Chapter 18 Theron
THERON
The temple sits on a rise just outside the village–all white stone and climbing vines, like something half-grown out of the earth itself.
Even from a distance, it looks untouched—too clean, too perfect, wrapped in sunlight and quiet.
A feeling of feminine power hangs around it like an invisible shield.
I keep to the edges of the trees as I circle it, moving slow and careful. I’ve been around here before. Close enough to know the paths–the places where the Sisters come and go. Close enough to know where I shouldn’t be.
I stay low, keeping to the shadows, my boots barely making a sound on the soft ground. The wind shifts as I move, carrying scents with it—earth, flowers, damp stone.
And then I catch a different scent–a familiar scent.
Elowen.
I stop dead as her scent hits me like a blow.
It's sweet…warm…thick with sexual need. It makes my pulse spike, and my gut tighten all at once.
“Fuck…” I hear myself groan.
It’s stronger than before, when she came to me at The Anvil. Stronger even than when she stood in front of me, flushed and desperate, and begged me to take her.
This is different. This is…intense.
My Drake surges up hard, reacting instantly.
“Now you see,” he growls inside me. “She calls to us.”
“She’s not calling,” I mutter, though my voice comes out rougher than I intend.
But I can’t deny what I smell. The scent wraps around me, pulling at something deep and instinctive, something I don’t fully understand. It’s not just want—it’s something heavier…something urgent…something wrong. It’s a cry for help only I can hear–or in this case, smell.
From her scent she’s so deep in need she must be in pain. The thought twists my heart, and I follow it before I can stop myself.
It leads me around the side of the temple, past a low stone wall tangled with ivy, toward the gardens. I move slower now, more cautious, listening for any sign of the Sisters. But there’s nothing–just the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze.
And then I hear it–a sound so soft and broken I’m not sure what I’m hearing at first.
I frown, straining to hear it again. There–a low, hitching breath…a quiet, hopeless kind of crying.
Something in my chest tightens. Is that Elowen crying? She sounds fucking tormented–poor little priestess.
My Drake sends me urgent feelings–we must protect her, we must comfort her.
For once, we’re in total agreement.
I move toward the sobbing, more carefully now–keeping low as I slip through a gap in the greenery and into the garden proper.
It’s quieter here–a verdant green place enclosed in silence.
Rows of plants stretch out in neat lines, herbs and vegetables and flowering vines climbing up trellises that cast dappled shadows across the ground.
The air is thick with the scent of growing things—green and alive and warm under the sun.
And there, beneath one of the trellises, half-hidden by trailing vines and bright yellow squash blossoms, I see her–my little priestess.
She’s curled in on herself, sitting on the ground with her back against one of the wooden supports, her head bowed and her shoulders shaking.
Her hair has come loose and spills over her shoulders shining like rubies, strands of it clinging to her damp cheeks.
The white robes she wears is rumpled and creased as though she’s been here for a while.
She’s crying like her heart is breaking.
I feel my heart twist in my chest. What is it about her? Why does she touch me so deeply? Fuck, I know I shouldn’t get involved–whatever it is, I should let her work it out herself.
But I’m physically unable to leave. I have to go to her.
“Mine,” the Drake says again. “Ours.”
His tone is possessive but also protective–he wants to keep the little priestess safe–to comfort her.
I want the same thing, and I can’t fight it. I need to know what’s wrong with her–if someone hurt her and made her cry…
The thought makes both me and my Drake angry. More than angry–enraged. If anyone laid a finger on our little priestess…
No, be calm, I tell both him and myself. We don’t want to scare her.
I should turn around, walk away, leave her to whatever life she’s meant to have inside those walls.
But my feet don’t move, and my body doesn’t listen.
Because I can still smell her–can still feel that strange pull that’s been keeping me up at nights.
And something in me—something deeper than reason—won’t let me walk away.
I step forward before I can stop myself.
I’m drawn to her whether I want to be or not.