Chapter 47
The cold night air hit her like a slap when they broke through the surface—icy and burning all at once as it filled her lungs.
Elara’s ribs strained, pulling tight as if they might split apart, each inhale scraping through her like shards of glass. She didn’t need to open her eyes; she knew the feel of his arms.
The Hunter’s chest was hard against her back, his breath ragged at her cheek—his grip iron.
The moment they reached the bank, he released her.
Elara collapsed onto the wet grass, shuddering, teeth chattering until her jaw ached.
She was too cold, too weak to do anything but lie there.
The only warmth came from the fire of his gaze, boring into her as he knelt beside her, chest still heaving.
She didn’t dare look at him—not yet. Not when the fury radiating from him was so palpable she could almost taste it.
“Do you have any idea what you almost did? How reckless—how stupid—”
“I had to,” she rasped, forcing herself to sit up. “We needed the memory—”
“And your solution was to drown yourself?”
He finally turned to face her.
“I didn’t have a choice. We're running out of time—”
“You always have a choice,” he snapped, grabbing her chin, and forcing her to look at him. His eyes were wild, blazing with such anger it made her flinch. “And you chose to throw yourself into that damn lake like you had nothing left to lose.”
Elara wrenched her face from his grasp, glaring through the tears. “You think I want to die? That I wanted this? I’m doing this for you—for Thane. Because someone has to.”
“And I’m trying to keep you alive, but you’re making it impossible.”
She lifted her chin despite the ache in her chest. “I’m not trying to kill myself.”
“Aren’t you?” He crouched down, his face inches from hers. “And for what? A memory? A fragment of something that might not even help?”
“We need it. If we’re ever going to reach him, we need every advantage we can get.”
“You think I don’t know that?” His voice dropped to a deadly whisper.
“You think I haven’t considered every possible way to get him back?
” His face hardened, jaw clenching so tightly she could hear the crack of his teeth.
“You’re a fool,” he muttered, standing abruptly, his body towering over her. “You’re reckless, selfish—and a fool.”
Elara staggered to her feet, her knees trembling but her voice steady. “I don’t care what you think of me. I don't care what happens to me.”
“Well, I do!” he snarled, a hint of desperation bleeding through the fury.
She stopped breathing.
The Hunter looked away, his hands curling into fists, knuckles white, but he didn’t move.
For a moment, she thought he might walk away, put distance between himself and what he’d just admitted, but then his voice came out cold, controlled.
“You didn’t think. You never think, not when it matters.
You can’t help anyone if you’re dead. You can’t bring Thane back if you’re gone. ”
She winced, an ache curling tight in her chest. “I—I know. But I have to try. Time’s running out, and the spell… it’s nowhere near ready. We need at least another week to fine-tune it.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t just sit here—”
“No, Hallowed,” he cut her off. “I won’t just sit here and watch you destroy yourself. I told you before—that’s not how this ends.”
His words hit her harder than she expected, tightening her throat, forcing her to swallow the sudden knot of emotion. He stepped closer. “Next time,” he said, “you tell me. You don’t go off alone, and you sure as hell don’t risk your life without knowing exactly what it’ll cost.”
“I know the cost.”
“Do you?” he asked, his tone biting, but his eyes… they told another story.
Desperate. Defeated. Pleading, even.
She didn’t know what to do with it. That look. That break in the armor she’d never thought she’d see. It made her want to step closer and pull away all at once.
He tore his gaze away, his expression hardening, becoming distant. Silence stretched between them, thick and bitter, pressing in on her until it felt like she couldn’t breathe.
“Why do you serve him?” The words slipped out, fragile, nearly swallowed by the night. But she needed to know. She couldn’t reconcile the man in front of her with the image she had built—ruthless, cold, and yet now he’d just admitted he cared for her.
He needs you for his brother, her mind whispered, but that explanation felt too simple.
There was more to it; she could feel it.
A tightness throbbed in her chest, winding tighter and tighter until she forced herself to breathe again, and it eased ever so slightly.
But it wasn’t her pain—she realized that now.
It was his. The ache, the anger, the frustration—she had been feeling him all along.
“Why the sudden interest?” His tone was frigid, mocking, and it sent a chill through her. But his eyes were searching her face, hunting for something.
She refused to look away. “Because you’re not what you pretend to be. You follow Osin’s orders, no questions asked, but then you go and do something like this. Help me.”
He snorted, a dark, humorless sound. “Help you? Don’t be naive. Alive, you serve a purpose. Dead…” His mouth pressed into a hard line, the tension clear, but his voice didn’t quite carry the same conviction.
“Right,” she said, “just a tool, then?”
He stiffened, his expression hardening. “In war, we use every weapon at our disposal. Knowledge is power, and in my line of work, power is everything. We’re all tools, Hallowed. Don’t mistake your importance for something personal.”
The words hit harder than they should have, and she cursed herself for it.
Stupid. What had she expected?
Gods, why had she even asked?
“Well,” she muttered, her voice colder now. “Good to know my usefulness hasn’t run out just yet.”
She turned sharply, her feet kicking up dirt as she stalked through the yard, heading straight for the manor.
She took the stairs two at a time, heat rising up her neck.
Her eyes burned, but she bit down hard on her lip, digging her nails into her palms. She wouldn’t cry.
She refused to cry. Not for him. Not for this.
He was right. She’d been mistaking his actions for something personal, clinging to a shred of warmth when he had never once said it was more.
No, that was all her—so desperate, so gods-damned lonely, that she twisted any kindness into something it wasn’t.
When would she learn? When would her heart stop grasping for things it wasn’t meant to have?
She slammed the door behind her, the crack of wood against the frame reverberating through the room, making the silence that followed feel oppressive.
Her chest felt heavy, each breath dragging as she tore the soaked tunic from her body and threw it to the floor.
Water dripped from her hair, cold trails running down her spine, but she barely noticed.
Her gaze swept the room and landed on the neat stack of the Hunter’s clothes waiting for her on the desk.
The sight of them set her teeth on edge.
A wave of heat rushed through her at the thought of touching anything of his.
She reached for her grimy gown instead—anything but his—
The door flew open with a crash, slamming against the wall so hard it rattled the floor beneath her feet. She screamed, heart pounding as she spun around, arms crossing over her chest.
“What the hell are you doing?”
But he didn’t stop. He was already halfway across the room, eyes locked on hers, flashing with something that made her breath hitch—fear. And it wasn’t for himself.
“You're being summoned.”
Before Elara could process the words, his hands were on her, pulling her to his chest. The shock of it—of him—stole her breath.
Her head tipped back instinctively, her eyes locking with his as his ether flared to life, warmth radiating from his fingertips and spreading over her like a thick blanket.
It was everywhere, sinking into her skin, filling every inch of her.
She couldn’t think—or breathe—as his gaze locked on her. She felt the shift. A rift tore open at their side, and he pulled them through, arms locked around her, his ether never wavering.
Elara’s eyes fluttered shut, clinging to the feel of him—the steady heat radiating from his body, anchoring her as the Void pressed in. She was angry with him, hurt in ways she’d never admit aloud, but all she could register was that warmth.
When he finally released her, the absence struck like a jolt. She blinked, disoriented. They were back in her cell already.
Her gaze flicked to him just as he tore off his tunic and, without pause, pulled it over her head.
“Put your arms through.”
It took her a second to realize she was standing there, unmoving.
His tunic slid over her head—warm, dry, too large—and wrapped around her like a cocoon.
That’s when it hit her. She was dry. Skin, hair, all of it.
She hadn’t even felt him do it—warming her, drying her—as they rifted, so she wouldn’t suffer the chill of the Pit. And now he was giving her his clothes.
He ripped off his boots next, one by one, yanking off his voice strained, “Elara.”
Her head shot up, eyes locking with his.
There was something desperate in the way he spoke her name—like a plea woven into the cadence of the syllables, a promise etched between the lines, a vow that lingered in the air long after the sound faded.
He held out the boots and socks, waiting.
Taking them from him felt like entering a silent pact.
After sliding her feet into each boot, his presence enveloped her—close enough to share breaths. She could feel the pulse of his blood, the rise and fall of his chest as if it were her own.
“Don’t go looking for trouble. Don’t do anything reckless. And keep working with the Draoth Cara. Distance will make it harder, but not impossible.”
Elara nodded, letting her gaze settle on him, truly settle, tracing every line etched in shadow and light.
She’d always thought his eyes were black—dark, impenetrable.
But here, with so little space between them, she could finally see it: they were a deep, rich brown, and there, at the edge of each iris, was a faint ring of amber, so fine she could barely make it out.
She took in the rest of him—the strong cut of his jaw, the proud line of his nose, his brows and lashes as dark as midnight.
His curls, untamed and thick, tumbled over his forehead, soft against the warmth of his brown skin.
She’d never allowed herself this—the luxury of seeing him fully, always pulling her gaze away, deflecting whenever their eyes held too long.
But now she couldn’t stop herself. Her heart throbbed, needing to commit him to memory, every small detail.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, the faintest gesture, yet it sent a tremor through her. Then she felt it—his ether. Warming. Shrinking the boots to fit, just like he had done with his gloves. She looked up at him, bewildered, nothing about his actions screaming “nothing personal.”
He glanced at the cell door, then back at her, something unreadable flickering across his face. “I won’t leave you here,” he said. “I’ll find another way.” He closed the distance in a single step, his hand firm at her back, heat pouring from him, driving away the last of the cold.
“Stay. Alive. Promise me.”
All she could manage was a nod.
“Say it,” he demanded.
Her throat tightened around the words. “I promise.”
Even as the unmistakable sound of boots echoed down the tunnel, drawing nearer with every heart-pounding second, he remained still.
His gaze was a tempest—searching her face for something indefinable.
Maybe it was a flicker of resolve, a glimmer of understanding, or the barest hint of defiance that he sought.
Then, as if he had found what he was looking for, he stepped back, the warmth of his presence vanishing as he disappeared through the rift.
Her hand trembled as she pressed her fingers to her lips, the touch doing little to still the significance of the words she had just spoken.
She had promised him.
Stay alive.
But as the cold crept back in, she couldn’t help but wonder how much longer she could keep it.