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Twigs snap under my weight. I move slowly, mindful that she could be cowering behind any trunk, or perhaps limping further away. My thoughts drift to the agony etched on her face when I saw her ankle buckle. She’s wounded.That might help me track her faster,I tell myself in a harsh attempt at practicality. Even so, an unfamiliar pang of concern flits across my chest.

No. Stop.I focus instead on scanning the ground. Broken branches, footprints in the soggy earth—anything that can guide me. I’m about to give up and expand my search perimeter when I notice faint scuff marks near a fallen log, along with a scattering of footprints pressed into the soft mud. They’re small, too small for a dark elf. They lead deeper into a cluster of gnarled pines.

My heart, or whatever the gargoyle equivalent is, thumps wildly.She’s near.My body goes tense with the thrill of the hunt. It’s a sensation that usually ends in bloodshed, in rending limbs and triumphant roars. But this time, the tension feels… complicated. Heavy.

I follow her trail through the dense brush until I spot a shape huddled against a tree trunk: black hair matted with dirt and leaves, slight shoulders trembling. She doesn’t see me at first. The chain around her collar glints in the scattered moonlight. My claws flex, a wave of conflicting emotions crashing through me. I want to roar in triumph for having found her, but something like pity—or is it protectiveness?—lodges in my throat.

Elyria lifts her head, probably sensing a presence. Her eyes lock on mine. For an instant, neither of us moves. A swirl of panic crosses her face. She clutches at her chain, as if she can use it to defend herself. Then, with a harsh gasp, she scrambles upright. I see pain spasm across her features when she tries to put weight on her injured ankle.

Rage sparks in my chest, sudden and vicious—rage at the dark elves for hurting her.This is insane. I’m the last creature she should trust. The last creature who shouldcare.Yet I can’t ignore the fury roiling in my gut.

“You—” She’s breathing in shallow bursts, eyes blazing with defiance and terror all at once.

I step forward, uncoiling to my full height. She’s so small compared to me, so fragile. My own reflection in her eyes is monstrous, wings half-spread, horns catching the faint light. The part of me that’s always thrived on fear wants to relish this moment. But a deeper part, the one newly awakened, urges me to speak or show some sign of restraint.

She drags in a rasping breath. “If you’re going to kill me, do it.” The words quiver, but her voice is laced with a raw kind of boldness.She’s unafraid to face death?Or maybe she’s just exhausted.

I swallow. Something hot surges in my chest—admiration, pity, confusion, all mingled. The command of the Alpha echoes in my skull:No mercy.My claws curl, sinking into the earth. “I don’t…” My throat is rough. Gargoyles rarely speak to humans. “I don’t intend to kill you.” The confession leaves my lips before I can think better of it.

She blinks, and her stance wavers in confusion. “But you— you’re?—”

“A gargoyle,” I say, voice low and vibrating. “Yes. I am. And my order is to kill you.” Even as I speak the words, they taste bitter on my tongue.

Elyria flinches. She tries to take a step back, but her wounded foot folds, and she staggers against the tree trunk. A pained hiss escapes her. My instincts jolt me forward—my arms tense, ready to catch her, but she recoils from my approach.

“Stay—stay away from me,” she stammers.

I should. I should spin around, leave her there. Or end her life quickly, as the Alpha demands. But an unexplainable thrumming in my body propels me closer. My voice emerges as a growl: “If I wanted you dead, you’d already be bleeding out.”

She glares, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. “Then what do you want?” Her question crackles with desperation.

I don’t know.My entire existence until now has been about obedience and bloodshed. But when I see her battered form, the collar biting into her skin, I only feel a driving urge to protect her from everything that wants to harm her—dark elves, other gargoyles, perhaps even myself. The realization scalds me with its strangeness.

“I can’t leave you for them,” I murmur, surprising myself with the quiet intensity in my tone. “They’ll recapture you. Or kill you.”

Her lips part, trembling. “Why do you care?”

Why indeed?The question sets every nerve ablaze. My mind screams that Idon’tcare, that I’m simply following some twisted sense of opportunity. Or that maybe I’m preventing her from awakening potential purna magic among my enemies. But none of those lies can hide the truth: something about her arrests me, enthralls me. And Irefuseto let her die out here.

A thousand conflicting thoughts swirl in my skull. The primal gargoyle in me wants to roar at her defiance—yet a new, sharper voice urges me to shield her from the shadows, toclaimher safety for reasons I barely grasp. “I’m taking you with me,” I finally say. The words come out more like an edict than a request.

She exhales a harsh laugh, disbelief flickering across her face. “You think I’ll just go?Where?—?”

I close the distance in a single stride. I know I must look terrifying, but there’s no gentle way to do this. I catch her elbow with one clawed hand. She gasps, trying to yank free, but she’s not strong enough, especially injured. I hold on carefully, mindful not to pierce her flesh. “I don’t recall giving you a choice,” I rumble.

Her eyes blaze with fury. “You can’t just—” She tries to slap me, or maybe push me away, but her palm smacks uselessly against my chest. My hide is too hard to feel much of it. The force of her motion causes her ankle to twist again, and she cries out. In reflex, I wrap an arm around her waist to keep her from falling.

A jolting sensation shoots through me as her body comes into contact with mine. Even through the threadbare fabric of her clothes, I can sense her warmth, her frantic heartbeat. She’s so slight, quivering. Her breath hitches, and for a heartbeat, we’re locked in a strange tableau of tension and closeness.

Then she tries to shove me again, snarling in frustration, and I decide enough is enough. My tail flicks, coiling around her waist while I shift her weight into my arms. Elyria yells, pounding a fist against my shoulder, but I can feel her panic rising. If I let her continue, she’ll only aggravate her injuries. I have to subdue her—for both our sakes.

“Stop,” I hiss, tightening my hold in a way that pins her arms. “You’ll hurt yourself further.”

She thrashes, a ragged sob escaping her. “Is that supposed to comfort me? You’re kidnapping me— a gargoyle?—”

“You prefer I leave you to the dark elves?” I snap, my irritation flaring. The memory of that guard nearly killing her surges back. “You wouldn’t last a day.”

Her retort is lost in a muffled cry as I pull her closer to my chest. Adrenaline courses through me. I’ve neverhandleda human like this, not with the intent to keep them alive. It’s disconcerting, to say the least. My wings flare, feathers… no, not feathers—my leathery membranes rustle with tension. “If you keep fighting, I might drop you,” I growl.