My steps felt leaden as we approached the house. The local who'd agreed to guide us after I'd bribed him with my last two coins now walked ahead, constantly glancing back as if we might vanish.
"Hurry," I urged, my voice tight with desperation.
Regina's condition was worsening. Her breathing had become labored, and the crimson veins spreading up her neck continued their ugly advance. In Ronan's massive arms, she looked small and fragile—nothing like the fierce warrior I'd come to know.
"It's just ahead," our guide muttered, pointing to the end of the street.
The collar around my neck felt increasingly heavy, a constant reminder of our precarious position. Damian's words still echoed in my mind.
"Don't take too long, princess," he'd said, his shadowed face revealing nothing beneath that hood. "These collars aren't just for show. They bind you to me, and I'm not known for my patience."
