin.
The memory slammed into me. I curled in on myself, knees drawn up. Tears blurred the ceiling. I tasted blood where I bit my tongue to keep from screaming.
Silent.
Mute.
Invisible.
I had to be those things to survive. Yet for that moment, I almost didn’t care.
Grief bit into me like it had teeth.
Fragments broke through—crooked and out of order:
Sera’s hands on my shoulders.
Bina’s voice breaking.
A tall armored silhouette in the doorway.
Orders barked over the ringing in my ears.
Then the drop into nothing.
Time blurred—hours or days turning into a single stretch of cold. I drifted between shallow consciousness and nightmares. Tremors came in waves I couldn’t control. Sometimes I clawed at the empty space beside me. Sometimes I woke expecting Rubin’s scent, expecting him to steady me.
But the emptiness stayed.
My lungs kept drawing breath I didn’t want. My heart kept beating when it shouldn’t.
Omegas weren’t meant to survive mate-loss.
My fingers brushed the torn mark again. Lightning seared through every nerve. Still, I pressed, half-hoping something would pulse back through the broken bond.
Nothing.
Rubin was gone.
Truly gone.
Not taken.
Dead.
The realization struck like a second death meant for me.
A sound ripped from my chest—raw, helpless—
“Ru—”
The syllable slipped out.
Bina froze beside me with a bowl of herbs. Sera, folding cloth in the corner, went still as a hunted animal. For a heartbeat, the room held its breath.
Then Bina lowered her gaze and dipped the cloth. Calm. Deliberate. As if she hadn’t heard a thing.
Sera swallowed and signed:
Be careful.
My breath wavered. Something inside me cracked—not grief this time, but a thin, dangerous gratitude.
They knew. And they would protect my secret.
Why?
It made no sense to my fever-addled brain. Why would these Drakovian omegas help me? Why care if I lived?
I should have died when the bond broke. At least then I’d be with him.
Bina set the cool cloth on my brow. “Rest,” she murmured, voice scraped thin. “You’re burning up.”
I swallowed past the pain and guilt.
Then—something fluttered beneath my ribs.
I froze. Pressed my hand to my belly.
Again—it came. Soft. Faint. A separate heartbeat.
Not mine.
The pup.
Rubin’s legacy.
My arms wrapped around my middle. Bina clicked her tongue softly.
“Silly girl,” she muttered, rubbing the cloth along my skin. “Would you doom your pup?”
What would have happened to the child if I’d let myself die?
Hold on for him.
Hold on for us.
My vision sharpened. The grief didn’t fade, but something stronger cut through it—thin at first, then steadier, then dangerous.
A vow settled into my bones:
Drakovia doesn’t get his child.
Drakovia doesn’t get my death.
Boots thundered outside. The door flew open.
Two handlers entered in the slate-gray leather of the Upper Ring. One unrolled a parchment.
“By order of Lord Veras,” he barked, pointing at me, “this omega is transferred to Upper Ring labor rotations immediately.”
His gaze flicked to Bina and Sera. “These two accompany her.”
Lord who?
A flicker of memory—the armored figure, the authority in his voice.
Bina stiffened. Sera’s fingers curled tight.
“Protocol requires unstable omegas to be escorted by their stabilizers,” the man continued. “They’ve demonstrated control over her episodes.”
He didn’t wait for a response.
Sera exhaled.
Bina muttered, “Upper Ring… Sun Mother spare us.”
I must have looked confused because Bina knelt and said quietly:
“They think you’re fragile. Closer to the capital means nobles. We go with you because they think we keep you stable.”
Stable.
If only they knew.
Sera signed:
We stay together.
My throat tightened. Gratitude—dangerous, reckless—burned through me.
The walk out of the annex was brutal. Cold wind slashed at my torn neck. My steps faltered. Bina and Sera flanked me closely, catching me each time I swayed.
The labor camp rose behind us—smoke-blackened chimneys, iron stench, the echo of screams. The place where Rubin’s last tether had snapped.
And now I was being dragged deeper into Drakovia.
Further into the capital.
Toward the monster’s heart.
The handlers’ cart waited at the road. Mud sucked at its wheels. Several omegas were already inside—shadows wrapped in wool, eyes hollowed into obedience.
I climbed in with Bina steadying my elbow, Sera pushing softly from behind.
Bootsteps approached.
Marek.
I froze. I hadn’t expected to see him again.
He stood quietly, hand braced on the rail. His head tilted.
“I see you took my advice.”
I looked away.
His gaze flicked to Bina and Sera—acknowledging. Not cold. Not warm. Just a warning dressed as understanding.
“Transport’s light,” he muttered. “Upper Ring’ll want double soon.”
“Orders from Lord Veras,” the handler said. “Not my place.”
Marek’s jaw flexed—but he stepped back.
Just before he turned away, he tapped his fingers once against the wooden slats—three soft knocks.
A signal.
Sera nudged me.
Bina whispered, “Keep your head down. Friends here get you killed.”
Up the road, movement stirred.
A small procession of nobles passed through the city gate—velvet cloaks, jeweled buckles, polished armor. At the center rode a man in dark steel, posture perfect.
Even from a distance, I felt it like a chill sliding down my spine.
Bina leaned in. “That’s him,” she whispered. “The one who pulled the order.”
Sera swallowed hard.
I stared through the slats, watching Lord Veras lead the nobles through the towering archway… and disappear into the capital beyond.
My fingers curled slowly over my stomach.
I wasn’t ready to face him.
I didn't want to really.
I was here to survive—and eventually, to escape.