With another slash, she raked her claws across his arm. His grip on the cord slackened just enough for her to twist sharply, yanking it free from his grasp. The leather snapped loose, falling to the ground as she backed toward the bed, her hands free.
Fane cursed, his fury palpable as he reached for another weapon at his belt—a small vial, its glass shimmering faintly.
Elora ducked low, feinting toward the door. But this time, Fane anticipated her.
He surged forward, his hand shooting out with brutal speed. Before she could escape, his fingers clenched in her hair, wrenching her backward with a sharp tug.
Elora cried out, her claws scrabbling at his arm as pain shot through her scalp.
“You’re not getting away,” Fane growled, holding her at arm’s length so she couldn’t scratch him. His hooded eyes burned with cold ferocity, his breath hot against her face. “Thorn’s going to pay me double for bringing you back alive. But if you keep making this difficult…” He trailed off, his meaning clear as his free hand tightened around the vial.
Her mind scrambled for a way out. She refused to let this be the end. She had to fight. Her claws might not be able to reach him, but her legs were free.
Summoning every ounce of strength she had, she braced one foot against the wall behind her and kicked upward, her foot connecting with the underside of his jaw. Fane grunted in surprise, his grip loosening just enough for her to twist out of his grasp. Her scalp throbbed from the force of his pull, but she ignored it, dropping low and ducking under his arm as she darted for the door.
Elora didn’t look back. She sprinted down the hallway, her heightened senses allowing her to navigate the shadows and narrow corners with ease. Behind her, Fane’s heavy footsteps followed, each one a reminder of how screwed she was. The door to the lab was just ahead, slightly ajar. Elora surged forward, her hand outstretched. She pushed the door open and slipped inside, slamming it shut behind her. She turned the lock with trembling hands, the faint click giving her a momentary sense of relief. But it wouldn’t hold for long—locks obviously were no challenge for him.
The door shook behind her as Fane’s heavy frame crashed into it. “You think that’ll stop me?” he snarled.
Elora’s chest heaved, adrenaline coursing through her veins as she scanned the lab.Think. Fast.
Her gaze landed on the workbench. Potions. Shards. Tools. It was chaos, but it was her chaos. She knew every vial, every mixture, and she had seconds to figure out which would save her life.
Elora grabbed a handful of powdered iron from a nearby shelf, her mind racing through the possibilities. She spotted a base potion still bubbling on the workbench, a faint trail of steam rising from it.
Perfect.
Fane slammed into the door again, the hinges groaning under the force. Elora ignored the ache in her hands as she threw the powdered iron into the bubbling mixture, followed by a pinch of sulfur and a drop of concentrated acid. The liquid hissed and roiled, the steam thickening as the potion reached its peak.
The door splintered behind her, Fane’s massive form barreling into the room.
Elora lit the potion just as the door splintered under Fane’s massive frame. The flames enveloped the cauldron then died just as fast, leaving a shroud of darkness to rise and cover every inch of the room.
Fane froze, coughing as the air thickened with the aftermath of the explosion. “What the—?” he muttered.
Elora crouched low behind the workbench. She could see him perfectly. The experiment Thorn had forced on her now gave her the edge she needed. Her pupils, narrowed to slits, drank in the light from the hallway, showing her every movement Fane made in stark clarity.
Fane’s hands moved instinctively to his belt, pulling the enchanted leather cord free once again. He snapped it forward, the weapon cutting through the air with a sharp crack. It lashed outtoward where he had last seen her, but Elora was already gone, her silent steps carrying her to the opposite side of the room.
“Come out, little ward,” he growled, his voice low and taunting. “You’re only prolonging the inevitable.”
The cord lashed out again, hitting the side of the bench with a loud thud. Fane turned toward the sound, his body tense as he tried to decipher her location. “Think you’re clever, do you?” he spat.
Elora crouched behind a tall shelf, her claws pressing into the wooden floor for balance. She watched his movements carefully, waiting for the perfect moment. The ring on her finger glowed faintly, the lightning encircling its band sparking with potential.
Fane’s frustration grew as he whipped the cord in random directions, each strike more forceful than the last. His growls filled the room, echoing off the walls.
Finally, he turned his back to her, stepping closer to the center of the room.
Now.
Elora lunged, her hand outstretched, the ring’s electricity crackling to life. She grabbed his ankle with her clawed fingers and released everything the ring could muster.
The shock jolted through him like a lightning strike. Fane spasmed, his body twitching uncontrollably as the electricity coursed through him. He let out a guttural cry, his legs buckling slightly under the force.
But he didn’t go down.
Gritting his teeth, Fane pushed through the pain, his muscles straining against the shock. He reached down with a snarl, his hand clampingaround Elora’s throat.
