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I brood in silence, letting the fire die down to embers. The forest hushes, lulled by the late hour. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hoots. I watch Elyria’s curled form by the weak glow of moonlight. She’s shivering despite the fire’s warmth, clinging to the ragged edges of her tunic. I should fetch a cloak or blanket. But from where? The ruin is empty except for rubble.

Reluctantly, I push off my makeshift seat, crossing the short distance between us. She doesn’t awaken. Carefully, I slide one wing around her. It’s not exactlysoft,but it’s better than nothing. My hide retains some warmth, at least enough to keep her from trembling so violently. She stirs a little, lips parted, a faint whimper escaping. But then her body goes limp again, and her breathing deepens.

For a long while, I stay like that, perched in half-silence, half-shadow. Her face relaxes in sleep, though the tension never fully leaves her brow. I wonder what nightmares haunt her. The fortress? The lash of dark elf whips? Or the face of a gargoyle who should’ve killed her yet chose not to?

My own eyes begin to feel heavy. I rarely sleep deeply these days, not since awakening from the stone curse. It’s like my body still remembers centuries of enforced slumber. Now, I prefer to remain alert, to guard what I must. But with Elyria huddled under my wing, exhaustion tugs at my senses.

I let my eyes drift shut, the dull glow of embers dancing behind my lids. Her heartbeat is faint but steady, a fragile rhythm I can’t stop listening to. Before I slip into a light doze, one final thought whispers through my mind:

I can’t kill her. I’ll protect her from my own kind if I have to.

And though I know it makes me a traitor to everything I’ve been taught, the thought sets a strange warmth coiling in my chest, an undeniable pull toward the girl who should be my mortal enemy.

5

ELYRIA

Ijerk awake to the distant call of a bird echoing through crumbling stone walls. My eyelids feel weighed down, and a dim, reddish light seeps into my vision, as if the sun has barely risen. For a heartbeat, I forget where I am. My legs shift across cold, uneven ground, and the jolt of pain in my ankle snaps me back to reality with brutal clarity.

A battered ruin. A half-collapsed tower. A gargoyle named Korrin standing over me in the night, kidnapping me from that forest clearing… The memories surge back, flooding my mind with a mixture of fear, fury, and confusion.

I push myself upright, wincing at a stabbing throb in my ankle. Carefully, I flex the bruised joint, hissing in pain. The makeshift bandage is still there—the strip of cloth Korrin used to bind my injury. The recollection of his hands on me, cradling my foot, sends an unwanted ripple of embarrassment through my chest.Why do I feel gratitude mixed with my anger?He’s my captor. He has no right to claim he’s saving me.

Gritting my teeth, I glance around. It’s early morning, the sun a faint glow through the jagged opening in the ruined tower roof. A few battered columns lean precariously near theedges, vines draping over them in ragged loops. Debris litters the uneven floor: broken stones, a collapsed arch. A cold hearth smolders near the center, just a handful of ashes left behind from the small fire he made last night. The air is chilly, but not as harsh as it was before dawn. My body aches, and not just from my ankle—my shoulders are stiff, my wrists rubbed raw from the chain that still dangles off the rusted collar around my neck.

My gaze flicks around, searching for the gargoyle.He must be here somewhere.My stomach clenches. If I see him, will I try to claw his face off? Or will I cower? A mix of both? I swallow down a surge of bitterness. After years under dark elf rule, I’m painfully familiar with how it feels to have no real power. And yet something about him is different from those sadistic overseers. The memory of his amber-gold eyes meeting mine as he bound my ankle—almost gentle in the firelight—makes my heart twist in confusion. He’s a gargoyle, a killer who culls human women. So why spare me?

I stand up, testing how much I can stand on my bad ankle. My entire leg trembles, and I have to lean on a half-fallen column for support.Where is he?If he’s off hunting or scouting, maybe this is my chance to escape. Then again, one glance at my ankle tells me I’d barely get a few steps outside the ruin before collapsing. My breath hitches at the thought of stumbling through the forest, gargoyles circling overhead, dark elves trailing behind.Is it any safer than here?

No, a traitorous whisper in me answers. At least here I’m not alone, though that’s hardly a comfort when my companion is a seven-foot-tall winged predator.

A scrape of stone against stone jolts me. My pulse jumps, and I whirl to see Korrin slipping back through one of the ruined archways, carrying what looks like a small cluster of roots in his clawed hand. He must have left a short while ago. His massiveframe moves with startling quiet for someone so large, and I clench my jaw, bracing myself.

His skin is a dark slate hue, faint veins of gold shimmering along his powerful arms. A jagged brand marks one forearm—a reminder of his station as an executioner, I recall from overheard rumors. His molten eyes catch sight of me immediately. My stomach flips, a violent swirl of dread and unwanted fascination.He’s no less terrifying in daylight.In fact, I can see the details better: the ridges along his cheeks, the shadow of horns emerging from his temples, the broad wings folded behind him.

He approaches slowly. I notice the tension in his posture, like he’s preparing for me to lash out. Maybe I will. “You’re awake,” he rumbles, voice low. “How’s the ankle?”

“Why do you care?” I snap, hugging my arms across my chest. My voice shakes more than I intend, betraying the swirl of emotions inside me. “You kidnap me—drag me to the middle of nowhere—and now you ask about my ankle?”

Korrin’s face remains impassive, though a muscle twitches in his jaw. “Yes.”

I blink. “Well, it hurts,” I admit, spitting the words. “Happy?”

He glances at my injured foot but doesn’t reach for it. “Sit,” he says, gesturing to a chunk of fallen stone near the unlit fire. “You shouldn’t stand on that too long.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” My retort is automatic. My pride flares. For too long I’ve been forced to obey. Now I’m desperate to claim any shred of autonomy, even if the attempt is pathetically small. “I’m not your prisoner,” I add, though we both know how untrue that is. The chain rattling at my collar begs to differ.

His gaze flicks to that chain, and something like annoyance—or guilt—flickers in his eyes. “If you try to run on that ankle, you’ll make it worse.” He steps closer, dropping the cluster ofroots near the remains of the fire pit. “I found these by the creek. Might help the swelling.”

He produces a small flat stone and sets it on the ground. Then, using his claw, he starts grinding the roots. I watch, half in disbelief.Is he making some kind of poultice?An absurd laugh bubbles up in my throat, but I swallow it back.A gargoyle who plays healer?

I hear the crunch of the roots, smell their bitter tang. He works in silence, refusing to meet my eyes. Fine. If he doesn’t want to talk, I’m more than capable of letting my anger speak for me. “What are you planning to do with me?” I ask.

He doesn’t pause in his grinding. “Keep you alive.”

I scoff. “What for? A trophy? A slave? Maybe the dark elves will pay you a bounty if you hand me over.” I can’t help the scorn that seeps into my words.

At that, he looks up sharply, eyes glinting. “I’d never trade you to those vermin. Ever.”