Chapter 38
Elora
Elora ran to the other chamber, her fingers struggling to grasp the key with her long claws.
The door swung open, and she froze. A large, winged cat was curled up against the wall, its golden eyes half-closed in sleep.
The sound of the door creaking made the nightglider stir, and in an instant, it was awake and lunging toward her, teeth bared and claws extended.
She stumbled back, her heart leaping into her throat, but to her surprise, she instinctively raised her claws into a defensive stance.
But the winged cat stopped just short of reaching her.
It stared at her, recognizing her. Slowly, the rigidity in its posture faded, and the nightglider’s form rippled, shifting back into the man she had met before.
Elora swallowed hard, forcing herself to steady her voice.
“There isn’t much time,” she said, cautiously stepping forward.
Her hands trembled, but she held her ground.
“I’m going to unlock your chains so you can escape.
.. but you have to promise you won’t hurt me or anyone else at the Institute.
Not everyone here is a monster like Thorn. ”
The Al’teran’s gaze softened, and he gave a small nod. Elora sensed his acceptance, though the distrust in his eyes lingered. It was clear he wasn’t used to trusting anyone.
With slow, cautious movements, she reached out her hand, inviting him to bring the cuffs closer. He hesitated, his sharp eyes watching her every move, but then he shifted his arms forward, allowing her to unlock the restraints.
With a quiet click, the chains fell away, and he stood fully free for the first time in who knows how long. He looked down at her, his golden eyes intense but not unkind. Then, in a gesture that startled her, he cupped her cheek with one large, rough hand, his touch warm against her skin.
“Thank you,” he whispered, his deep voice laced with a thick accent, the words coming out as if they were unfamiliar to him. His thumb gently brushed her cheek, the sincerity of his gratitude visible in his gaze.
He removed his hand from her cheek and placed it firmly against his chest, his fingers spread wide. His voice was a low rumble as he spoke in his native tongue, the word foreign but filled with meaning.
“Viliam,” he said.
She didn’t understand, not the language itself, but the gesture—the way his hand lay over his hearts—made it clear.
That must be his name.
Elora nodded, a faint, cautious smile touching her lips. “Viliam,” she repeated softly, testing the unfamiliar name on her tongue. It was strange but comforting to have something to call him, something other than “the Al’teran” she had known him as.
Tentatively, she mimicked his gesture and gave her name in return. “Elora.”
He gave her a small nod, acknowledging the connection between them. He cupped her face again, his touch gentler this time. “Thank you, Elora,” he repeated, her name rough on his tongue but spoken with quiet reverence.
As soon as the words left Viliam’s lips, he stepped back from her.
In an instant, his body contorted and shifted, morphing into the sleek, panther-like form of a nightglider.
Large, feathery wings spread from his sides, their dark plumage catching the dim light for just a moment before he bolted for the door.
Despite his size, his paws made barely any sound as they hit the ground, his powerful form moving with an almost unnatural grace.
Elora blinked, momentarily stunned by the suddenness of his transformation.
She ran after him, but as she entered the hallway, Viliam seemed to vanish into the shadows, his inky-black form blending seamlessly with the darkness.
She caught brief glimpses of him only when he passed through the pools of light cast by the wall sconces, his wings briefly illuminated before disappearing again.
She hadn’t expected him to leave her so quickly, to vanish without so much as a backward glance. She had freed him, given him his chance to escape, and in return, he had bolted into the night like a ghost. He hadn’t waited for her, hadn’t even considered helping her with their mutual escape.
So much for gratitude, Elora thought bitterly. She shook her head. She didn’t know how long he had been a prisoner here, how many weeks, months, or years of torment Thorn had subjected him to. His desperation might have overridden any sense of obligation to her.
She tiptoed down the corridor, her footsteps careful, her heart still pounding. As she passed the lab, she hesitated, peeking inside briefly. Thorn and the guards lay motionless on the ground, unconscious.
She let out a quiet sigh of relief, then pressed on, entering the main hallway.
Elora paused, listening intently. Her acute senses, still heightened by her transformed state, sharpened every sound around her.
She heard the faint shuffle of footsteps, wards moving in the distance, their voices an inaudible murmur.
They were heading away from her. Not a threat.
Closer by, she picked up a soft humming, just around the corner.
It was slow, absent-minded. Someone lingering, but not on high alert.
Her palms were clammy, but she reminded herself that she belonged here.
It wasn’t unusual for a ward to be walking through these halls.
If anyone saw her, they wouldn’t think twice, as long as she kept her head down and didn’t draw attention to herself.
She slid her hands into her pockets, her sharp claws pressing against the fabric.
Just get to the storage wing, she thought. The humming was growing softer now, the person either moving away or distracted. Eyes low, pace even, just making her way down the hallway like she belonged there.
But then she rounded the corner and stopped cold.
Gerard stood just ahead, leaning casually against the wall, picking at his fingernails.
Her gut churned the moment she saw him. Besides, when Thorn ordered him to escort her somewhere, he had been leaving her alone.
Keeping his distance. That should have reassured her. So, why did she suddenly feel trapped?
Her body tensed, but she forced herself to keep moving, gaze low, steps measured. Casual. Maybe he would let her pass. Maybe he wouldn’t—
“Hey.”
She kept walking. Don’t stop. Don’t react.
“Done already?” He said as she passed. She kept her eyes down. He’d know something was up if he saw her like this. Claws, fangs, slitted pupils.
“Yup.” Her voice came out steady, but her heart wasn’t. Tehvan’s waiting for me. He’s going to know something is wrong.
“Didn’t think Thorn would finish with you this quick. Hey—” Fingers closed around her arm. Everything inside her froze. The breath died in her throat. Her mind flashed back to the woods, the struggle, the helplessness. “Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you.”
She stared ahead at the corner she needed to take. She would make it there. Her hands were curled into fists, her claws barely contained, stabbing her palm. But he didn’t notice.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” His thumb casually brushed against her skin in a weirdly soothing motion. It made her want to retch. What is he doing?
“Let go. Thorn told you to leave me alone.” Her voice wavered.
Gerard sighed and tightened his hold. “Thorn might have restricted me from fucking you, but I still hold all the authority here, sweetheart.”
He twisted her to face him fully. And then he saw them. Her pupils. Slitted, sharp, unnatural.
“What… what did he do to you?” His mouth fell agape as he studied her, his gaze trailing down to her claws.
Elora barely registered the words, barely noticed his shock. Because something inside her was shifting, awakening.
Attack him.
The scent of his blood, sweet and metallic, filled her nose before it was even spilled. The thought came unbidden. Primal. Do it! A growl built in her throat. She lunged.
Her claws sliced through the air, so close, but Gerard jerked back just in time. Still, it was enough to make him hesitate. She slammed into him, driving him back.
His grip on her arm didn’t loosen. He used her momentum against her, twisting her forearm, making her stumble. A sharp pain flared up her shoulder. She hissed, but the sound didn’t belong to her. It belonged to the thing stirring inside her.
Her instincts overwhelmed her before her mind caught up. She swiped at him again, and this time she made contact. A glancing blow to the arm that held her. Not deep, but enough to make him let go. The look he gave her wasn’t just anger, he looked offended. How dare she defend herself?
“Thorn shouldn’t have let you loose.” He reached for her again, but she was ready, jumping back from his grasp.
Run! The normal non-feral Elora thought. But something deeper, darker, whispered kill.
“He didn’t.” She growled.
Gerard’s expression flickered, but he recovered fast. He swung at her, a fist aimed at her face. She twisted. The blow skimmed past her cheek, his wrist passing inches from her lips. The scent of blood thrummed in her skull. The warmth of it beneath his skin. The pulsing of his veins.
She didn’t think.
Didn’t hesitate.
Her fangs sank into his wrist. Hot, iron-sweet blood spilled over her tongue.
Gerard roared, his other hand slamming into her gut. Pain exploded through her ribs, knocking the air from her lungs. She gagged, spitting his blood onto the floor.
His hands were on her again before she recovered. He wrenched her around, arms pinning hers tight to her sides, her back flush against his chest.
“You think you have the right to fight back?” His breath ghosted her ear. “I guess I’ll have to remind you who you belong to.”
“Thorn said—”
“Thorn said I couldn’t fuck you.” His grip tightened. “He never said I couldn’t put you in your place.”
Elora thrashed, but his grip was iron. He was bigger, stronger—he dragged her toward a storage closet.
No, no, no!
He kicked the door open and shoved her forward. She crashed into the shelving, pain bursting across her shoulder. The door slammed shut behind him. He thought he had won, that she was tired. Weak.
The normal Elora was, but this Elora, feral and untamed, was just getting started.
He yanked her off the ground, and she acted. Slashing her claws across his face faster than he could react. Carving through skin. Tearing through flesh. Gerard’s scream bounced off the walls in the small closet. It was music to her ears.
Blood sprayed against the wall. He stumbled back, clutching his face. Three deep gashes ran from his right eye to his cheek, leaking rivers of red through his fingers.
Elora didn’t stop. She lunged, grabbing him by the throat, her claws digging deep, drawing more blood. She spun, throwing him into the shelves. He hit with a grunt, linens and spare uniforms falling to the ground around them.
He tried to move. He swung blindly, but his swelling eye, the blood dripping into his vision, made him slow. But she saw him clearly. See how pathetic he was. How desperate his movements were. He reached for her. Claws met flesh again. Another gash. Another choked scream.
She shoved him, and this time, he collapsed completely. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into fabric and stone. He would probably bleed out. Finish it. Kill him. The beast whispered into her mind.
The thought came so naturally; it scared her. She looked down at her hands, at the blood beneath her nails and coating the front of her dress. Why did she want to lick her fingers?
What did Thorn turn me into?
Her gaze snapped back to Gerard. His hand twitched, reaching for her weakly. She had the capacity to kill him. He already looked on the verge of death, anyway.
No. She refused to give in and let the beast consume her. What would be left of her if she crossed that line?
Instead, she kneeled down in front of him. “No one owns me,” she growled. “Not you, not Thorn. Nobody.” His lips parted, but no sound came.
She rose, towering above him. Without feeding her instincts to end it all, she left. Stepping back into the hallway, shutting the door behind her. No time to think. No time to process. She just had to hope no one would find him until she was long gone.