Chapter 25
Elariya
“The Prelude”
My mind drifted through that hollow space between dreams and consciousness, where fragments of memory crashed over me like stormy waves.
The Ruskiel’s laugh. The burning in my lungs. Death in my body. Then Wolfe's lips claimed mine, breathing life and hope into my soul.
I stirred at that memory. At the ghost of his firm lips pressing against my mouth. But I couldn’t move. I was too weak to even try.
My limbs lay laden against the sheet. The feebleness in my body was something I’d never experienced, not even when scarlet fever had nearly taken me at twelve.
I remembered how fragile I’d felt then. So weak I had to be carried from room to room while fever burned through me like wildfire, making me reject every morsel of food, every drop of water, until death's shadow loomed closer with each passing hour.
Only my grandmother's magic had tethered me to life. Some of the other children who got sick before me weren’t so lucky.
Grandmother had refused to let death take me, pouring her magic into my failing body before turning her desperate healing toward the others.
Grandmother.
My loving, brilliant, wise grandmother.
That despicable witch had stolen more than just my grandmother's face. She'd claimed her voice, her mannerisms, and even the way her hands had always soothed my fears.
Each word uttered from her vile mouth had been a perfectly crafted lie. From the mention of my mother and Emabelle joining the rescue to the tender way she'd called me 'child.' The deception had been flawless, curated from my deepest memories.
How could I have seen through it when she'd known exactly what my grandmother would have done? Charging headlong into danger to save me, no matter the cost—that was every bit her.
My blood simmered with rage when I thought of how easily I was led away.
And I’d followed. Like a child. Like helpless prey. I hated that I never once thought to question her. My own blind trust had been the yoke that bound me to her trap.
My breath came in ragged gasps as consciousness clawed its way in. When my eyes finally fluttered open, shadows writhed across the ceiling, and terror seized my throat once more. For one agonizing, heart-stopping moment, the shadows morphed into the witch's leeches, coming to finish their feast.
But no. Blessed Mother, it was only candlelight playing against the wooden beams, mocking my fear.
Beyond the window, night still covered the world, wrapping it in layers of shadows and secrets. Time had lost all meaning, but I assumed I was in the breath before sunrise, because last night we’d been close to passing through the Veil.
Or maybe we’d already crossed it and were in the magical realm. No. I didn’t think so.
The atmosphere around me felt like we hadn’t passed through yet. It still carried the weight of mortal air. I didn’t know how I knew that, but I did. I felt it.
I dragged in a deep breath, but it felt like swallowing shards of glass, and my throat was raw from the sea water. I forced myself to breathe slowly, like sipping air through a tube.
As my vision cleared, I suddenly became aware of a presence next to me.
Rolling my head gently to the left, my gaze locked with a dark figure hunched forward in a chair right beside me.
Moonlight silvered over silky black hair and the bare skin of broad shoulders covered in fresh bandages.
Wolfe.
He was here. Here… with me?
My mind slowed, a cacophony of thoughts scrambling to push through all at once.
No doubt the ruthless Fae prince was furious with me. After all, I’d tried to escape. And look what happened. Everyone had been dragged into a battle with the Ruskiel. I didn’t even know if Bastian managed to get Arielle back. What if someone died because of me?
These people had taken me captive, so I shouldn’t feel anything for them. But I knew when I was wrong.
This nightmare didn’t start with any of us. It began with my father and the night he decided to murder their king. Wolfe’s father.
Summoning courage and strength, I tried to speak to Wolfe, to wake him, but my words came out in a breathy rasp that sounded more like I was trying to clear my throat.
I shifted, then I spotted our hands joined together on the bed, and the air dissolved in my lungs.
My heart stuttered in my aching body, trapped in a daze. When it started beating again, it was slow and careful, like a person taking hesitant steps on thin ice.
Wolfe’s large, calloused hand covered mine, but I realized in the next breath that it was me holding onto his finger.
I thought to pull away, but my strength failed me, along with my desire to break the connection.
He was holding my hand, comforting me, reassuring me.
Surely, if he were furious, he wouldn’t even be touching me. Let alone in such a tender way.
The memory of him diving into those depths to save me flashed through my mind.
Death's skeleton mask had overtaken his features, changing him into a living nightmare. I felt the dark power ripple through the sea, and I swore the witch cowered from it in terror.
I’d tasted the darkness when his lips pressed against mine. It hummed beneath my skin with wraithlike voices, shadows finding their home in my soul.
I was more convinced than ever that his power was different from the magic that ran through the Fray or natural Fae magic.
Perhaps I’d know soon. Though it didn’t matter. None of that mattered. Because he saved me.
He might be mad as all the hells when he woke and choose to make my life harder—despite the hand holding—but he saved me. I’d be dead now if he’d either let the witch take me or hadn’t drawn out those leeches from my body.
The weight of his finger in my palm was an anchor. Just like those three words he’d spoken: stay with me. I never thought his abrasive nature would allow such sentiment toward me.
“You should be resting, Ziyka.” His deep, soulful voice pierced the silence, stealing my breath.
Wolfe lifted his head and his eyes found mine in the soft candlelight. For a moment, something flickered there, deep in his gaze. Vulnerability? Regret? I couldn’t be certain. Before I could try to interpret the fleeting emotion, it was gone.
The familiar steel I was used to returned to his eyes, but the coldness was softened by the remnants of the same desperate concern I'd glimpsed when he'd begged me to stay with him.
“You should be resting, too,” I said, my voice a child-soft whisper.
He straightened against the chair, giving me a full view of the extent of his injuries, and I gasped.
His entire midsection had a bandage wrapped around it, and the areas that weren’t bandaged had dark bruises blooming across the skin. Then he cocked his head. His hair moved away from his face and guilt ripped me apart when I saw the damage done to the entire left side.
It had a deep gash that looked like it had torn through his skin to the bone.
“Wolfe…” His name scraped out of my throat, raw with emotion.
My grip on his finger slackened, and when I tried to pull my hand away, he seized it, his fingers locking around mine like the shackle that still bound me to him.
The moonlight cut a harsh shadow across his jaw, but he grinned at me, true to his nature. “Concerned about me again, mage? This time, it’s definitely more touching.”
How could he joke when half his face had been carved open?
I wanted to summon a good comeback like I had yesterday on the deck, but the words withered on my tongue. All I could see when I looked at him was how injured he was.
A single tear breached the dam of my composure, trailing a hot path down my cheek. I pressed my lips together, willing the rest back, but something fundamental had fractured inside me.
Gods, I was crying for my captor. The bitter irony should have been laughable, yet it felt like drowning.
But this breakdown went deeper than him. It was everything at once—every wall I'd built, every defense I'd carefully constructed, crumbling under the weight of too much pain, too much fear, too much of what I could no longer bear.
“I'm sorry.” The words came out rough and broken. “I truly thought my grandmother would—” The sentence faded, strangled by the enormity of my mistake and the gravity of everything else.
With his free hand, Wolfe swiped at my cheek, wiping away my tear. The unexpected warmth of his touch sank beneath my skin, a balm to my broken soul. “Do not waste your tears on devils like me, little mage. Not even the angels cry for us.”
“But I—”
“It was a Ruskiel. They’re infamous for their ability to trap people.
Especially those with mortal blood.” He gave my hand a gentle squeeze.
“There was nothing you could have done to stop her. She wanted your soul and would have tried to take you by whatever means necessary. Pretending to be your grandmother was the best tactic to get you to go with her willingly.”
He was being understanding. I could hardly believe it.
“Stealing souls is how they preserve their immortality. When they spot one they want, it drives them to madness until they devour it,” he added. “Sadly for her, you were not hers to take.”
Because you’re mine.
The unspoken words were written in his eyes.
My pulse quickened with the reminder that I belonged to someone far more dangerous than a soul-stealing Ruskiel.
A slow smile ghosted across his lips. “How do you feel, Ziyka?”
I was relieved for the subject change but didn’t quite know how to answer the question. There was so much going on in my body, I didn’t know what was worse. “I feel shattered, but I’m alive. How are you?”
He raised his brows but humored me with that arrogant smile of his. “Alive.”
“How are the others? Is Arielle—”
“Everyone’s fine. You don’t have to worry about them.”
“Wolfe.” His name felt different on my tongue now. Different with whatever had changed between us. He paused, looking down at me with those fathomless eyes. “Thank you. For saving my life.”
He gave me a curt nod. “You’re welcome.”