Chapter 11 Elena #2
I pulled my cloak tighter around myself, trying to suppress the shiver that wasn’t born of the night air.
The urge to move, to act, burned in my veins.
I wanted to march to that door, wake the boy, and tell him the truth before it was too late.
But Dario’s quiet presence beside me held me still.
His logic gnawed at me because I knew he was right: if we frightened the mage too soon, the thread would snap, and we’d lose the trail.
Still, that didn’t ease the ache in my chest.
“I hate this,” I whispered, barely daring to let the words slip past my lips.
A low sound stirred beside me. “Waiting?” Dario’s voice was like velvet woven with steel, soft but edged. “Or feeling powerless?”
I turned to glare at him, but the shadows cloaked his face, leaving only the faint gleam of his eyes visible. “Both.”
He didn’t laugh, didn’t mock me the way I half-expected. Instead, he leaned against the rough trunk of the tree that sheltered us, folding his arms with a strange, deliberate grace. “Patience is a blade, Elena. You sharpen it or it cuts you.”
“That sounds like something Nyx would say.” My tone was sharp, but inside, my heart jolted.
His head tilted slightly. “And you think your god of sunlight prefers reckless bravery over strategy?”
“My god,” I shot back, “values protecting the innocent above all else.”
Something flickered across his face then—something almost like pain. “And yet you still stand here,” he murmured, his gaze piercing through the dark. “Because you know that rushing in could destroy the very people you want to save.”
The words hit me like a blow. I opened my mouth to argue, to deny him that victory, but nothing came. He was right, and I hated him for it. I hated him more for the way his voice softened when he spoke to me, as though he alone could see the fault lines I hid from everyone else.
The quiet stretched between us, taut as a bowstring. I let my eyes drift back to the crooked little house, but my awareness of Dario pressed against me like a second heartbeat.
At length, I said, “Do you ever regret it?”
His head turned toward me, the shadows parting just enough for me to see the faint crease of his brow. “Regret what?”
“Everything.” My throat tightened. “The curse. The years in this forest. The life you lost.”
For a long time he didn’t answer. The stillness of him unnerved me—he could stand like a statue for minutes, hours, as though the passage of time meant nothing. But then he drew a slow breath, and when he spoke, his voice was stripped bare.
“Every day.”
The honesty in those two words punched the air from my lungs.
He shifted, his cloak rustling faintly, and lowered his gaze. “But regret changes nothing. The past is carved in stone. I live with it, because I must.”
A lump formed in my throat. “And yet you still fight—for children you’ve never met, for people who would spit on your name.”
That made him laugh, but it wasn’t bitter. It was quiet, low, like the rumble of distant thunder. “You assume I do this for them.”
My pulse quickened. “Then why?”
His gaze found mine again, and in the darkness his eyes glowed faintly, like embers banked in ash. “Because you asked me to.”
The ground seemed to tilt beneath me. My breath caught, sharp and uneven, and I had to look away, my heart ricocheting wildly in my chest. He couldn’t mean that.
But some dangerous, treacherous part of me wanted him to.
As I looked up at Dario again, I felt that strange, dangerous pull between us. As if they felt it too, the shadows that clung to him swirled around me, intertwining with the faint glow of my own magic.
The darkness and the light were drawn together, two forces that were never meant to touch but couldn’t seem to resist.
My pulse stuttered. The air between us crackled, thick with everything unspoken. The shadows seemed to curl around us in a circle, cocooning us in their dark embrace, while the faint glow of my magic flared against my skin, desperate for release.
I shifted, meaning to step back, to put space between us before I lost myself completely. But my heel caught on a root, and I stumbled.
Dario’s hand shot out. His fingers closed around my arm, steadying me. His touch was firm, cool, but not cold. It sent a shiver racing up my skin, every nerve alight.
I froze, caught in the net of his grip, caught in the snare of his gaze.
“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low, husky.
My breath hitched. “I—I’m fine.”
But I wasn’t fine. I was trembling, every part of me aware of how close we stood, of the way his shadows brushed against my sleeve like curious fingers, of the way the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as though he knew exactly what effect he had on me.
“You don’t look fine,” he said softly.
My heart raced, my breath coming faster as I felt the heat of his presence, the intensity of his gaze.
I should have stepped back, should have put more distance between us, but I couldn’t.
Something drew me closer, making my body sway toward him, unable to look away even as he leaned closer, closer—
“You’re playing with fire,” I whispered, my voice trembling slightly, though I wasn’t sure if I was warning him—or myself.
Dario’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile, though there was something darker in his eyes now. “I know.”
The air between us crackled, the tension so thick I could barely breathe. I could feel the power in him, the raw, dangerous magic that hummed just beneath his skin, and it called to me in ways that terrified me.
I had spent my entire life devoted to the light, to the Sun God, and yet here I was, standing on the edge of something darker, something I didn’t understand.
And I wasn’t sure I wanted to step away.
For a moment, time seemed to stop. The world around us faded into the background, the village, the trees, the sky—all of it melting away until there was nothing but Dario and me, standing on the precipice of something that felt too big, too dangerous, and too real.
His eyes flickered to my lips, and my breath hitched, my heart slamming against my ribs. The pull between us was undeniable now, a force that seemed to have a life of its own.
I could feel the heat rising in my chest, the fire of the Sun’s magic swirling with the dark energy that surrounded him, and I—
Dario’s owl hooted loudly, and the spell broke.
I stepped back. Just in time.
I inhaled sharply, my mind reeling as I forced myself to turn away from him, from whatever had just almost happened.
“We can’t—” I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.
“I know,” Dario said quietly, though there was a note of something like regret in his voice.
He didn’t try to close the distance again, didn’t push, but the air between us still thrummed with that same intensity.
We stood there, both of us caught in the aftermath of whatever had just passed between us, the night still heavy with unspoken tension.
But one thing was clear—we couldn’t ignore this pull forever.
And the thought of that terrified me more than anything else.