“Iknowit,” she said, voice low but hard as iron. “He’s not here to hurt us.”
Rell started to argue again, but she was already moving. She shocked herself, biting back the pain as her body snapped into its shifted form. Claws, strength, clarity—everything coming into focus like lightning behind her eyes.
When she lifted her head, her gold-ringed gaze locked with Viliam’s.
That familiar pull—impossibly strong—snapped into place. Golden eyes met hers, steady and wild and warm. Even in the chaos, he saw her. Recognized her.
Then Fane struck.
His massive hand clamped around Viliam mid-leap and slammed him into the dirt like a broken thing.
“No!” The scream ripped out of her.
Viliam didn’t move.
She ran.
Blind to the chaos behind her. Deaf to Rell shouting her name.
The world narrowed to the crumpled figure in the grass until lightning cracked the ground in front of her. Fane’s coil hit with explosive force, blowing dirt into the air and knocking her off her feet.
Across the field, Viliam still hadn’t risen.
Fane loomed now, between them, closer than ever.
Strong hands grabbed her from behind, yanking her back.
“What the hell are you doing?” Rell’s voice snapped against her ear. His grip biting into her arm.
“Let me go!” she shouted, twisting in his hold. Her claws scraped across his coat, catching on the fabric, but he didn’t flinch.
“No chance,” he growled, dragging her away from the fight. “You’re charging into a death trap, and we don’t even know what that thing is!”
“You don’t understand—”
“You’re right, I don’t,” he snapped. “But I do understand this—Fane’s still standing, and you're not going to help anyone by getting yourself killed.”
He hauled her behind the jagged remains of the barn wall. Elora’s breath hitched, her chest heaving with frustration as her eyes darted back toward the fight. Violette’s voice barked commands across the field. The hiss of coils, the thrum of crossbow bolts, Viliam’s low, guttural snarls—it was chaos.
“Let me go, Rell!”
“Not happening, Elora,” he snarled, his grip tightening.
He didn’t understand. None of them did. That wasn’t justsome creatureout there.
Her claws curled again, fury flashing through her as she struggled. She could see Viliam—downed, struggling to rise—while Fane loomed over him, raising the crackling coil.
“Watch the claws,” Rell warned, pulling her back harder. “Try me, and you’ll regret it.”
She froze at the edge in his tone, every muscle in her body coiled and burning with the need to move. But she stopped.
“Talk to me, Elora.” His face was close now, jaw set, dark eyes locked on hers. “Why the hell are you so ready to die for that thing?”
Her pulse thundered. The panic, the instinct—it all pressed against her ribs like it was trying to break out.
“It’s a nightglider,” she said, breathless.
Rell frowned. “That’s not an answer.”
