The Broken Queen

Chapter 55; Still Breathing:

Lexi's POV:

Time doesn't exist.

Each moment feels like an eternity as we watch, helpless, as the six wolves surround Bree like vultures.

Three of them lean against the wall by the door they entered, two others flanked by a broad-chested wolf whose skin is littered in jagged, ugly scars.

The clear leader of the group lands a sickening blow to Bree's liver, making him jolt awake, sputtering a hoarse cough as blood leaks from his broken lips. My heart races.

Bree's eyes open and stare hollowly at the broad rogue.

"Just before you go dying on us like the weakling you are, I'm going to give you one last chance to survive."

"Tell me how to defeat Dani, and you live, it's that simple. Fionn clearly got caught or killed. He was too reckless to be the boss anyway. But me? I'm more...patient, thoughtful...forgiving, if you get my meaning."

"He's either pathetic enough to die to protect the bitch, or he's just completely useless and knows nothing," one wolf sighs, sounding bored.

The big guy swings his head to him and growls, shutting him up without argument.

He grabs a fistful of Bree's hair and yanks it back, lifting his head with it.

"Well?" he snarls.

Bree is silent at first. I don't breathe.

Then he spits blood into the rogue's eyes as harshly as he can. "Fuck...you," he rasps.

Bree's airway is immediately closed off as bulky hands wrap tightly around his throat. Bree scrambles in the chains, gasping for air, the sound tearing through me.

Jonah tenses beside me, moving closer to me, not enough to touch, but enough to feel her body heat.

My jaw aches from how hard I'm clenching it. My magic stirs violently in my veins, screaming for release, the threads beneath the earth thrashing in agitation. Heal him. Break the chains. Kill them all.

My vamp side perks up in my mind—wanting out. Wanting blood.

No, please, not now. We need to get out of here alive if we stand any chance of actually saving Bree and not just dying with him.

She hisses so angrily it makes my head throb, but she settles down, for now.

Bree's face goes red as his eyes weep from the lack of oxygen. The big guy lets go suddenly, making Bree sputter and wheeze, his eyes closing again and body slumping in the chains.

Jonah's breath hitches.

I feel it before I hear it—the deep, animal growl vibrating through her chest. Her wolf presses forward, furious, restrained only by discipline and proximity.

I squeeze her hand, snapping her focus back to me—her wolf glowing in her eyes, barely contained. I smile gently and give her hand another reassuring squeeze. She goes quiet again, but is wound tight with tension and doesn't let my hand drop.

Finally—finally—the guards begin to drift toward the door.

"He's fucking useless, he's mostly dead already, let him suffer through whatever little time we have left, it's time to go to plan B." The big one growls as they leave.

The heavy door slams shut behind them.

Silence crashes down so hard it almost hurts.

For half a heartbeat, neither of us moves.

Then Jonah turns, eyes blazing. "Now."

We're out from behind the crates and barrels in an instant.

I drop to my knees in front of his slumped body, barely aware of the cold moisture seeping through my jeans. Up close, it's even worse than I expected.

His left eye socket is clearly broken, hugely swollen and a deep shade of purple. Crusted blood all over his face, hands, and torso. Bruised beyond recognition, his skin ghostly white and clammy.

"Bree," I whisper urgently, panic clawing at my chest. "Bree, can you hear me?"

Nothing.

My hands tremble as I press them to the earth, praying my idea isn't too crazy to work. I whisper to the magic threads, begging them to help. They shudder beneath us in response and then go still. I feel nothing at first and then a surge of energy seeping out of the earth and up my arms.

I pull the magic upward, focusing it carefully, my heart swelling with gratitude to mother earth or whoever was responsible for this assistance. Standing, I weave a gentle waking spell, soft and insistent, threading it through his aura and mind.

"Bree," I say again, a little louder now. "You're not alone. I need you to wake up. Wake up Bree!"

His lashes flutter open.

A shallow, raspy breath crackles from his bruised chest.

"There you are," I murmur, relief burning hot behind my eyes. "Hi Bree, I'm Lexi, and this is Jonah, we've been sent here by Dani. I know it hurts a lot right now, but I need you to stay with me, okay?"

Jonah stands off to the side, back to us, on alert for threats, but she turns her head to speak. "Hi Bree, we are gonna do everything we can to help you last until Dani can do her thing. She knows where you are."

Bree's lips part. More breath than voice escapes.

"D-Dani?"

"Yes, she's coming for you," she says firmly.

I move closer to him, laying one hand over his chest, the other hovering over his broken orbital bone. I don't risk anything too obvious. But I focus on his liver, lungs, and eye, pouring what gentle healing magic I can into him. Enough to ease the pain. Enough to help him breathe. Enough to keep him tethered.

"I need you to hold on," I tell him softly. "Just a little longer. Can you do that for me?"

His fingers twitch weakly as he gasps, finally taking in a decent amount of oxygen.

His eyes open a little wider as the bone begins to knit itself back together—at least one thing lessening his suffering and improving his chances of getting out of here. The change in his breathing and the worst of his wounds is enough to ease the fear clawing at my chest.

Jonah crouches beside me for just a moment, her expression uncharacteristically soft. She brushes a hand over Bree's hair, careful of the chains. "You're not forgotten," she whispers gently. "Not by Dani. Not by us."

Then her head snaps up in a panic.

"We have to go," she whispers urgently. "Now."

My chest tightens painfully. I hate the thought of leaving him here like this.

I lean forward and wrap my arms around Bree as gently as I can, careful not to jostle his injuries. His body is limp against mine, taut with pain and fatigue. My heart breaks a little more.

"We'll be back Bree," I promise into his ear. "I swear it. You're not dying here."

Jonah does the same—brief, careful, fierce. "Hold on," she tells him. "That's an order. We'll all be back in two days. Just forty-eight more hours, okay?"

Bree's eyes brighten and he gives a slight nod and a quiet "thank you" as footsteps echo somewhere above us.

We don't look back.

Jonah pulls me up to my feet and we run—fast, silent, hearts pounding—as we slip back toward the narrow window that brought us here.

As I climb out, blood smearing the glass, one thought pounds through my mind with terrible clarity:

We didn't rescue Bree.

But we kept him alive.

And that has to be enough—for now.