His voice was hard, each word a whip crack that sliced through the air. Elara gaped at him, her grip on her tunic deathly tight as if it could somehow save her from this disaster. “Break the spell!” he barked, and she nearly flinched at the force of it, her heart jumping into her throat.
She opened her mouth to respond, but all that escaped was a strangled, panicked sound as her back collided with the dome.
“I don’t know how!” she shot back, trying to regain her bearings.“Maybe you couldactuallyhelp instead of just standing there shouting at me!”
For a long moment he held her gaze, unblinking. And then, abruptly, he looked away, rough fingers dragging down his face as he covered his mouth.
Elara squinted at him, incredulous.
The prick waslaughingat her.
A flush of rage crept up her neck, heat blooming in her cheeks as a retort teetered on the edge of her tongue, ready toexplode. But before she could release it, he was there—hovering in front of her, like he belonged to the wind.
The air around him shifted effortlessly, a steady, controlled breeze emanating from his hand, so unlike her chaotic mess. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, taunting her, daring her to do something about it, and gods, did she want to slap that smug look right off his face.
“Quite a predicament you've found yourself in,” he drawled, his words slurring ever so slightly. The scent of spirits lingered on his breath as he hovered before her, its earthy notes mingling with the smell of ink-soaked parchment. There was a casualness to his posture, a relaxation in his shoulders that hinted at defenses momentarily lowered—at walls that, for once, might not be so impenetrable.
The cold embrace of the ceiling pressed insistently into her back, forcing her spine into a reluctant arch. They were dangerously close, his face just a whisper away from hers, and her wild hair cascaded down, forming a curtain around them both.
“Have you come all this way to mock me?”
His brow quirked, gaze lazily drifting to her hand that spewed wind like water from a broken dam. When his eyes met hers again, genuine intrigue had replaced the playful arrogance. “How are you doing this?”
Elara shot him a pointed look. “I'll tell you all about it once you help me down.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “You'll need to release your shirt.”
“Not on yourlife.”
The Hunter broke into a wide grin. “If I wanted to get asecondlook at your lacy bits, Hallowed, I'd simply drop a few feet and look up.”
Her grip tightened, a vein pulsing at her temple. She pictured flinging him out the nearest window. The thought made her smile—and his shoulders tensed.
“That look is a bit unsettling. Care to share what’s so amusing?”
A beat passed before she decided, begrudgingly, that launching him out the window wouldn’t help her current situation. “Just help me down.”
“Always so demanding,” he muttered, watching her battle with her clothing. “Let go of your shirt. On my honor, I won’t look.” A hint of a smirk played at the corner of his mouth as he reached out his hand, steady against the wild gusts.
She eyed his outstretched hand warily. “You have no honor.”
He blinked, tension tightening around his eyes and the hard line of his mouth. Hurt flickered there—almost as if he cared what she thought. Elara dismissed the absurd notion as his gaze hardened into flint.
“Take my hand.”
Elara hesitated only a moment longer before letting go. She braced for the fabric to snap back into her face, but it didn’t. Instead, the material settled snuggly, almost obediently, around her waist. She blinked, surprised, her gaze dropping to her legs where his ether coiled like tendrils of smoke, weaving around her with a touch that was barely there.
Slowly, she lifted her gaze, her heart caught between beats. His eyes were locked on hers in a way that made her mind scramble, her breath catch. She couldn’t think—couldn’t do anything but stare back.
Once more, he extended his hand, and once more, she took it.
The instant they touched, his eyes slid shut. His ether stirred, reaching into her, tugging at something buried deep. Subtle at first—a gentle pull—then surging like a river loosed, flooding her veins with warmth. She felt it, almostsawit: a shimmeringthread weaving its path from her veins to his, as if recognizing another part of its whole.
With one swift pull the spell shattered, and Elara’s world dropped out from beneath her.
Air whipped past, her stomach flipping wildly, but before she could even manage a scream, his arms were around her, catching her mid-fall.
Her body slammed into his chest, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. His scent flooded her senses—cloves, parchment, and the faintest hint of whiskey. She looked up to find his brows drawn together, as though he, too, couldn’t piece together how they’d ended up here.
