Rell’s voice brought her back. “Are you hurt?”
Her mind felt distant, fogged. She glanced down at herself—dirt, bruises, dried blood—but it all felt detached. Her body ached, but it wasn’t the worst pain she’d known.
“I’m not sure,” she murmured. “I can’t feel anything.”
Rell shifted beside her, the moonlight catching in his eyes as he angled toward her again.
“Let me check,” he said, his voice softer this time, more coaxing than commanding. “A barn did collapse on you, Sunshine.”
Elora gave him a tired glare and pushed his hand away as he reached for her shoulder.
“I’m fine,” she said, sharper than she meant. But she wasn’t in the mood to be touched. Not right now.
Rell smirked faintly, undeterred. “Right. Of course. Just bleeding from your pride, then?”
She opened her mouth, ready to fire something back but a sharp rustling in the brush cut her off. Both of them froze.
Elora stood, her senses already sharpening, the edge of hope slicing through her thoughts.
Viliam?
She took a cautious step forward, eyes locked on the treeline.
The bushes parted and a sleek, black feline head pushed through the leaves. Large, silent, golden-eyed. The creature growled, low and warning, the sound vibrating through Elora’s chest.
She staggered back instinctively, bumping into Rell. His arm immediately came around her, pulling her behind him as he stepped forward with a blade already in hand.
“What the hell—” he murmured, tense.
The animal shifted.
Bones cracked. Fur gave way to skin, sinew sliding into new form. Within seconds, a woman stood where the cat had been, tall and lean, her posture predatory.
Her skin was dark and glinted faintly under the moonlight, golden eyes still glowing with a low, internal heat. Her black hair was braided tightly against her scalp, decorated with small woodenbeads that clicked softly as she moved. A loose, layered skirt hung low on her hips, woven from cloth that shimmered faintly with enchantment. Her upper body was bare, save for the thin leather cords and beadwork that crossed her chest like armor. And though her body was mostly human, her hands ended in claws, and her lips curled back to reveal sharp fangs.
This wasn’t Viliam.
But she was like him.
Thrask,Elora thought. A shifter.
The woman stepped forward, bare feet silent in the grass. She moved like a hunter: confident, slow, and sure of her power.
Elora didn’t dare breathe.
The stranger’s golden eyes settled on Rell, gleaming in the moonlight like molten metal.
“You,” she hissed, the words thick and heavy, like each one scraped against her throat. Her accent was rough, and The Empire’s language rolled uncomfortably off her tongue. “Go. Leave this place. Unless you want to die too.”
Elora’s blood went cold.
Die?
Rell tensed in front of her, his posture shifting as though to shield her from the blow they hadn’t yet seen. His bravado faltered just slightly. Elora saw the way his jaw clenched, how his grip on the dagger at his side tightened, how his shoulders twitched with readiness, but also fatigue.
He was exhausted. Worn from battle. Still scraped raw from the collapse, from Fane.
He couldn’t fight again.Not now.
