Chapter 24
Elora
Elora sat on a log, her blood still boiling from the fight.
The adrenaline coursing through her veins was intoxicating, her senses heightened and raw.
She could still feel the sting of Symond’s blood on her tongue, the taste of it sharp and metallic, echoing through her like a hunger she could barely suppress.
He’d pushed her too far. He thought he could shock her into shifting. And he’d been wrong. The crackle of the energy, the weak charge he’d tried to use, it only added to her frustration.
Her claws flexed against the log beneath her, the bark scraping painfully against her fingertips as if it were reminding her of the power she barely kept in check.
She could feel the wildness inside her, that feral side she fought to control.
The temptation to give in to it—just for a moment, just to feel the rush again—was almost too much.
The thought of her teeth sinking into something again, of tearing through flesh, of hearing that scream…
She shook her head sharply, forcing herself to take a deep breath. She couldn't let that take over. Not when she still had to figure out why Viliam had saved her again.
Her thoughts kept circling back to him. Why? The memories they shared, however brief, were enough to make her feel something. Something familiar. And it shook her to her core. But why come back now?
The distant sound of the wind through the trees did little to calm her mind. The deep, gnawing hunger inside her only seemed to get worse. What was wrong with her? She wanted to believe she could control it, but...
Her thoughts were interrupted by the distant, familiar sound of footsteps crunching over the ground. She glanced up, her golden-ringed eyes narrowing at the figure approaching.
Even in the dark, she knew it was Rell—the way he moved, confident, that typical relaxed stride.
He sat beside her on the log, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched.
“I shouldn’t have pushed you back there,” he said, his voice low, not quite apologetic but close. “About the nightglider. I didn’t know it was—whatever it was.”
Elora barely heard him. With him this close, her senses felt flooded.
The warmth of his body pulsed beside her, every breath he took sending heat into the air between them.
The scent of him—smoke, steel—clung to her thoughts like fog.
Pheromones? Instinct? Whatever it was, it tugged at her, sharp and sudden and utterly confusing.
She wanted to tear into him. But not like she’d wanted to tear into Symond.
This was something else.
Her eyes locked onto him, her pupils narrowing.
She watched the line of his throat as he swallowed, the tension in his jaw, the faint scruff shadowing his face.
She wasn’t sure what she needed from him in that moment—comfort, control, closeness, blood—but it hit her all at once, a low, dangerous ache curling deep in her gut.
Rell turned his head, catching her staring. His eyes met hers, dark and steady. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. If anything, he seemed to lean in slightly, drawn into whatever was pulsing between them.
She pressed her palm to her shoulder and shocked herself. The jolt ripped through her body with brutal clarity, and she gasped, teeth clenched, claws retracting as her muscles shuddered and twisted. Her body forced its way back into human form, leaving her weak and shaking.
He watched her carefully for a moment, then glanced away. “I should’ve stepped in sooner. With Symond. That got out of hand.”
To her surprise, Elora laughed. “No. I’m glad you didn’t. I needed that.”
But even as she said it, her mind twisted with the memory of Symond’s weight on her, pinning her, the hatred in his eyes.
Not just tonight but before. The memory surged, raw and vivid—the night at the Institute.
You deserve this. Every second of it. You took years from me.
I’m just giving you a taste of what that felt like.
She blinked hard. Her fingers clenched into her thighs, nails biting into the worn fabric of her pants.
Rell’s voice brought her back. “Are you hurt?”
Her mind felt distant, fogged. She glanced down at herself—dirt, bruises, dried blood—but it all felt detached. Her body ached, but it wasn’t the worst pain she’d known.
“I’m not sure,” she murmured. “I can’t feel anything.”
Rell shifted beside her, the moonlight catching in his eyes as he angled toward her again.
“Let me check,” he said, his voice softer this time, more coaxing than commanding. “A barn did collapse on you, Sunshine.”
Elora gave him a tired glare and pushed his hand away as he reached for her shoulder.
“I’m fine,” she said, sharper than she meant. But she wasn’t in the mood to be touched. Not right now.
Rell smirked faintly, undeterred. “Right. Of course. Just bleeding from your pride, then?”
She opened her mouth, ready to fire something back but a sharp rustling in the brush cut her off. Both of them froze.
Elora stood, her senses already sharpening, the edge of hope slicing through her thoughts.
Viliam?
She took a cautious step forward, eyes locked on the treeline.
The bushes parted and a sleek, black feline head pushed through the leaves. Large, silent, golden-eyed. The creature growled, low and warning, the sound vibrating through Elora’s chest.
She staggered back instinctively, bumping into Rell. His arm immediately came around her, pulling her behind him as he stepped forward with a blade already in hand.
“What the hell—” he murmured, tense.
The animal shifted.
Bones cracked. Fur gave way to skin, sinew sliding into new form. Within seconds, a woman stood where the cat had been, tall and lean, her posture predatory.
Her skin was dark and glinted faintly under the moonlight, golden eyes still glowing with a low, internal heat.
Her black hair was braided tightly against her scalp, decorated with small wooden beads that clicked softly as she moved.
A loose, layered skirt hung low on her hips, woven from cloth that shimmered faintly with enchantment.
Her upper body was bare, save for the thin leather cords and beadwork that crossed her chest like armor.
And though her body was mostly human, her hands ended in claws, and her lips curled back to reveal sharp fangs.
This wasn’t Viliam.
But she was like him.
Thrask, Elora thought. A shifter.
The woman stepped forward, bare feet silent in the grass. She moved like a hunter: confident, slow, and sure of her power.
Elora didn’t dare breathe.
The stranger’s golden eyes settled on Rell, gleaming in the moonlight like molten metal.
“You,” she hissed, the words thick and heavy, like each one scraped against her throat. Her accent was rough, and The Empire’s language rolled uncomfortably off her tongue. “Go. Leave this place. Unless you want to die too.”
Elora’s blood went cold.
Die?
Rell tensed in front of her, his posture shifting as though to shield her from the blow they hadn’t yet seen. His bravado faltered just slightly. Elora saw the way his jaw clenched, how his grip on the dagger at his side tightened, how his shoulders twitched with readiness, but also fatigue.
He was exhausted. Worn from battle. Still scraped raw from the collapse, from Fane.
He couldn’t fight again. Not now.
She stepped to his side and grabbed his arm. “Rell,” she said quickly, “You need to go.”
He looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “Not a chance in hell.”
“I’m serious. She’s here for me.”
“Which is exactly why I’m not leaving.”
Elora’s throat closed. Her heart pounded so loudly she couldn’t hear the wind anymore.
“Rell, you’re barely standing,” she whispered
He didn’t respond, just shifted forward, placing himself half a step ahead of her again.
The Thrask woman bared her teeth in something that looked disturbingly like amusement.
Then she moved.
Elora didn’t even register the blur until Rell grunted and went flying, knocked backward like a leaf in a gust of wind. He crashed into the ground several feet away, rolling once before groaning, dazed.
Then the woman was on her.
Claws closed around Elora’s neck, sharp and burning as they sank into her skin. The air fled her lungs in a wheeze. The Thrask leaned in, her breath hot against Elora’s cheek.
“I’ll make this quick,” she rasped.
Elora’s panic ignited into instinct. Her hand snapped upward, the ring glowing dimly in the dark as she pressed her palm to the woman’s throat.
Electricity surged through her fingers.
The woman screamed—raw and guttural—as the charge tore through her body.
Her muscles seized violently, and for a split second, Elora watched something ripple beneath her skin, her form cracking like glass.
Her bones shifted unnaturally, her shape starting to twist as if she were about to shift into her nightglider form.
But she didn’t.
With a furious snarl, the woman shoved Elora backward. Hard.
She flew, slamming into a tree with a crack of splintering bark. Her skull hit first. Pain burst behind her eyes and the world spun as she collapsed to the ground, gasping.
The woman's footsteps were already approaching again, furious and relentless.
Elora blinked, her vision flickering, and through the haze she saw claws gleaming in the moonlight, golden eyes burning with wrath. Her body screamed at her to move, to shift, but her limbs wouldn’t obey.
Then Rell was there.
He slammed into the woman from the side, blade aimed for her ribs. She twisted at the last second, just barely deflecting the blow but she hadn’t anticipated Rell’s other hand.
His grip closed around her wrist, twisting it with a sharp snap that made her hiss. He planted a boot against her thigh and kicked, using her own momentum against her.
She staggered, stumbling several feet back.
Rell dropped to Elora’s side, reaching out. “Come on, get up—”
The woman was already recovering. Her claws scraped across the dirt as she advanced again, her fury renewed.
A heavy gust swept through the clearing, and the moon vanished in shadow.
A massive form dropped from above, landing with a solid thud between them and the advancing woman.
Another nightglider.
Its wings curled tight against its sides, the aurora shimmer of its fur glowing faintly in the dark. It turned toward the Thrask woman, head low, shoulders tight.
It growled. Low and sharp.
A command.
The woman froze.
Her fangs were still bared, her claws twitching but she didn’t move.
Elora, still gasping against the tree, stared through the haze at the creature shielding her.
She didn’t need to see his eyes to know.
“Viliam,” she breathed.