The door began to scrape toward closing.
“Wait! I—I need to pee.”
She didn’t, of course. But if she could buy herself a moment outside the cell—one more look—she could carve the prison’s layout deeper into her memory.
Maybe she’d even spot Godfrey, if he was still trapped here.
The tallest guard stepped fully into the cell, looming over her. “Who’s stopping ya?” he challenged, brows lifting as he folded his arms.
Elara's mouth fell open, and he let out a rough chuckle, glancing pointedly between her legs as if he expected her to piss herself right there on the spot.
“Malak,” one of the guards sneered, his lips curling. “Think Osin’s little pet knows any tricks?” He gave a lewd tug at his pants, drawing howls of laughter from the others.
Elara bit the inside of her cheek, tasting blood.
The tall guard,Malak, ignored his comrade and leaned closer to her, his breath stinking of stale tobacco. “Listen up, girl. You try anything clever, speak to anyone else—I'll know. Step out of line, and you'll learn why even the rats keep their mouths shut around here.”
With a final, menacing glare, he slammed the cell door shut. Laughter faded down the corridor, leaving the echo of his threat behind.
Elara clenched her teeth as tension rolled through her. She drew in a slow breath, forcing it deep, until the cell seemed to expand with her lungs.
This was her reality now—the price of one misstep, of reaching too far.
Exhaustion crashed over her. Her eyelids drooped, anger dulling to an ache as the world smeared at the edges. She needed to lie down before she lost consciousness.
Her legs shook as she turned for the cot. She didn’t make it. The stone struck her side, cold and unforgiving.
Gods.
Her heartbeat thudded sluggishly in her ears as she lay there, cheek pressed to the floor. But just as her breath began to slow, a flicker at the edge of her vision snapped her back to life, her heart racing wildly.
Across the way, in the neighboring cell, someone stood watching her. His sheer size was enough to hold her attention—every muscle carved with definition, even beneath the layersof grime caked on his skin. Amber eyes, burning with a fierceness that seemed to outshine the torches, locked onto hers, unwavering. His hair, jet-black and matted with sweat, clung to his brow, framing a chest riddled with scars. But it wasn’t the scars or his towering frame that held her breath—it was the pointed tips of his ears, barely visible through the wild tangle of hair.Fae.
Denial surged through her, louder than the roar of blood in her ears, rejecting the sight of him.
The books she'd read about the ethereal beings spoke of elegance, maybe even a hint of fragility, likening them to the woodland sprites, not the towering monolith before her now.
His eyes were like molten gold, deep and endless, drawing her in, offering an anchor as her vision blurred. She clung to his gaze—the only fixed point in her reeling senses. But the darkness was faster, pulling her deeper into its embrace.
Chapter 21
Elara’s awareness crept back, slow and painful, the cold stone biting into her cheek with every breath. She groaned and lifted a hand toward her pounding head—only to feel a tug at her wrist.
With an effort that felt monumental, she turned her head, vision swimming as she followed the length of her arm stretched through the bars. A sick twist of fear coiled tight in her stomach.
She wasn’t alone.
Strong fingers encircled her hand, snapping her attention upward. Her heart skipped, then raced. It was her cellmate—the Fae male. The proximity of him, so close, was overwhelming. Shadows from the flickering torchlight played across his face, deepening the sharp angles of his high cheekbones, chiseling his jaw into something that seemed too perfect to belong in this world.
She blinked rapidly, struggling to make sense of what was happening. His head dipped closer—so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting across her skin, his lips just barely brushing against her wrist.
A breath caught in her throat—a jolt of confusion and alarm rippling through her. She jerked her arm back, but his grip was tight, his cheeks hollowing as he drew in a deep breath at heropen wound. Then, with a harsh exhale, he spat a dark, viscous substance onto the ground.
A rush of cold clarity flooded through her—he was sucking out the shadows.
Elara was captivated, unable to look away as he continued, his lips brushing her skin with a disconcerting intimacy that sent a ripple of goosebumps across her skin. When he finally pulled back, his lips stained that vivid red against the pallor of his face, she could only stare. Words failed her, and her body refused to move. It was only when he spat out the last of Osin’s shadows, that the world snapped into focus, a veil torn from her mind. Her heart raced, her limbs shook—but she was coming back.
Their eyes locked, and in the liquid fire of his gaze, Elara felt utterly exposed, as if he could peer straight into the core of her.“Braithim do chroí ag bualadh arís,2”he whispered. The exotic lilt of his words, the way his tongue wrapped around each syllable, sent an involuntary flutter of nerves coiling through her.
