Chapter 61
Blood and steel and sweat—her eyes took him in before she could stop them, before sense or fear could intervene.
Ivan stood there battered and broken-looking, his armor streaked with blood that wasn’t all his.
A fresh cut split the skin at his temple, red slipping down the hard line of his jaw, and she hated how the sight of it made something in her chest ache instead of recoil.
There was a softness to his mouth that didn’t belong on a man like him—a quiet, brooding curve that twisted her stomach and made her furious with herself for seeing it.
For feeling it. Even now. Even here. In the middle of all this ruin, she still found him beautiful.
Haunting coldness and terrible beauty all at once.
His eyes held hers and the chaos of the Pit dissolved. Without a word, he lifted his hand, summoning a dome of fire that encased them. The sounds of clashing steel, screams, and roaring Draoth were silenced in an instant—shrinking to him, to the blood-soaked ground between them.
The abrupt stillness made her ears ring. It was the same barrier they’d created together back when he’d first taught her to pull on the Draoth Cara—a shared thread, one that had once felt safe.
Elara’s teeth ground together as she watched the flames, burning with a power that wasn’t his to wield. Her gaze snapped back to his, her pulse a dark thrum beneath her skin.
“Did you know?” she demanded, her voice striking like a crack of thunder. The furious, hurt, broken pieces of her heart screamed, begging for justice, for truth, for something real and untainted.
His eyes shifted, a fleeting glimmer of vulnerability breaking through before vanishing. She saw the gears turning behind his expression, calculating, weighing, searching for the best response. Every secret, every veiled truth, every shadow he kept hidden—it was all there, flashing in his gaze.
“I didn’t know it was him.”
Elara's blood roared in her ears as she forced the words past bared teeth, “But did you know?"
His mouth moved, and her heart broke and mended, and shattered anew with that single, whispered “Yes.”
A guttural snarl tore from her as she lunged, blade flashing. He sidestepped, leaving her strike to cut empty air.
She wheeled on him, fury tightening her grip.
“Fight back!” she snapped, her voice breaking as she swung again. He didn’t. He only raised an arm to block her.
“No.”
With a scream, she charged, driving the dagger toward his chest. His hand closed around her wrist mid-strike. They ended up inches apart, her chest heaving, his face close enough for her to catch the strain in his eyes—the regret woven through it.
For a split second, something flickered. She felt it—the unmistakable thread of his presence. He brushed her mind, tentative. Her lips curled, and she wrenched her wrist free.
“Let me out."
“I can’t.”
She flinched, her mind spinning back to another moment—to his whispered confession in the dark. The first time they’d almost kissed.
I can’t.
The same hesitation, the same restraint.
He hadn’t held back because he couldn’t feel anything for her—but because he’d harbored this secret all along.
His reluctance, his carefully drawn boundaries…
they had been a shield, a twisted show of morality, all while knowing exactly what he was complicit in.
But none of that mattered. Whatever guilt he felt now, whatever shame or regret flickered in his eyes—she didn’t care. He was still one of them. One of Osin’s chosen, thriving off the backs of slaves.
Elara’s bellow tore through the air as she channeled every ounce of her fury into the Wound of Light.
Its brilliance exploded, slamming into him and hurling him into the dome. He struck the barrier, rebounded, and hit the ground—and she was on him before he could move. Her knees pinned his sides, the blade pressed hard to his throat.
The power of the blade pulsed through her, lighting her from within—an unceasing flood she couldn’t contain, didn’t want to. Her hands shook, her vision blurred, but she didn’t care. The anger, the betrayal—it all burned, blinding and red-hot.
Ivan looked up at her, his face sedate, not even flinching. A slow, almost admiring smile spread across his lips. He didn’t struggle, didn’t lift a hand in defense. If anything, he looked… content. As if he’d been waiting for this.
"You're resplendent in your rage," he murmured, his hand reaching up to tenderly graze her cheek. “A true force to be reckoned with.”
The blade trembled in Elara’s grip, its edge pressing just enough to nick him. A thin line of blood trickled down his throat. She could end it—one clean slice—and it would be over. Yet, something within her faltered.
Her heart.
Damn her heart. Her stupid, traitorous heart. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t—
"Drop the barrier."
Osin’s voice sliced through her spiraling thoughts, and she froze, her gaze snapping up to find him standing just outside the dome. Ivan’s eyes flickered shut for a moment before he released the barrier, letting it fall.
Elara’s stomach twisted as her eyes darted around, absorbing the chaos—the Legionnaires pressing forward, the rebels retreating deeper into the Pit.
They were losing.
They were losing, and she’d squandered her chance.
Her gaze locked on Reynnar. He knelt in the blood and grime, face smeared red, eyes still blazing—even in defeat, as if he’d torn through dozens of soldiers before they finally overwhelmed him.
She’d failed him.
“Get up, Hunter,” Osin snarled, his voice like a lash.
Ivan shoved her off, rising slowly to his feet.
Elara’s whole body trembled—rage, betrayal, and a bone-deep exhaustion twisting inside her. She could barely push herself upright, her vision swimming as she looked up at him.
Osin’s lip curled into a dark smile. “Strike her.”
Ivan’s hand hovered at his side, trembling, as if he were battling some invisible force… some compulsion.
Elara’s eyes widened. Then—his hand cracked across her face. Her head snapped to the side, the metallic taste of blood flooding her mouth.
Behind her, a roar echoed, Reynnar’s voice filled with rage.
“Again.”
Another blow, harder this time, his knuckles connecting with her jaw.
The impact sent stars dancing across her vision, her head snapping to the side as she crumpled to the ground.
For a moment, the cavern swayed, and she struggled to catch her breath.
But then she planted her hands and pushed herself back to her feet.
Her teeth clenched as she glared up at him, blood dripping from her split lip. She spat, the crimson hitting the ground between them.
“Fight it, you bastard!” Reynnar snarled, thrashing against the shadows, constraining him. “What, not man enough to shake off a little curse? Why don’t you bend over, Hunter? Let him—”
The words cut off with a strangled gasp as Osin’s shadows tightened around Reynnar’s throat.
Osin gave a long-suffering sigh, rolling his eyes.
“Always with the dramatics.” He shifted his attention to Elara.
“No, he can’t resist. And, amusingly enough, we have you to thank for that, Hallowed. I do appreciate the irony.”
He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Minva solk harn,” he said, the words guttural and venomous.
Elara stopped breathing.
“My soul for hers. The oath my Hunter swore the night his traitor brother tried to kill you. A noble sentiment.”
Osin’s smile widened, though his eyes remained glacial. “What the poor fool didn’t realize was that I control the Void and, in turn, death. So, when he pledged his soul, he was pledging it to me.”
Elara’s throat closed, air sticking painfully in her lungs. She glanced at Ivan and saw the devastation etched into his features—the resignation.
“I knew the Binding Sigil wouldn’t hold,” Osin continued, his voice almost delighted. “Knew the Draoth Cara wouldn’t allow it to stick.”
A low chuckle escaped him as Elara’s wide eyes snapped to his.
“Oh yes, I know all about that. It was my plan, you see—a little tool to keep the Tuatha Dé Danann obedient.” His gaze flicked to Reynnar.
“I took his Draoth and tied my Hunter to you, his ‘mate,’ as insurance. Just a whisper of death at my command.”
Mate?
The word rang hollow and unfamiliar in Elara’s mind. She glanced at Reynnar, but his brow was furrowed, his gaze darting between her and Osin. He didn’t understand the language, couldn’t follow the exchange.
“That Draoth was a gift,” Osin sneered, “bestowed upon my shadow, my ward. An extension of death—of my will. And yet,” he paused, his gaze settling on Ivan with a flicker of disappointment, “the moment he lied to me, I knew where his loyalties lay. He didn’t betray his brother for me that night, Hallowed. ”
He scoffed. “No, he did it for you.”
Elara’s heart stalled as Osin stepped closer to Ivan, each movement slow, deliberate. He tilted Ivan’s chin up with a mocking tut. “All these years, pretending. Imagine my surprise.” His gaze settled back on her with a twisted smile. “How amusing and dark the game’s destiny plays.”
Ivan didn’t move, his chest still, as though he weren’t even breathing.
Osin chuckled, shaking his head. “I kept an eye on you both. Watched you from the beginning, just as I watched you with his older brother, Hallowed. And what a wealth of knowledge that gave me.”
His eyes flicked to Elara.“I learned so much—how to manipulate the Void, how to navigate the currents, even how to retrieve memories from those who’ve crossed over… or tear them away from the living.”
She staggered back, her stomach twisting violently.
Osin rolled his eyes, his voice flat, bored. “But I tire of this. Now, I want my dagger back. And you,” he smirked, “you’re going to give it to me.”
Elara’s heart plummeted as Reynnar dropped, his body convulsing. His face twisted, veins standing out starkly as his lips turned blue.
“Stop! All right, stop!”
Osin’s smirk deepened, satisfaction glinting in his eyes as the shadows loosened. Reynnar jerked once, then fell still, his chest heaving with a ragged breath.
She forced herself to steady, drawing a slow breath, even as fury churned beneath her skin. “I’ll give you the blade,” she said, her tone as cold as steel. “But only after I put it through the Hunter myself.”
Ivan’s head snapped toward her.
“Oh?” Osin’s brow twitched, a trace of intrigue breaking through.
Elara turned to face Ivan fully, her eyes blazing. “You lied to me.”
His expression didn't move an inch. “I did.”
“You used me.”
Something flickered—an almost imperceptible crack in his composure, quickly masked.
She tore her gaze from him and looked back at Osin, her jaw set. “Let me kill him,” she demanded. “And it’s yours.”
Osin’s eyes narrowed, his lips curving into something just shy of a smile. He held her in that calculated silence, a beast savoring the moment, before finally giving the slightest nod. “Do it.”
Her fingers twitched. She stepped toward Ivan, blade in hand, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move an inch, just gazed down at her, amber flaring at the edges of his dark eyes.
Reynnar’s stolen Draoth simmering beneath the surface.
She would see it returned.
In one ruthless motion, Elara ripped the ring from his finger and crushed it under her boot.
The ring shattered, fragments scattering. From the broken stone, a wisp of amber light shot out, streaking across the Pit toward Reynnar.
Ivan’s lips twisted into a crooked grin. Osin’s snarl sliced through the air. And then, across the room, flames exploded from Reynnar’s mouth.
The Pit ignited.