Page 118 of The Hyena’s Guardian

“Theron.”

“Since we entered the throne chamber.”

That part was true. The King’s voice had strengthened the moment they crossed the threshold, becoming clearer and more difficult to separate from Theron’s own thoughts.

Before the throne chamber, the King’s influence had remained pressure at the edges of memory and instinct. Now he listened and responded.

A pulse rolled through the bridges beneath their feet, carrying the voice with it.

You think he can save you.

Theron clenched his jaw because the worst part was that some reckless part of him had begun wondering the same thing.

Matt stepped closer. “What is he saying to you?”

Theron turned toward him automatically, and the bond surged when their eyes met. Warmth flashed through his chest as the crushing pressure inside his skull eased for half a heartbeat, like surfacing from deep water into open air.

The King’s voice vanished.

Relief struck hard enough to unsteady him.

Matt gave Theron a questioning look. “What?”

Realization settled into place. The bond was not merely resisting the King’s influence. It interrupted it.

Theron locked down his reaction before it could spread through him. The King was listening constantly, and any spike of hope or understanding would give him something to follow.

He looked away. “Nothing useful.”

Matt plainly did not believe him, which was good. Theron trusted Matt’s instincts more than his own now.

He could not risk giving the discovery shape while the King listened through every thought he failed to guard. If the bond truly disrupted the King’s influence, it might be the first thing in centuries the ancient creature had failed to anticipate.

Another chain snapped beneath the throne.

The sound rolled through the chamber, vibrating through the stone beneath their feet. The black mineral veins in the walls pulsed brighter, then dimmed like blood surging through something buried below.

Vale faced the throne platform. “We are running out of time.”

Theron already knew. He felt the seal failing in a way that went beyond sound or movement. The fractures spreading through the mountain registered somewhere inside him, intimate enough to resemble old wounds reopening beneath his skin. The mountain had been part of him for so long that its fractures no longer felt separate from his own body.

Beneath everything moving through the chamber, the King waited with the patience of something that had survived centuries and no longer doubted the outcome.

Theron focused on the bridges as the Valker agents shifted into defensive positions. Several creatures lingered on the lower platforms, watching with pale, glowing eyes. None attacked yet, and that disturbed him more than violence would have.

“They’re waiting for orders,” Baptiste said.

“Yes.”

Matt glanced between them. “That is somehow worse than if they were charging us.”

The humor sounded strained.

Theron turned toward him, and the pressure in his skull eased again. It tightened the moment he looked away. The King noticed, but Theron ignored the voice.

Then the throne moved.

The shift was subtle at first, little more than movement deep within the black structure rising above the platform, but every wolf in the chamber saw it.