Page 168 of Heir of Broken Souls

I gently place my palms on his cheeks, continuing to ignore the chaos from his court. “Come back to me, Knox,” I whisper. “Come back to me, baby.”

My thumbs brush back and forth along his soft cheeks, snagging on the texture of his prickly five o’clock shadow.

Despite my outwardly calmness, my soul hammers wildly against his mind’s door. Running and throwing myself against it, thrashing it with my golden power. But something keeps him trapped within himself. I can feel the sadness leaking under his door and I want nothing more than to harm whatever is hurting him.

Removing a palm from his face, I slap my hand against the cave hoping to see what he does, but nothing happens to me.

“Knox, baby, please come back to me,” I say, begging this time.

My eyes burn with unshed tears. A mix of a whimper and a groan releases from my throat.

“Please,” I whisper.

His eyelashes flutter.

I stop breathing, frantically trying to keep brushing my thumb on his cheek, praying that my touch and the sound of my voice are bringing him back to me.

His lashes flutter again, his eyes clearing. Then he gasps, ripping his hand away from the cave wall as if he were burned.

Everyone crowds him, throwing out a thousand questions.

“What happened?”

“Was it magic?”

“Did someone infiltrate your mind?”

“Is Hazel back?”

That last question has me growling.

“Back off!” I bark as a fierce wave of protection slams into me. “Give him a second.”

Shame and guilt fill the eyes of his court members.

Turning to Knox, I feel the wave of gratitude he sends down the bridge as the door to his mind finally cracks open a slither. It’s all I need. Rushing through his door, I follow the trail of our past, the sanctuary he built in his mind, the shrine to our story evident. He paces within the replica of the clearing where we met.

He’s like a rabid animal.

His clothes are disheveled, his hair ruffled by his fingers running through it, and he won’t stop muttering.

I allow myself to be selfish as I fling myself and cling to him.

Sending wave after wave of calming energy down our bond, I try to fill him with light, with my golden power, allowing it to chase away the darkness plaguing him. But it doesn’t budge.

“Tell me,” I whisper, trying to keep the fear from my voice. “Show me.”

Those two words are the key.

Wrapping his arms around me, he clings to me, nestling his face in the crook of my neck. He exhales heavily, and a sob tears from his chest.

I hold his head to me, running my fingers through the soft strands of his hair.

“I’ve got you,” I whisper.

“I saw my parents…from their own eyes,” he murmurs into my hair. “I was looking at them from their memories.”

Shock thunders through me. Pulling back to face him, my heart clenches as his red-rimmed eyes lock on mine. It’s a look of both sadness and joy, seeing his parents’ faces again for the first time since they died.