Chapter 32
Elora
Elora gave him ten minutes.
Ten minutes to vanish into the thick hush of the woods, to mask his scent behind sap and pine, to set his traps and double back and do whatever it was mercenaries did to stay alive when every creature was hunting them.
But even Rell, as skilled as he was, couldn’t completely disappear. Not from her—not like this.
When she finally moved, it was with purpose. Each step silent. His scent lingered faintly in the underbrush: pine, smoke, steel, and the sharp tang of that potion from the bath.
It led her to a tree where his coat hung, lazily draped over a low branch.
She stopped beneath it, letting herself look puzzled. Letting herself act like she’d lost him.
But she hadn’t.
She felt him before she saw him—above. The subtle disturbance in the canopy. The faintest creak of groaning bark. He was good. Damn good. If she hadn’t been so thoroughly shifted, tuned into the woods with every sharpened nerve, she might’ve missed him entirely.
She circled the coat, sniffing near it.
Then, with a quick pivot, she slipped out of sight, vanishing into the trees.
She climbed fast and quiet, her claws digging into the bark. She never climbed before but it came so naturally in this state. She spotted him soon after, perched across the canopy, crouched low, eyes scanning the forest floor where he thought she still was.
She moved like shadows, closing the distance with silent steps along the branches, the breeze covering the faint sounds of her approach. Her muscles coiled, ready.
At the last second, he froze.
She saw the realization dawn in his posture, the way his head turned slightly, the way his spine straightened.
Then he moved.
Rell leaped from the branch, dropping fast.
But Elora was faster.
She launched into the air, a blur of motion, body taut with the thrill of the chase.
Rell let out a grunt when they slammed into the ground with a muffled thud, a spray of leaves and forest debris exploding around them.
He twisted, trying to roll away, but she was too quick, too relentless.
She predicted every movement, countered every escape.
She pinned him effortlessly. Her knees pressed against his sides, claws digging into the fabric at his shoulders, her hold firm but teasingly light.
Her fangs were bared, eyes gleaming. She had him.
“Got you.”
Rell blinked up at her, flat on his back with leaves in his hair and a look of stunned disbelief sharpening into reluctant admiration.
“Well, shit,” he muttered, exhaling a breathless laugh.
His hands rose, not in surrender, but to rest casually behind his head, as if he were perfectly comfortable being pinned by a clawed, fanged girl glowing with feral triumph.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing in a playful squint. “You look way too pleased with yourself, Sunshine. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you like having me under you.”
His voice was low and teasing, full of heat. He didn’t just tolerate her weight on him—he welcomed it. The dare in his eyes said he’d happily stay there all day if she let him.
The feel of his muscles beneath her, the steady thud of his heartbeat, the warmth of his skin where her claws had grazed it—too much, too close. The heat in her stomach coiled tighter, urging her to act on the pull she felt toward him. Not just instinct. Something deeper.
She rolled off him instead, forcing her breathing to steady as she put space between them. Her back hit the forest floor, and she stared up at the fractured canopy above, trying to let the cool air cut through the heat simmering under her skin.
She might be getting more comfortable in this form, but that feral desire reminded her too much of what Thorn had made her. Of the part of her that was corrupted. Wrong.
Rell sat up beside her, brushing leaves from his shoulder. “Alright,” he said, voice casual but laced with energy, “my turn.”
She blinked at him, confused for a beat.
“Roles reversed,” he clarified, tossing her a sharp look. “Hunting’s only half the skill. If you’re going to survive, you need to learn how not to be found too.”
The thought of being hunted twisted something inside her. She was already being hunted every day.
But when she looked at Rell, he was watching her with something softer in his eyes. No pressure. Just an open challenge.
And she realized… she trusted him. Enough to try.
She nodded slowly. “Fine,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “But don’t gloat when I suck at it.”
Rell grinned. “No promises.” Then he stood, stretching with a wolfish yawn. “You’ve got five minutes to hide. Run fast. I’m good at this.”
She shot him a glare, but there was a twitch of a smile at the corner of her mouth as she turned and vanished into the woods.
∞∞∞
Rell
Rell waited. Exactly five minutes.
He counted each breath, leaned casually against a tree, arms crossed, but his eyes were closed—not to relax, but to sharpen.
He was listening. For the flutter of movement, the rustle of a branch, the faintest displacement of air.
Elora was fast and clever, especially in her shifted form, but she was still new to this. And he had years of practice.
He drew his dagger—not to use, but to feel the familiar weight in his hand—and began moving.
Silent.
Measured.
Each step was calculated, avoiding brittle leaves and low-hanging branches. He dropped low, using the terrain to his advantage, slipping from tree to tree, vanishing into shadow.
He found Elora’s first footprint at the edge of the stream, a faint imprint against the soft earth.
Too careless, he thought with a smirk, Oh, but this will be fun.
Several more prints followed, leading into the woods and angling uphill.
Her trail was easy to pick up once he knew where to look, and he moved faster now, anticipation sparking in his chest.
She’d learn soon enough that he was an expert at this particular game, and he wasn’t about to go easy on her just because she was new at it or because he got a kick out of seeing her so wild, free, and determined.
His eyes scanned the path ahead, searching for the next sign of her passing, each hint of her presence making the chase all the more exhilarating.
She was keeping him sharp. It was a damn good feeling.
She wasn’t the only one who thrived on the thrill of pursuit; his blood was alive with it, heart thundering, his whole world narrowing to the hunt.
Then he felt it. A shift in the air. A presence.
He froze behind a boulder, crouching low, and watched.
She was close.
Rell crept forward, rounding the tree where her scent was strongest.
There—just a flash of brown fabric. Her cloak.
He smirked.
Too easy.
He stepped around the trunk, only to find—
Empty space.
The cloak was hooked carefully on a branch.
Rell’s grin faded.
Then came the sound—rushed, hurried footsteps pounding away through the trees. He snapped his head up and gave chase, instincts firing, boots hammering the forest floor as he followed the sound of her sprint.
But something was wrong.
The pattern was off. Too consistent. No breath, no shift of weight. Just rhythm.
He slowed, realization blooming in his chest. “You little—”
A decoy shard.
She’d used one of his tricks. The same kind he’d used back in the alley to throw Fane off their trail.
Rell pivoted hard, eyes scanning the treeline just in time to catch a blur of motion heading in the opposite direction.
There she was.
He cursed under his breath and took off after her.
She moved like smoke, each step light and precise, weaving through roots and rocks like they weren't even there. Her shifted form gave her the kind of speed and reflexes even a mercenary would kill for.
She was fast. Fast enough that the chase alone sent a thrill up his spine.
But she wasn’t the only one with tricks.
Rell stopped just long enough to drop to one knee, digging into his belt pouch. He popped the tin of Silent Step balm and smeared a streak across the soles of his boots. As soon as the alchemical blend soaked in, the forest swallowed his sound whole.
No footsteps.
He veered left, wide, cutting through the trees in a wide arc.
Ahead, Elora glanced back, her sharp eyes scanning behind her, exactly where he should have been.
She didn’t see him.
She didn’t hear him.
He struck from the side.
Rell burst from the underbrush and tackled her mid-run. Her surprised yelp turned into a growl as they hit the earth, her claws digging into the forest floor as they rolled.
He landed atop her, one arm braced beside her head, panting slightly from the sprint. Her golden-ringed eyes stared up at him, narrowed in defiance, adrenaline still blazing beneath her skin.
His lips curved into a grin, breathless and smug.
“Never said you could use my tricks against me.”
Elora glared at him, chest heaving. "Thought you'd be flattered."
He laughed, the sound deep and untamed, echoing through the woods. He pinned her wrists to the dirt while her legs kicked uselessly against the ground. “Oh, I am. But I’m still not letting you win.” He was all playful arrogance, shifting his weight to press her more firmly against the earth.
Elora bucked against him, and he had to scramble to keep his balance, her strength throwing him off even with her pinned beneath him.
“Don’t be too sure,” she shot back, eyes flashing like molten gold, wild and full of fierce determination.
Her pulse was a drumbeat, fast and hot beneath his fingers.
Her shoulders twisted, almost slipping his grip.
He leaned down, close enough to feel her breath against his cheek. Close enough to lose himself in those eyes. “I am sure.” His voice was a low rumble, teasing and full of heat. She snapped her fangs at his face, but didn’t bite, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want her to.