Morning came the next day and Cael Alexander stirred, shifting his weight instinctively as his large hand reached across the wide mattress toward Galathea Brooks' side of the bed.
Cael frowned at the smooth, undisturbed indentation where her head had rested. Before he could call out her name, an abrupt sensation made him go completely rigid. A heavy, suffocating pressure settled over his shoulders and ran down the length of his arms, feeling exactly like an invisible current pulling through his muscles.
The weight settling across his shoulders was unmistakable. He had only ever felt it when the Doom pulled on Galathea. That should have been impossible. They had destroyed the Doom. They had made sure of it.
His jaw tightened instantly as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, his expression hardening against the dim light of the bedroom.
