She turned sharply, her feet kicking up dirt as she stalked through the yard, heading straight for the manor. She took the stairs two at a time, heat rising up her neck. Her eyes burned, but she bit down hard on her lip, digging her nails into her palms. She wouldn’t cry. She refused to cry. Not for him. Not for this.
He was right. She’d been mistaking his actions for something personal, clinging to a shred of warmth when he had never once said it was more. No, that was all her—so desperate, so gods-damned lonely, that she twisted any kindness into something it wasn’t. When would she learn? When would her heart stop grasping for things it wasn’t meant to have?
She slammed the door behind her, the crack of wood against the frame reverberating through the room, making the silence that followed feel oppressive. Her chest felt heavy, each breath dragging as she tore the soaked tunic from her body and threw it to the floor. Water dripped from her hair, cold trails running down her spine, but she barely noticed. Her gaze swept the room and landed on the neat stack of the Hunter’s clothes waiting for her on the desk. The sight of them set her teeth on edge. A wave of heat rushed through her at the thought of touching anything of his. She reached for her grimy gown instead—anything but his?—
The door flew open with a crash, slamming against the wall so hard it rattled the floor beneath her feet. She screamed, heart pounding as she spun around, arms crossing over her chest.
“What the hell are you doing?”
But he didn’t stop. He was already halfway across the room, eyes locked on hers, flashing with something that made her breath hitch—fear. And it wasn’t for himself.
“You're being summoned.”
Before Elara could process the words, his hands were on her, pulling her to his chest. The shock of it—of him—stole her breath. Her head tipped back instinctively, her eyes locking with his as his ether flared to life, warmth radiating from his fingertips and spreading over her like a thick blanket. It was everywhere, sinking into her skin, filling every inch of her.
She couldn’t think—or breathe—as his gaze locked on her. She felt the shift. A rift tore open at their side, and he pulled them through, arms locked around her, his ether never wavering.
Elara’s eyes fluttered shut, clinging to the feel of him—the steady heat radiating from his body, anchoring her as the Void pressed in. She was angry with him, hurt in ways she’d never admit aloud, but all she could register was that warmth.
When he finally released her, the absence struck like a jolt. She blinked, disoriented. They were back in her cell already.
Her gaze flicked to him just as he tore off his tunic and, without pause, pulled it over her head.
“Put your arms through.”
It took her a second to realize she was standing there, unmoving. His tunic slid over her head—warm, dry, too large—and wrapped around her like a cocoon. That’s when it hit her.Shewas dry. Skin, hair, all of it. She hadn’t even felt him do it—warming her, drying her—as they rifted, so she wouldn’t suffer the chill of the Pit. And now he was giving her his clothes.
He ripped off his boots next, one by one, yanking off his voice strained, “Elara.”
Her head shot up, eyes locking with his.
There was something desperate in the way he spoke her name—like a plea woven into the cadence of the syllables, a promise etched between the lines, a vow that lingered in the air long after the sound faded.
He held out the boots and socks, waiting.
Taking them from him felt like entering a silent pact.
After sliding her feet into each boot, his presence enveloped her—close enough to share breaths. She could feel the pulse of his blood, the rise and fall of his chest as if it were her own.
“Don’t go looking for trouble. Don’t do anything reckless. And keep working with theDraoth Cara. Distance will make it harder, but not impossible.”
Elara nodded, letting her gaze settle on him, truly settle, tracing every line etched in shadow and light. She’d always thought his eyes were black—dark, impenetrable. But here, withso little space between them, she could finally see it: they were a deep, rich brown, and there, at the edge of each iris, was a faint ring of amber, so fine she could barely make it out.
She took in the rest of him—the strong cut of his jaw, the proud line of his nose, his brows and lashes as dark as midnight. His curls, untamed and thick, tumbled over his forehead, soft against the warmth of his brown skin. She’d never allowed herself this—the luxury of seeing him fully, always pulling her gaze away, deflecting whenever their eyes held too long.
But now she couldn’t stop herself. Her heart throbbed, needing to commit him to memory, every small detail.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, the faintest gesture, yet it sent a tremor through her. Then she felt it—his ether. Warming. Shrinking the boots to fit, just like he had done with his gloves. She looked up at him, bewildered, nothing about his actions screaming“nothing personal.”
He glanced at the cell door, then back at her, something unreadable flickering across his face. “I won’t leave you here,” he said. “I’ll find another way.” He closed the distance in a single step, his hand firm at her back, heat pouring from him, driving away the last of the cold.
“Stay. Alive. Promise me.”
All she could manage was a nod.
“Say it,” he demanded.
Her throat tightened around the words. “I promise.”
