I felt the pull before the call came.
A tightness in my chest. Not mine, but his.
Even across the packhouse, I could feel the storm of pain erupting from Marcellus like an invisible scream. His agony crashed through the empathic bond like a tidal wave, leaving me gasping for breath. My fingers gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, knuckles white, as my knees threatened to buckle beneath me.
"He's having another one," someone whispered behind me. The voice trembled. "Go to him. Please."
I didn't need to be told.
By the time I reached his quarters, my breath was ragged, my heart pounding in sympathy with his. The door was already ajar, whoever had last seen him hadn't dared go in. They always left it to me, the cursed empath, the one who could touch his pain without being consumed by it.
I paused at the threshold.
