Thorn moved toward the door that led to the hallway, pausing just before he stepped out. He turned back to Elora, and the look on his face told her he just got a devilish idea.
“You might as well get acquainted with your new kin.”
Thorn reached for a mechanism on the wall that must be what controls his chains. With a flick of his wrist, the chains lowered, slackening enough to give the man room to move around the chamber.
The Al’teran stood to his full height, his muscles rippling beneath his skin. A raggedy blanket fell from his lap. He was completelynaked without it. Elora averted her gaze, heat blooming on her cheeks. But she didn’t look away for long. He was a threat. If she lowered her guard for even a second, he could grab her.
Thorn stepped back toward the door, glancing over his shoulder with one last look. “Don’t worry,” he said with a smirk. “I’ll be back soon.”
With that, he left the room, locking the door behind him, trapping her inside with the Al’teran, and instinct told her that this could only mean more pain.
Her fingers flexed, her senses oddly sharpened, more sensitive since her transformation. The newfound agility in her muscles thrummed with readiness, but her mind rebelled against it. She knew he’d be faster. Any attempt to get past him would be pointless.
The room was silent, save for the quiet sound of his bare feet on stone as he closed the distance between them.
Elora backed into the cold stone wall, the chill biting into her exposed back. The Al’teran moved slowly, cautiously, until he was standing right before her. His golden eyes never left hers, a quiet intensity burning behind them. He could lash out or do something just as violent as what she had already endured.
“Please… Please don't hurt me.” She pressed herself as far away from him as she could but his chains still had some slack to them.
His gaze dropped to her torn dress. His hand, large and calloused, reached out gently, lifting the hem at her shoulder. Elora tensed, waiting for the worst, expecting him to strip away what little remained of her dignity. He didn’t. He carefully pulled the fabric up over her shoulder, covering the exposed skin and restoring a small semblance of decency to her appearance.
The unexpected kindness caught her off guard. His fingers didn’t linger. He opened his mouth, baring his teeth, normal human teeth.He wasn’t threatening her; he was showing her, trying to communicate something.
She was confused at first, but then it clicked. He wanted to see her teeth, to understand what she had become. She hesitantly parted her lips, mimicking his gesture, revealing the fangs that now filled her mouth.
She lifted a finger to one of the sharp points, gingerly touching the edge. It was razor-sharp, deadly. The thought that she could easily tear into flesh with these teeth made her stomach twist, a dark realization settling in. It was a thought she had never imagined having, and that it came to her so naturally now terrified her.
The Al’teran studied her fangs, then slowly extended his hand toward her, palm up, waiting for her to trust him. Elora was reluctant, her gaze flicking between his hand and his eyes, but something in his expression, something gentle, almost apologetic, made her reach out. She placed her hand in his, and he carefully inspected her claws.
He traced the sharp tips of her new nails, his touch light. Then he lowered her hand. His expression shifted, softening into something that Elora hadn’t expected. Sadness. His forehead creased, his lips slightly parted, a faint pout of sorrow etched into his features.
He understood. He knew Thorn had forced this transformation on her, that she barely understood this powerful and dangerous magic. This magic wasn’t intended for her.
And he pitied her for it.
She swallowed hard as she hesitantly asked, “What… what am I now?”
The Al’teran’s eyes softened further, and he spoke in his native language. “Vrak’nath zul grath.” His voice was gentle, yet sorrowful, but she didn’t understand. “Mistake.” The word stuttered from his mouth like he wasstruggling to find the right translation in her language. “Abomination.”
Mistake. Abomination.
She hadn’t just been changed; she had been altered in a way that defied nature, that twisted something powerful into something monstrous. And this man, this Al’teran, knew it better than anyone.
The Al’teran stepped away from Elora, his movements wary, as if careful not to startle her. He moved back to the center of the room, turning to face her again. His gilded eyes met hers, the piercing gaze holding her in a trance. He gestured for her to come closer.
Elora wasn’t sure of what to make of him. She had only ever heard that Al’terans were savages. They’d slaughter babies and rape and pillage the northern villages, and yet, despite everything she’d heard, there was something about him that seemed... kind. Trustworthy, even. So far, he was nothing like Thorn or Gerard. His touch had been gentle, his actions careful. After a moment of deliberation, she obliged, stepping forward to meet him in the middle of the room.
He walked around her. It wasn’t like how Thorn did it, with that predatory intent that made her feel like prey being stalked through the forest. No, this was different. His movements were cautious, respectful. There was a certain reverence to it, a curiosity that was genuine but not intrusive.
Elora realized what he was doing. He wanted to see the markings on her back. The golden lines Thorn had carved into her skin, the same ones carved on him.
He stopped behind her, and she felt his presence close, though it didn’t feel threatening. His fingers dabbed the markings on her back, tracing the intricate patterns, just as Thorn had done earlier. But this time, the touch was warm, not cold and cruel. His touch was so light it almost tickled,a stark contrast to the harsh pain she had endured when the markings were first cut into her flesh.
Then she heard it. A low growl, rumbling deep in his chest.
Her heart skipped a beat, and she tensed, unsure of what it meant. The Al’teran circled back around her, stepping in front of her once more. Where there had once been gentleness and sadness, now there was anger. His jaw clenched tightly as he muttered something in his native tongue.
Elora couldn’t understand the words, but she didn’t need to. She sensed his anger, aimed not at her, but at those who had wronged her. At Thorn, who had turned her into this half-formed creature. He was angry for her. For the violation of her body, the magic that had been forced into her without her consent.
