Page 11

ELYRIA

I jerk 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 the edges, 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 massive frame 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 of roots 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.”

The vehemence in his tone makes me falter. “Oh? So you’re saying it’s more merciful to keep me captive for yourself?” My pulse hammers, braced for him to lash out at my provocation. But he simply grinds the roots harder, knuckles tight.

“Merciful,” he echoes in a low voice, like he’s testing the shape of the word. “You’ve known real cruelty. I’m offering you something else.”

My body floods with heat, part rage, part confusion. “Imprisonment is still cruelty, no matter how nicely you dress it up.” I take a limping step closer. I want to push him, to see how far I can go before he snaps. “Go ahead. Just say it. I’m your prisoner. You have me caged like an animal.”

His golden gaze snaps to the collar around my neck again, then slides away, as though the sight of it unsettles him. “I’ll take it off,” he mutters. “Eventually.”

The laugh that bursts from me is brittle, humorless. “Do you expect me to believe that? You need this collar to keep me under control, right? In case your precious Alpha demands my head at any moment?”

At the mention of the Alpha, his expression darkens. He sets aside the stone and root mash, stands to his full height. My breath catches—he’s massive, wings partially unfurling behind him in agitation. “Don’t speak of him,” he growls.

A tremor runs through me, but I steel my voice. “Why not? Isn’t he the one who decreed all human women must die? And isn’t that your job?” I point at the brand on his forearm. “Executioner.”

He looks at the mark, and I see his jaw tense. “It was my job,” he admits, something dark flashing in his eyes. “Now, it’s more complicated.”

“Complicated,” I repeat, heart pounding. “You tore through the fortress like a monster—killing dark elves without blinking—then decided I’m worth sparing?” I force a bitter smirk. “Makes perfect sense.”

“I didn’t say it made sense,” he snaps. His wings give a restless twitch, scraping the air behind him. “I’m only saying… I made a choice. I won’t hurt you, all right? That should be enough.”

A hot wave of defiance burns in my veins.

“It’s not,” I manage. “Because I don’t want your twisted version of ‘protection.’ I want freedom.

” My voice breaks on that last word, a reminder of everything I’ve lost, every time I tried to run from the fortress.

My chest tightens painfully, tears threatening to sting my eyes. I won’t cry in front of him.

Korrin’s features harden. For a heartbeat, I think he’ll bare his fangs at me in anger.

Instead, he exhales a jagged breath, looking away.

“I can’t set you free. Not yet.” He picks up the mashed roots, turning away from me toward the crumbled arch.

“Sit, or stand, or do whatever you want, but let me bind your ankle so you can heal. Starving or injuring you isn’t my goal. ”

The quiet intensity of his voice disarms me more than shouting would. “And if I refuse?”

He pauses, shoulders tensing. “Then limp around in pain. It won’t kill you, but it’ll slow you down. Either way, I’m not letting you leave this place.”

Anger thrums in my chest, but I also sense the futility of resisting him physically. He’s gargoyle-strong and built for war. I’m battered, half-crippled by my own injuries, and unarmed. Better to play along and watch for an opportunity. Perhaps I can gather enough strength to slip away eventually.

With a snarl of frustration, I hobble over to the chunk of fallen stone near the cold fire. I ease down, wincing as my ankle protests. “Fine,” I mutter. “Be my savior, if that makes you feel less monstrous.”