Chapter 63
Elora
Freedom tasted like sea spray and midnight air.
Elora soared through the darkness, her nightglider form slicing through the cool night breeze as she skimmed just above the water’s surface.
The splash back misted over her sleek black fur, each droplet a tiny shock of sensation against her skin.
Below her, the ocean stretched vast and limitless, a perfect mirror of the star-filled sky above.
Elora glanced back toward the ship, its silhouette dark against the horizon, sails billowing in the night wind.
Her powerful wings caught an updraft, and she surrendered to it, spiraling higher into the star-strewn sky.
The air grew colder as she climbed, but the nightglider’s fur kept her warm, insulated against the chill.
At the apex of her ascent, she hovered for a heartbeat, suspended between ocean and stars.
Then she tucked her wings and plummeted.
The wind screamed past her ears as she dove, the surface of the water rushing up to meet her.
At the last possible moment, she snapped her wings open, pulling out of the dive with such force that her muscles burned with the strain.
She skimmed so close to the water that the tips of her claws left tiny ripples in their wake.
No one had shown her how to fly like this, wild and reckless and free. This knowledge lived in her bones, in the muscles and sinews that had transformed with the nightglider’s essence. It was hers alone.
For so long, everything she’d learned had come from Tehvan. Every skill, every fragment of knowledge had been filtered through his guidance, his approval. Even her rebellion against him had been shaped by his teachings—a reaction rather than a true choice.
Elora banked again, following the current of a warm breeze.
She wouldn’t condemn Tehvan for how or why he had raised her.
Whether it was purely out of love or if she had just been a pawn in his game against Thorn, she had still felt loved during her childhood.
That was more than most from that island could say.
But she didn’t owe him the rest of her life.
The realization settled in her chest, not as a weight but as a lightness—a space opening where there had once been obligation. She was done with the burden of other people’s expectations.
The nightglider dipped lower, her powerful wings catching the air currents as she angled back toward the ship.
Tehvan had wanted her to be his testament against his family’s ideology. Thorn had wanted her to be his revenge, his weapon, his experiment. Both men had tried to shape her into their vision, neither seeing her as anything but an extension of their own desires and vendettas.
No more.
Elora circled the ship once, observing the lanterns that dotted the deck.
She tucked her wings and descended in a controlled spiral, feeling the wood of the deck solid beneath her paws as she landed. The transformation came easily now, her body shifting from nightglider to human with barely a thought.
The deck planks felt cool beneath her bare feet as she strode toward the captain’s quarters. Wind whipped her hair around her face, carrying the scent of salt and distant rain.
She had insisted they take other accommodations, that the captain’s quarters should go to someone else, perhaps Violette or one of the wards who had never known privacy.
But everyone had been adamant. After what she and Rell had endured at The Institute, after what they had sacrificed to free the others, they deserved this small luxury.
Elora pushed the door open without knocking, the hinges creaking slightly as she stepped inside.
The cabin was warm, lit by the soft glow of alchemical lamps that cast dancing shadows across the wooden walls.
The space was small but comfortable—a bed built into one wall, a writing desk bolted to the floor, and a narrow doorway leading to a private washroom.
The sound of splashing water had covered her entrance.
Rell emerged from the washroom, water droplets glistening on his bare chest, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. His hair was damp, curling slightly in its unruly way.
The healing scar on his torso stood out pink against his skin, a permanent reminder of how close she had come to losing him.
He startled slightly at the sight of her, his eyes widening.
“You’re back early,” he said, one hand instinctively tightening the towel at his waist. “How was the flight?”
Elora didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes traveled slowly over the planes of his chest. “Exhilarating,” she breathed, moving toward him. The flight had left her skin tingling, her blood singing with a wild freedom that demanded expression.
Her heart raced, a wild drumbeat echoing in her ears as she lingered just a breath away from him. The warmth radiating from Rell was intoxicating, urging her to close the distance, yet doubt whispered in the back of her mind.
What if she grasped onto it—that desire—only to recoil in fear again? Her fingers trembled slightly, hovering above his collarbone.
Thorn was dead. Gerard was dead. Tehvan wasn’t here to shame her. So, why was she still terrified?
She already knew the answer. These sorts of walls weren’t built by one or two monsters; Violette had told her. It was survival stacked on survival and hardened into a barrier that simply killing the source couldn’t bring down. She didn’t want her past to choose for her. She was done just surviving.
Slowly, she let her fingertips graze the curve of his jaw, tracing the sharp line of his cheekbone, feeling the warm pulse of life beneath her touch. His breath hitched, and for a moment, time seemed to stretch, suspended in the charged space between them.
She drew his face toward hers until their lips met. Salt lingered on his mouth, mingled with a honeyed sweetness from the tea they shared earlier. He kissed her back with tender hesitation, his lips moving carefully against hers as though waiting for permission to want more.
Tracing her fingertips down his chest, she following the subtle ridges of muscle that tensed and relaxed under her exploration.
The path of her touch continued lower, past the healing scar, until she reached where the towel hung precariously at his hips, her hand pausing at that threshold between what was revealed and what remained hidden before she nervously wrapped her arms around him instead of pushing too far.
Rell’s arms encircled her, one hand cradling the back of her head to deepen their kiss.
His other hand slipped to the small of her back, finding gaps between the living vines of her leotard where his touch could meet her skin.
Each brush of his work-roughened fingers against that hidden softness made her tremble, the sensation climbing her spine like lightning seeking the ground.
She pulled back before the thrill could climb beyond her control.
“Was there something different about the wind tonight?” he murmured. His stormy eyes fluttered to her lips, but he didn’t pull her back to him.
“Yes. It felt like true freedom.” She giggled, trying to make light of the overwhelming feeling that sat heavy in her heart.
His gaze softened, becoming a caress as tender as touch. “And what does freedom feel like?” he asked.
She considered the question, and how things had begun to change for her. The choices she could make, the future she could have if she was able to allow herself to have it. She re-closed the distance between them.
“Like possibility,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth where a smile was beginning to form. “Like choice.” Another kiss, this time to his jaw, lingering there as if memorizing him. “Like realizing I can want something without it being used against me.”
When their lips met again, she felt the pull of it—the want—and let herself feel it without flinching away.
His hand traced slow patterns against her spine.
She focused on the sensation, cataloguing it: warmth, pressure, the slight roughness of his fingertips.
Safe. Then she drew back just far enough to look at him, at the patience in his expression, and made a quiet decision.
She pressed her palm flat against his chest and walked him backward. Not urgently. One step, then another, her eyes never leaving his, until the bed frame stopped him. She kept her hand where it was, feeling his heartbeat, and then pressed gently forward until he sat.
Without breaking contact, she climbed onto his lap, her knees settling on either side of his hips.
The rough fabric of the towel scratched against her inner thighs, and for a moment her body went rigid—some old reflex, a door swinging shut.
She breathed through it. Pressed her forehead to his.
Let her hands find his shoulders, and held there until the rigidity softened back into want.
Rell’s hands trembled at her waist, keeping her suspended just above him. “Elora,” he whispered, her name catching in his throat. “What happened to you—at The Institute—with Thorn—” He swallowed hard. “I don’t want you to feel that you need to—”
She pressed her finger against his lips, silencing him mid-sentence. “I know I don’t have to,” she said firmly. Her hand moved to cup his cheek, feeling the slight stubble against her palm. “I want to. I want… I want to at least try.”
The tension in his shoulders melted away as his hands relaxed at her waist, letting her settle on his lap. He gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and cupped the back of her neck.
His eyes lost their softness for a moment as he said, “If you want to stop, just say so. Okay?”
She nodded and instantly eased the concern in his features when her lips returned to his.