Chapter 24 #2
Malak opened his mouth to argue, then snapped it shut, nostrils flaring. He shot Elara one last venomous look before storming off, leaving her alone with the Hunter.
Elara’s song died in her throat.
He was quiet for a beat, studying her. Then he shifted, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe as if the whole thing bored him.
“So,” he said at last, voice smooth and low, “I’m guessing you didn’t swallow the pill.”
Elara's cheeks flushed. “That was from you?”
He dipped his chin, the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes.
“Why?”
“I needed a way into your cell.”
Her body went rigid, a sudden spike of tension coursing through her. Slowly, her hand slipped into her pocket, fingers wrapping around one of the sharp pins.
"What do you want?"
“It wasn’t a lie,” he drawled. “I do need to reassess your bind. But I’d prefer to do it quietly, without the Lord Sovereign breathing down my neck.”
Elara bristled. So, she had been right. He needed to fix whatever mistake he’d made without his precious lord finding out. That’s why he’d lied.
“Like hell you are.”
She spat the words, watching the Hunter tense, poised to move. Before he could, a growl rolled through the cell—deep, ancient, echoing like war drums in a fog-choked forest.
Her muscles locked, breath snagging as she spun.
Her gaze collided with Reynnar’s.
His posture was predatory, knuckles white from the force of his grip, and his eyes — they blazed with a rage so visceral that it felt as though the very stone beneath their feet might crack.
It was an undiluted, primal show of protectiveness, leaving her heart racing, a cocktail of alarm and unexpected thankfulness.
His eyes narrowed at Reynnar, barely a flicker of emotion beneath the mask before he turned back to Elara. “Listen, Hallowed, I don’t want this assignment any more than you want me here. But let’s not make this more difficult than it needs to be—for either of us.”
Elara let out a cold laugh, the sound cutting through the tense air.
“Go ahead, try it. I dare you.” The confidence startled even her, rising unbidden, dark and coiled beneath her skin.
Maybe it was her hatred of anyone marked with a sunburst. Or Reynnar’s presence so close she could almost feel him through the bars.
Or maybe it was the memory of the Hunter at her mercy—how he’d squirmed when she held his seal, how she’d savored it. There was no chance she’d surrender that power without a fight.
She didn’t stop to think.
In one swift motion, Elara spat. The glob struck true, splattering across the glossy black of his chest plate. Satisfaction curled low in her gut as surprise flickered through his eyes—there, then gone before she could savor it.
He didn’t rush. He wiped the spit away with a slow, deliberate sweep of his gloved hand. Then he lifted his head and met her gaze.
That was when she saw it—a spark of challenge smoldering just beneath the surface. A silent dare. A gauntlet thrown without a word. And gods, if it didn’t make something in her stir, daring her to rise to it.
“Has anyone ever told you how impossible you are to deal with?”
Elara’s fingers closed around the pin in her pocket, the edge biting into her skin. Her pulse raced, but she kept her face cool, meeting his gaze with a smile that was all teeth.
“Funny, you’re the first to pay me such a compliment.”
The air between them tightened, and she welcomed it, let it settle like a second skin. She wasn’t backing down. A slow smirk curved her lips, daring him to take the bait.
When he did—when he stepped into her cell—she struck.
She clamped down, the seal pulsing in her chest, snaring the rhythm of his heart.
She cut it off.
A dark thrill surged as he staggered, cursing. Blood traced a thin line from her nose. Elara didn’t hesitate. She slashed the pin toward his eye.
Even with his seal in her grip, he was faster. His hand snapped up, catching her wrist inches from his face.
Before she could react, the Hunter slammed her into the cold stone, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs.
“Stop fucking doing that,” he growled, seizing her flailing arms with one hand, pinning them above her head.
Fury roared through Elara as she lashed out, jerking her knee upward, aiming for that one vulnerable spot that could bring even the strongest warrior to his knees. But his reflexes were infuriatingly fast. His thigh intercepted hers mid-strike, effortlessly deflecting the blow.
Reynnar roared from his side of the bars, but there was nothing he could do to help her.
Elara’s breath hitched as the Hunter wedged his leg between hers, pinning her in place. Panic flared. She twisted and strained, every muscle screaming for escape—but the harder she fought, the tighter his grip became.
“Is this the famed Hunter’s method? Overpowering women who can’t fight back? What’s next? Going to shackle me to your bed?”
His armor pressed deeper into her wrists as he leaned in, a smirk curling around his words. “If you have a thing for being tied up and held against your will, all you had to do was ask, Hallowed.”
Elara’s eyes flared. She didn’t flinch or shrink back like he likely expected. Instead, she leaned in, deliberately pressing herself against the solid wall of his body. For a heartbeat, she saw it—a flicker of surprise, a hitch in his stance.
Her own breathing stayed steady, controlled, hiding the wildfire in her veins. A slow, daring smile curved her lips as her voice dropped to a whisper, barely brushing the cold surface of his mask.
“Is this what you had in mind, Hunter?”
The air between them crackled, taut as a bowstring, their breaths tangled in the thick silence. Then, without warning, he let go.
The abrupt loss of his weight sent Elara stumbling, her legs giving way as she crumpled to the floor.
“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”
Even through the mask, his voice carried a rasp.
“And you’re a real piece of shit, so I guess we’re even,” Elara snapped, though the fire behind her words had dimmed.
Her head pounded, a dull ache, and her limbs felt like dead weight.
With a weary sigh, she slumped against the wall, the world tilting slightly as she lifted her chin to meet his gaze.
Her eyes remained sharp, but her strength was slipping fast.
The Hunter watched her for a long, measured moment, something close to wariness flickering in his gaze before he let out a dismissive snort. “What exactly did those Druids teach you down south? Casting without a conduit will kill you.”
Casting. Is that was she was doing?
The Druids hadn’t taught her a damn thing, but there was no way in hell she was about to tell him that.
The silence stretched again, and for a brief, foolish second, Elara dared to hope he might actually leave. But, of course, luck was never on her side.
He sank into a crouch in front of her, the gold in his eyes burning brighter the closer he got, though Elara wasn’t sure if it was real or just the exhaustion warping her senses.
She was so focused on that flicker, on the intensity of his gaze, that she didn’t even notice how close he’d come—until his hand slid into her hair.
His fingers grazed her neck, the touch so soft, and unexpected it sent a jolt through her.
“What are you doing?”
The Hunter pulled back slightly, the dim light catching the sharp points of her hairpins now held between his fingers. “Planning to skewer someone else while you’re down here?”
She scowled. “Depends on the day.”
He shook his head, amusement flashing briefly in his eyes before he caught himself. The shift was so subtle, like watching a door close, shutting her out again. “I’m going to assess your bind, and you’re not going to attack me this time.”
Elara snorted, the sound tired and bitter as it echoed through the cramped space. She didn’t move when the air shifted, when the faint hum of ether crackled and a wisp of power slipped from his palm, curling toward her like smoke.
“What will it do?” she whispered as his ether drifted lazily, curling in delicate loops before settling against her chest, right over the hidden seals.
He didn’t answer. His focus locked in, so complete she could feel it even through the mask. Elara closed her eyes, reaching for the sensation—and then she felt it. A faint tickle. A thread of warmth slipping into her, subtle and strange. Different.
Her skin prickled as the feeling spread, sparks racing along her nerves as if something inside her were waking.
Then it was gone—yanked free as he cursed, low and vicious.
Elara barely managed to crack her eyes open, her body too drained to do more.
But she saw him—his gloved fingers tapping lightly against the stone, his gaze distant, unfocused.
And then, without a word, he rose to his feet, as if whatever decision he’d been turning over in his mind had been settled.
The Hunter bent and lifted her with effortlessly, cradling her in his arms. Elara wanted to protest, to push him away, but her limbs refused to answer. He set her on the cot, his touch unexpectedly careful.
"Sleep will help," he muttered, voice clipped, and turned to leave.
Just before the cell door clicked shut, he hesitated. His gaze flicked back to hers, meeting her bleary eyes. Elara braced herself for a biting remark, something cruel or condescending, but nothing came. No snide retort, no venom.
Only silence.
“What was the pill supposed to do?” Her voice came out rasped as she fought to stay awake.
The Hunter’s eyes flashed. “It would’ve made you convulse, scream loud enough to shake the walls.
The guards would've thought you were dying. They’d have dragged you out, right to me.
” He paused, and for a second, his voice shifted—just a fraction, a hint of something less controlled slipping through. “But your way worked too.”
He turned, the quiet click of the cell door sealing her fate once again. But… something stayed. Something that wrapped around her like the glow of embers beneath a thick quilt, like the heat of a lantern after wandering through endless dark.
It bled into everything—the rough blanket, the worn cot, even the cold stone walls seemed to lose their bite.
Elara's eyes rose, seeking him once more, only to find the space empty.
He hadn’t looked back. Not once.
But even as it felt like he’d left something behind—he’d also taken a piece of her with him. Something she’d unknowingly given—something he hadn’t asked for, but had claimed all the same.