Chapter 14 #3
Lisa turned, eyes widening before relief broke through her composure. “Syndra?”
Syndra threw her arms wide. “Surprise! We brought snacks. And by ‘snacks,’ I mean sarcasm and deeply concerning questions.”
“Hello to you, too,” Lisa said dryly.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Syndra replied, already pulling her into a fierce, grounding hug. For one brief heartbeat, neither of them breathed. Syndra felt the tremor in Lisa’s hands, the echo of something vast and ugly brushing too close to her friend.
Then Syndra leaned back and assessed her like a battlefield medic. “You’re not bleeding. Good start.”
“I don’t bleed every time you’re not around.”
“You say that,” Syndra replied, “but history disagrees.”
Tamsin stepped forward, posture formal without being stiff. His nod to Rezer was respectful—but cautious. “Trouble,” he said evenly. “I’m thinking that’s what we should start calling you.”
Rezer looked like a man holding himself together through sheer refusal. “Sir will do.”
“Oh, good,” Syndra said. “You’ve still got your sense of humor. That was one of the things that had me rooting for you and not Tony. Though Tony definitely has a sense of humor, he’s not as edgy as you. Lisa needs edgy. The crazy ones always need someone even a tad more unhinged than themselves.”
Rezer’s mouth twitched. “So you’re saying Tamsin’s an absolute crackpot?”
Lisa groaned. “Both of you, stop.”
Oakley moved then, stepping past Tamsin and stopping a few feet from Rezer. His expression was level, but his jaw was locked tight.
“I didn’t like you when I met you the first time in this forest,” he said. “And I can’t say that I’m any more fond of you now, seeing you here next to this door pulsing with angry magic, next to my mom.”
Rezer inclined his head. “You don’t have to like me. You’re not the one I’m courting.”
“Rezer,” Lisa snapped. “He’s my son.”
“I know who he is, love,” he said, his words more gentle as he spoke to her.
“But I’ve done nothing to earn his disrespect and as a warrior, he should know better.
” He met Oakley’s eyes and to Syndra’s pride, Oakley didn’t back down.
“I will treat her with the respect and love she deserves. I will protect her with my life. And I will love her till the end of my days. But it is her choice to be with me. Not yours.”
Lisa shifted instinctively, caught between being a mother and the woman of a new suitor.
The two males continued to stare at one another for several heartbeats before Oakley finally nodded. “If she wants to be with you, and she’s happy, then I won’t try to stop her. But if you hurt her, I will use every skill I’ve been taught to gut you and watch you die a slow, painful death.”
Oakley’s threat hung in the air, sharp and earned.
Syndra didn’t interrupt. She let it stand. Some boundaries mattered, and this was one of them.
Rezer inclined his head once, solemn. “Understood.”
Good, Syndra thought. No posturing. No offended pride. Just acceptance. That alone nudged him half a step up in her mental ranking of dangerous men Lisa inexplicably attracts.
The stone door behind them pulsed, slow, deliberate. Not a threat. A reminder.
Syndra felt it before it moved again, that wrongness under her skin, like a pressure change before a storm. The Chamber was listening. Deciding.
Rezer went still.
Oh, she thought grimly. Here it comes.
“You should know,” he said quietly, eyes never leaving the stone, “what you’re standing next to.”
Tamsin’s posture shifted, subtle but immediate. Ready. “The Chamber of Light and Dark.”
Rezer nodded.
“And the shadow elves are inside,” Tamsin continued. “Our memories have been restored. At least some of them. But,” his head tilted slightly. “Your eyes hold knowledge you don’t think we know.”
Lisa turned toward Rezer, her face already tight with concern. “Rezer—”
“It has to be said,” he said gently. “They deserve the truth. Especially now.”
The hum deepened. Syndra’s vision flickered, not fully, not like the memories she and Tamsin had been dragged through earlier, but enough to make the air feel thin. The Chamber pressed, impatient.
Rezer exhaled slowly. “I wasn’t born a dark elf. Not really.” His jaw tightened. “I wasn’t born at all.”
Syndra’s spine went rigid. “Whoa, was not expecting that.”
“Two warriors,” he continued. “One light. One dark. Reed and Zire. They saw what the war was doing, what it was about to destroy. They chose to end it the only way they believed would matter.”
The forest seemed to lean closer.
“They died on each other’s blades,” Rezer said. “By choice. And where light and dark collided . . . I was forged.”
Syndra felt Tamsin’s breath hitch beside her.
“A ruler,” Rezer went on, voice steady but hollow underneath. “Something meant to lead what came after. The shadow elves. Not to dominate. Not to conquer. Just . . . to keep them from being ruled by power the way light and dark always had been.”
The door pulsed again, brighter now. Almost pleased.
“And you led them,” Tamsin said quietly.
“Yes.” Rezer swallowed. “I led them away from the battlefield. Away from slaughter. I thought I was saving them.”
Syndra’s stomach sank.
“You led them to the Chamber,” she said.
Rezer nodded once.
“I didn’t understand what it was yet. What it would become. By the time I did . . .” his hand curled at his side, “. . . the seal was already forming. Trik and the elders acted. The shadow elves were locked inside.”
“And you weren’t,” Syndra said.
“No,” he agreed. “I was allowed to walk away. My memories buried. My nature hidden. I lived as a dark elf for centuries thinking I’d escaped something.” His mouth twisted. “Turns out, I was just . . . stored.”
Lisa’s hand found his without hesitation. Syndra clocked it, the way Rezer’s shoulders eased just a fraction.
“So the Chamber kept you free,” Syndra said, cold now. “Because someday it would need you to open it again.”
Rezer didn’t argue.
The air shifted.
And then—
“Oh for the love of—how many times do we have to hear this story? Twice is enough. We get it, Rezer’s crushing on my mom, Rezer’s a badass shadow elf who saved an entire race, but plot twist, they got trapped in a Chamber that became a psychopath, power hungry vacuum.
And said Chamber has now drawn us all here like good little pets to set the shadow elves free and suck our souls dry.
Meanwhile, Cassie and I are glued to the damn forest floor and need to pee. So, whose problem is worse?”
Syndra sucked in a sharp breath. She turned, scanning the clearing instinctively, already knowing she wouldn’t see anyone. But now that she’d heard the voice, she could feel their presence, and the magic that was unique to both of them. Cassie and Elora.
“Being held hostage by a Chamber, apparently made invisible to everyone,” the voice of Elora continued, irritated. “Zero stars. Do not recommend. Especially since, not to beat a dead horse, we have to freaking pee.”
Lisa gasped. “Elora! Is Cassie with you?”
“Yes, since I don’t talk about myself in the plural and the only person I’m ever with is Cassie,” Elora said dryly. “Hi, Mom. You sound stressed. Also, congrats on the new beau, hope he's not a douche. I’m feeling stabby.”
Syndra barked a short, startled laugh before she could stop herself. “If you’re still that mouthy, you can’t be too bad off. Balance remains intact.”
“I don’t ever want to hear anymore discussion about balance, Syndra,” Elora growled. “For all I care, balance can suck it.”
“I’m with her,” Cassie’s voice came from the space around them. “Light, dark, shadows, whatever. Everything sucks, I have to pee, I’m tired, pregnant, and the father of my child doesn’t even know it yet.”
For a heartbeat, the clearing froze. Even the Chamber seemed to hold its breath.
Lisa blinked. “Excuse me—did you say pregnant?”
Elora made a strangled noise. “Oh, fantastic, she’s crying again. Great job, everyone, emotional landmine fully detonated.”
Lisa’s hand flew to her mouth. “Cassie . . .”
But before Lisa could say more, the air changed. The ground didn’t so much tremble as recoil. The forest itself shuddered—branches bending backward, moss shriveling, every shadow pulling tight, like the entire world remembered it had reason to be afraid.
Then came the sound, low, ancient, furious.
Power funneled into the clearing, dragging the light out of everything it touched. Syndra’s lungs seized from the pressure. Tamsin’s hand went to his weapon out of instinct; Oakley threw an arm in front of Lisa without thinking.
The glow from the Chamber flared blinding white, split down the center—
and through that tear stepped a silhouette ink-dark and incandescent all at once.
Triktapic. And beside him, Cush.
Syndra had seen Trik in battle before, calculated, lethal, the elegance of an assassin shaped by centuries of discipline. This was different. This was the raw, unfocused power of a mate whose bond had just screamed in distress.
The shadows crawled around his boots, hissing like living things. His voice rolled out low and lethal, the kind of sound that bypassed the ear and went straight to the nerve endings.
“I do know about the child.” The words hit with the force of a tsunami.
He stepped fully into view, tall, eyes glowing like molten steel under moonlight. The temperature in the clearing plummeted as his power unfurled, sucking the oxygen out of the air.
Cush followed, steady, hand hovering near his daggers, wise enough not to interfere, but every inch of him screamed ready.
Trik’s gaze swept the clearing in one devastating arc, Lisa, Rezer, Syndra, Tamsin, Oakley, and stopped on the spot that he must have felt the invisible presence of Cassie. Fury and relief warred in the lines of his jaw.
“And now,” he said, voice flat with terrible promise, “someone will answer for this.”
The Chamber’s light stuttered, almost like a heartbeat missing a beat. Even it seemed reluctant to be the first to move.
Syndra swallowed hard, the rush of his power scraping the back of her throat. For once, she had nothing clever left to say.
Trik’s energy flicked toward the hidden space that held Cassie and Elora; the shimmer there bent, forming their faint outlines. Cassie’s head lifted toward the sound of him, the raw, broken joy in her voice enough to crack every hardened heart in the clearing.
“Trik . . .”
It was barely more than a whisper, but it seemed to undo him. His composure fractured, voice shaking on the edge between rage and relief. “I’ve got you, love. I swear it.”
“Cush?” Elora’s voice broke through. “Please don’t be too mad.”
Cush glanced toward Syndra, expression grim. “I’m not mad, Little Raven. I love you. Be still, and give us a minute to work this all out.” Then he looked at everyone else. “We should all take a step back.”
But no one moved. Syndra didn’t think she could even if she wanted to. Trik’s power was like a heavy weight pushing on her shoulders, holding her in place.
The Chamber pulsed again, darker this time, resentful, defensive. It recognized a threat when it saw one.
Trik’s power surged in response, a living storm.
“You took my Chosen,” he said, quiet and deadly.
“You endangered her, and the child she carries. So tell me—” his eyes flared, light twisting into shadow, “—should I just destroy the entire Chamber, or pull each shadow elf out one by one to face my wrath?”
The last word cracked the air like lightning.
Silence followed, heavy as the world before collapse.