Chapter 15
Elora
Elora sat on the edge of the bed, her legs tucked beneath her, the light of the room casting soft shadows along the walls.
The enchanted ring spun slowly between her fingers, the faint glint of its metal catching the lantern’s flicker.
She had been sitting like this for what felt like hours, the weight of her indecision pressing heavily on her chest.
It’s just a ring.
The thought had crossed her mind more times than she could count. She’d repeated it like a mantra, willing it to strip away the fear, the hesitation. It wasn’t a shackle. It wasn’t a weapon. It was just a ring.
And yet, it wasn’t.
Her hands trembled slightly as she rolled it between her thumb and forefinger.
The tiny sparks that danced along its surface were barely visible, like faint whispers of power waiting to be unleashed.
It wouldn’t hurt her, not unless she willed it.
The enchantment was elemental, controlled by the wearer’s mind.
She couldn’t shock herself—or anyone else—accidentally.
But logic couldn’t silence the memories.
The screams. The crackling of electricity. Thorn’s cruel grin as he held it in his hands, watching as the jolts coursed through her body, forcing her to shift. Forcing her to become something she didn’t understand—something she wasn’t supposed to be.
Elora clenched her jaw, closing her eyes tightly against the images. She wasn’t there anymore. She wasn’t his experiment.
When she opened her eyes again, the ring sat on her finger.
She barely remembered putting it on, but there it was, snug against her skin, its faint warmth unfamiliar but not unpleasant.
It didn’t tingle.
It didn’t hurt.
It just... was.
How stupid, she thought. I wasted so much time building this up, and for what?
But it wasn’t really the act of wearing the ring that scared her. It was what came next.
She flexed her fingers, watching as the sparks danced faintly along the band. A strange sense of calm settled over her. It wouldn’t activate unless she wanted it to. The power was hers to command or ignore.
It’ll only hurt for a second.
She’d told herself that before, back at the Institute. Back when Thorn stood over her, forcing her to endure it. And she had survived. She had endured.
I’ll still be me after.
She had to believe that.
Her reflection wavered in the dark glass of the mirror across the room, her own wide, frightened eyes staring back at her. She hated how fragile she looked, how pathetic.
You’re stronger than this.
She repeated the thought, over and over, trying to drown out the fear, the doubt, the memory of Thorn’s voice.
It wasn’t his power anymore. It was hers.
Just then she heard heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. Elora stiffened, her head snapping toward the door. They’re back, she told herself. Rell or Violette. Maybe Symond, if I’m unlucky.
She slid off the bed, smoothing her damp palms against her skirt. She’d left the ring on for now. They probably wouldn’t even notice it.
The footsteps grew louder, closer. She braced herself, waiting for the soft click of the lock. Her gaze locked on the door handle, her breath held as she anticipated Rell’s easy stride stepping into the room.
But the lock didn’t turn.
Instead, a strange, low hiss filled the air, faint and sharp like a snake’s breath.
Elora froze, the sound burrowing under her skin. “Rell?”
The door exploded inward with a deafening crash.
Wood splintered in every direction, shards flying like shrapnel. Elora screamed, stumbling backward as the force of the blast threw her off balance. She hit the wall hard, her breath knocked out of her as she crumpled to her knees and shielded her face.
The door hung in jagged pieces, the frame splintered and gaping. Smoke or dust—or both—clouded the air, swirling in the faint light from the hallway.
A massive shadow loomed in the doorway, its shape distorted by the haze.
The figure ducked, stepping through the shattered frame, and the air in the room seemed to shift, growing heavier. All she could make out were broad shoulders, thick arms, and the glint of something metallic hanging at the man’s hip.
It wasn’t Rell.
The breath caught in Elora’s throat as the haze cleared, revealing Fane’s towering frame.
“No…” The words slipped from her lips. How did he find me?
“There you are,” he said, with a guttural deep voice that barely sounded human.
Elora scrambled to her feet, her back pressing hard against the wall. Her chest heaved with shallow breaths, her mind screaming for her to move, to act, but her legs felt rooted to the floor.
Fane stepped closer, each movement unhurried, his boots crunching on the shattered remains of the door. His hand moved to his hip, brushing over the leather coil that hung there. The golden shimmer of its enchantment flickered faintly in the dim light.
Elora’s hands trembled at her sides. Her fingers brushed the ring on her finger, the faint hum of its dormant power a reminder of what she could do—if she had the courage to try.
“You’ve given me quite the hunt,” Fane said, taking another step forward. His shadow loomed larger now, swallowing the small space of the room. “But this? This is where it ends.”
He didn’t waste a moment, snapping the enchanted cord forward with deadly precision.
Elora twisted sharply to the side, narrowly dodging the whip-like lash. Relief flickered for an instant but it was fleeting. The cord seemed alive, twisting midair like a serpent, its glowing length zeroing in on her wrists.
“No!” she gasped, stumbling backward.
The cord struck, coiling tightly around her wrists. The slack vanished instantly as it drew taut, burning against her skin with a searing heat that made her muscles twitch involuntarily. Elora screamed as Fane gave a sharp yank, dragging her forward like a predator reeling in its catch.
Her feet slipped over the broken boards, splinters biting into her palms as she fell to her knees. The jagged edges of the shattered door cut into her legs, but the pain barely registered.
“Get up,” Fane growled, his massive hand jerking the cord again, pulling her closer.
Elora gritted her teeth, panic and fury warring within her. The hum of the ring on her finger grew louder, and she felt the faint crackle of electricity surge through her hands. Without thinking, she focused on it, willing it to act.
Do it.
The shock hit her like a lightning bolt, searing through her nerves. She screamed as the charge coursed through her, the pain blinding.
Her nails elongated into curved claws, gleaming wickedly. Her teeth ached, sharp canines pushing against her lips. The dim room brightened as her vision sharpened, every shadow gaining definition, every movement painfully clear.
Fane hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he watched her transformation. His grip on the cord faltered for the briefest moment when her slitted pupils settled on his face.
“So that’s why they want you so badly,” he muttered.
Elora snarled, baring her fangs at him.
Fane’s hesitation turned into a mocking grin, his grip tightening on the cord. “Here, kitty kitty.”
Her fury ignited, Elora let her body go slack, letting him drag her closer. She waited.
As his hand reached for her, she moved.
Ducking low, she slipped under his outstretched arm and lashed out with her claws, raking them across his side.
Fane grunted in pain, stumbling slightly as her claws tore through the thick leather of his armor. Blood welled from the gouges, staining his side, but he recovered quickly. His large frame twisted toward her with surprising speed, his arm swinging in a wide arc.
Elora darted away, moving with a flexibility that felt almost alien. She slashed again, her claws carving fresh marks into his armor, each strike met with a guttural growl of frustration.
The cramped room worked against him. Fane’s size made every swing of his arm slow, while Elora darted like a cat, her speed and newfound senses keeping her one step ahead.
With another slash, she raked her claws across his arm. His grip on the cord slackened just enough for her to twist sharply, yanking it free from his grasp. The leather snapped loose, falling to the ground as she backed toward the bed, her hands free.
Fane cursed, his fury palpable as he reached for another weapon at his belt—a small vial, its glass shimmering faintly.
Elora ducked low, feinting toward the door. But this time, Fane anticipated her.
He surged forward, his hand shooting out with brutal speed. Before she could escape, his fingers clenched in her hair, wrenching her backward with a sharp tug.
Elora cried out, her claws scrabbling at his arm as pain shot through her scalp.
“You’re not getting away,” Fane growled, holding her at arm’s length so she couldn’t scratch him.
His hooded eyes burned with cold ferocity, his breath hot against her face.
“Thorn’s going to pay me double for bringing you back alive.
But if you keep making this difficult…” He trailed off, his meaning clear as his free hand tightened around the vial.
Her mind scrambled for a way out. She refused to let this be the end. She had to fight. Her claws might not be able to reach him, but her legs were free.
Summoning every ounce of strength she had, she braced one foot against the wall behind her and kicked upward, her foot connecting with the underside of his jaw.
Fane grunted in surprise, his grip loosening just enough for her to twist out of his grasp.
Her scalp throbbed from the force of his pull, but she ignored it, dropping low and ducking under his arm as she darted for the door.
Elora didn’t look back. She sprinted down the hallway, her heightened senses allowing her to navigate the shadows and narrow corners with ease.
Behind her, Fane’s heavy footsteps followed, each one a reminder of how screwed she was.
The door to the lab was just ahead, slightly ajar.
Elora surged forward, her hand outstretched.
She pushed the door open and slipped inside, slamming it shut behind her.
She turned the lock with trembling hands, the faint click giving her a momentary sense of relief.
But it wouldn’t hold for long—locks obviously were no challenge for him.
The door shook behind her as Fane’s heavy frame crashed into it. “You think that’ll stop me?” he snarled.
Elora’s chest heaved, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she scanned the lab. Think. Fast.
Her gaze landed on the workbench. Potions. Shards. Tools. It was chaos, but it was her chaos. She knew every vial, every mixture, and she had seconds to figure out which would save her life.
Elora grabbed a handful of powdered iron from a nearby shelf, her mind racing through the possibilities. She spotted a base potion still bubbling on the workbench, a faint trail of steam rising from it.
Perfect.
Fane slammed into the door again, the hinges groaning under the force.
Elora ignored the ache in her hands as she threw the powdered iron into the bubbling mixture, followed by a pinch of sulfur and a drop of concentrated acid.
The liquid hissed and roiled, the steam thickening as the potion reached its peak.
The door splintered behind her, Fane’s massive form barreling into the room.
Elora lit the potion just as the door splintered under Fane’s massive frame. The flames enveloped the cauldron then died just as fast, leaving a shroud of darkness to rise and cover every inch of the room.
Fane froze, coughing as the air thickened with the aftermath of the explosion. “What the—?” he muttered.
Elora crouched low behind the workbench. She could see him perfectly. The experiment Thorn had forced on her now gave her the edge she needed. Her pupils, narrowed to slits, drank in the light from the hallway, showing her every movement Fane made in stark clarity.
Fane’s hands moved instinctively to his belt, pulling the enchanted leather cord free once again.
He snapped it forward, the weapon cutting through the air with a sharp crack.
It lashed out toward where he had last seen her, but Elora was already gone, her silent steps carrying her to the opposite side of the room.
“Come out, little ward,” he growled, his voice low and taunting. “You’re only prolonging the inevitable.”
The cord lashed out again, hitting the side of the bench with a loud thud. Fane turned toward the sound, his body tense as he tried to decipher her location. “Think you’re clever, do you?” he spat.
Elora crouched behind a tall shelf, her claws pressing into the wooden floor for balance. She watched his movements carefully, waiting for the perfect moment. The ring on her finger glowed faintly, the lightning encircling its band sparking with potential.
Fane’s frustration grew as he whipped the cord in random directions, each strike more forceful than the last. His growls filled the room, echoing off the walls.
Finally, he turned his back to her, stepping closer to the center of the room.
Now.
Elora lunged, her hand outstretched, the ring’s electricity crackling to life. She grabbed his ankle with her clawed fingers and released everything the ring could muster.
The shock jolted through him like a lightning strike. Fane spasmed, his body twitching uncontrollably as the electricity coursed through him. He let out a guttural cry, his legs buckling slightly under the force.
But he didn’t go down.
Gritting his teeth, Fane pushed through the pain, his muscles straining against the shock. He reached down with a snarl, his hand clamping around Elora’s throat.
Her claws sank into his arm, raking deep furrows into his skin, but his grip was unrelenting—like iron bands crushing around her neck. He lifted her effortlessly, her feet kicking uselessly in the air.
“You’re tougher than I thought,” he mused, his voice thick with amusement despite the gashes in his skin. “But that just makes this more fun.”
Before she could react, he hurled her across the room.
Elora crashed into the wall by the shattered doorway, the impact jolting through her spine. A cry tore from her throat as she crumpled onto the cold floor, pain blooming across her back and shoulders. The breath had been ripped from her lungs, leaving her gasping, her vision blurred.
Move. Move.
She forced her shaking limbs to obey, dragging herself toward the hallway. Her fingers scraped against the floor, splinters biting into her skin as she crawled forward.
Behind her, Fane’s boots struck the ground with slow, deliberate force, each step measured, confident. He wasn’t in a rush—he knew she had nowhere to go.