A creeping coldness started at her fingertips and slowly spread inward, as if her blood were crystallizing into ice. The world grew distant, and sounds became muffled, like she was submerged beneath dark, still waters.
Why?her mind whispered faintly.
Why did he do it?
What could Fenlin possibly want with my blood?
Osin's routine exploitation, she understood—it was to maintain his twisted order. But Fenlin and Godfrey? It didn't make sense. They had access to her—more than most. So why the need for such recklessness? Her thoughts buzzed dully, like distant gnats, and her limbs felt heavy and unresponsive, as if they weren't her own.
“Put me down,” she whispered.
But he didn't stop. With each step he took, her body jostled against his armor, the cold metal biting into the soft flesh of her stomach.
“Put me down.”
Her voice wavered. She tried to draw a steadying breath, but the motion, the pressing cold, and the restraints felt like hands around her throat.
Closing her eyes didn't help; memories of Fenlin's last moments flooded in, suffocating her like she was being dragged under a tide.
“Let go of me!” she choked out, desperate for the ground, for stability, for the overwhelming wave of terror to subside.
Finally, he stopped.
The silence between them stretched, marked only by their synchronized ragged breathing. Then, with a begrudging exhale, he gently lowered her to the ground.
The moment Elara's feet touched the earth, her legs crumpled beneath her like wilted stems, eliciting a sharp curse from her captor as she hit the ground hard.
Her head spun wildly, her stomach churning, and before she could draw another breath, she was retching violently. Each heave tore through her, her insides twisting in agony until the waves of nausea finally began to ebb. She wiped her dirt-caked hand across her mouth, gasping for air.
Cocooned within Verdara's stone walls, she was privy only to the petty squabbles among guards and the whispered disputes between Druids. But this...this visceral brutality—especially against Fenlin—was a horror nothing could have prepared her for. A strangled sob broke through her clenched teeth.
“We shouldn't linger.” The frigid, familiar voice cut through the heavy haze of her grief.
Elara's gaze shot up, meeting the eyes behind that dark, horned mask, gleaming like the gaze of a wolf catching light. Thecorners of her mouth twitched downward, her eyes hardening as a sour taste lingered on her tongue. In all the chaos, she hadn't realized it was the Hunter who had grabbed her.
“I need a moment,” she bit out, pushing aside the curls that clung to her sweat-dampened face, her skin smeared with a grimy mix of blood and dirt.
The sound of strained leather groaned as his fingers curled into a fist. “We don't have that luxury.”
Heat flared in her chest. “What's the rush to return to your master? Eager to share in his latest triumph?”
The tightness around his eyes, barely visible within the slits of his mask, betrayed his irritation. “Your friend committed treason.” He reached out, flexing his fingers as if expecting her to comply and take his hand.
She slapped it away. “Don't touch me.”
“It's my job to return you in one piece.”
“Oh, howfuckingnoble of you.”
Elara took a deep, steadying breath, hating that the bastard was right. She needed to be back in Verdara before Edgar and his dramatics took center stage. His ever-watchful ravens likely already had a play-by-play of the night's events. Speaking to animals was one of his gifts, but the way he exploited it felt invasive. It wouldn’t be long, she mused bitterly, before his armored guards came swarming out of the woods.
Elara pushed herself upright. The last thing she expected from the Hunter was a truthful answer, yet the question escaped her lips before she could rein it in. “Why did they do it?” Her eyes bore into his with a steeliness that dared him to lie.
Every line of his muscular form went rigid, his stony gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that felt like a blade's edge. She recognized the novelty of their exchange. It was the first conversation they'd ever shared, and from the slight shift in his stance, it seemed the realization was dawning on him too.
The weight of his stare threatened to pull her gaze away, but then, to her immense surprise, he gave her an honest reply. “People act recklessly when there's nowhere left to turn.”
Elara scoured his gaze, probing for a flicker of sarcasm, a hint of contempt, but there was none. His eyes were unwavering, fixed on hers, and that intensity—it knotted her stomach. He saw their pain, understood it, perhaps, but his heart remained unmoved. His indifference scalded her frayed nerves like a brand to bare flesh.
