Page 14

KORRIN

I t’s been more than a fortnight since I carried Elyria to this ruined outpost. In the grand scheme of my gargoyle years, two weeks is a flicker—but these days feel like entire lifetimes piled on top of each other.

Time unfurls in uncertain hours of slow, tense cohabitation: I gather supplies, keep an eye on distant threats, and struggle to decipher the girl I’ve taken under my reluctant wing.

If anyone had told me months ago that I’d willingly share a roof—or what’s left of one—with a human, I would have laughed in their face.

Or slit their throat. That was before the day I broke my executioner’s oath in a single reckless moment of fracture.

Now my entire existence stands on a razor’s edge, split between lethal instinct and an alien protectiveness that flares whenever I look at her.

I still wake each morning expecting some part of me to remember who I was.

To crave her death as I once craved the thrill of the hunt.

Instead, I find myself hunting only to bring back fresh kill so she can eat, or trudging through the forest in search of medicinal roots to ease her lingering pain.

And every time I realize how far I’ve strayed from the Alpha’s orders, guilt and panic twist in my gut like a coiled serpent.

Elyria’s ankle has improved since that first day.

I’ve forced her—against her will, of course—to soak it in the cold stream at dawn, apply my homemade poultices, and rest more than she’s accustomed to.

The result is that her limp is now barely noticeable, though she keeps the bandage for a bit of extra support.

She still glares daggers at me whenever I remind her to go easy on it.

The ruin we inhabit has become a sort of uneasy truce zone.

I’ve gathered enough moss and old cloth scraps to fashion a crude sleeping pallet for her near the east wall, where some stones still stand tall enough to block the wind.

I sleep across the tower, propped against the rubble with one wing half-unfurled, always half-alert for intruders.

The remnants of an ancient staircase lead to a precarious vantage point on the broken second level, which I occasionally climb to scan the forest. So far, no sign of other gargoyles or dark elf patrols, though paranoia gnaws at me daily.

Elyria stokes the fire in the mornings, an unspoken habit.

I provide the wood; she arranges it with nimble, stubborn hands.

We’ve settled into a cautious routine, but it’s riddled with tension that sparks whenever our gazes lock.

She despises being captive, no matter how gently I try to frame it.

I’m too harsh, too large, too threatening for her to see me as anything but a beast holding her prisoner. She’s not wrong.

There’s something else beneath her anger, a crackle that crackles in the air whenever we stand too close.

I sense it when I help her walk, or when our hands brush accidentally by the creek.

She pretends to hate my every breath, but her heartbeat spikes if I step behind her unexpectedly.

My own blood roars whenever I catch the faint scent of her hair—like rain on stone and a hint of something warmer.

That mixture of fear and desire is potent enough to drive me mad.

I perch on what’s left of the second-level staircase, scanning the horizon for movement. The forest canopy spreads out below like a blanket of green and gold. Dawn’s light breaks through the trees. A hush lingers, broken only by the far-off call of a bird and the trickle of the stream.

Down below, Elyria kneels by the fire pit.

I can see the tension in her shoulders from here, the set of her jaw as she prods the embers awake.

Her near-black hair is pulled back loosely, revealing that silver streak that stands out even in dim light.

The chain and collar are still there—I haven’t dared remove them yet, and the knowledge burns a hole in my chest. If I do free her, will she vanish into the forest, only to be slaughtered by gargoyles or dark elves?

Or will she vanish by choice because she despises what I am?

I grunt, forcing the thoughts away. Below me, Elyria stands, stretching her arms overhead.

The hem of her shirt lifts a fraction, exposing a strip of skin above her waistband.

My breath snags, an unexpected jolt of heat pulsing through my veins.

Why does she captivate me like this? I clench the stair’s edge, claws scraping stone.

For a moment, I consider dropping down, offering her breakfast, maybe searching for more game.

But I hesitate. Lately, the tension has grown almost unbearable.

We’re like two predators circling, each uncertain if we want to fight or—my mind flinches from the word mate.

That’s absurd. A gargoyle and a human? She’s not even truly purna—at least, not awakened—yet my body doesn’t seem to grasp the impossibility.

Shaking off the confusion, I leap down from the broken stair, landing with a light thud near her. She spins with a start, eyes narrowing.

“You move too quietly,” she accuses, holding her chest as though to steady her heart.

“You hear me now,” I reply, stepping over a slab of rock. “I have fresh fish from the creek. If you’re hungry.”

Her expression cools. “You think I’m going to starve myself out of spite?”

I don’t miss the flicker of dryness in her tone. “Wouldn’t put it past you,” I tease, but my voice is too low and rough to sound kind. “You’ve threatened worse.”

She huffs. “Maybe I’ll starve you.”

A flicker of amusement tugs at my lips, though I keep my face neutral. “I’m not so easily killed.”

There’s a beat of silence, the air charged. Then she drops her gaze to the fish in my hand, a small trout still gleaming with water. Her stomach rumbles softly—my keen hearing picks it up. A flush colors her cheeks, and she folds her arms over her torso, as if to hide the sound.

“Here,” I say, offering the fish. She frowns, so I sigh. “Look, I’ll clean it. Then you can cook it.”

Her mouth twitches, and she gives a curt nod. Without another word, she stalks back to the fire. I watch her limping less than before—her ankle’s nearly healed, a testament to my meddling care. Part of me feels relief. Another part fears it means she’ll run the first chance she gets.

The day stretches out in slow hours. I scout the perimeter of the forest again, while Elyria tests her ankle with short walks near the tower.

Sometimes I sense her behind me, observing me when she thinks I’m not aware.

She’s still bitter about the collar, and every time she tries to wedge a sharp rock against the latch, I warn her about injuring herself. She scowls like a wounded animal.

Late afternoon finds us both by the stream.

Elyria crouches on a rock, soaking the collar in cool water to wash the grime off the metal.

I stand nearby, arms crossed, scanning the shadows.

We speak little, but tension crackles between us like a live wire.

Her eyes flick to me occasionally, and I catch the swirl of wariness and something else she tries to bury.

“Are you going to hover forever?” she finally snaps, turning to face me. A rivulet of water runs down her forearm, trailing to her fingertips. My gaze follows it, enthralled.

I force my eyes upward, meeting her glare. “Yes,” I answer simply. “I told you, I’m not letting you out of sight.”

She stands, water dripping from her collar, which glints in the dappled sunlight. “You’re stifling.”

A flash of anger edges my voice. “And you’re reckless. Do you think I enjoy babysitting you?”

Her chin lifts. “Then stop. Let me go. We’ll see who’s reckless.”

My pulse leaps, but I refuse to let her see my uncertainty. “I can’t. It isn’t safe.”

She releases a harsh laugh. “Strange how you use that word. ‘Safe’ means freedom for me. Instead, I’m trapped in with a gargoyle who might snap my neck at any moment.”

The condemnation in her tone stings more than I want to admit. “If you truly believed that, you wouldn’t challenge me so often,” I say quietly, stepping closer.

She tenses, neck craning to look up at me—my height dwarfs her.

“That’s not… I…” Her breath hitches, cheeks coloring.

She tries to step back, but her heel skids on the wet stone.

I lunge, steadying her with a hand on her elbow.

The chain tugs between us, jingling ominously.

Her eyes widen, lips parted in a silent gasp as she clutches my forearm.

Our faces are inches apart. I can feel her trembling, sense the rapid flutter of her heart.

My instincts slam into me like a tempest: take her, devour her fear, claim her submission.

But another voice whispers that I want her defiance, her fierce spirit.

My claws flex against her arm, but I don’t hurt her.

Heat coils in my gut as I taste the tension on the air.

“Careful,” I murmur, voice gritty.

She exhales shakily, trapped in my hold. “Let me go,” she demands, though her voice falters.

I loosen my grip, stepping away. Her eyes linger on me, a mix of panic and something that sparks deep in my chest. It’s the same turbulent swirl that’s been growing for days, each glare and taunt feeding it. What is this attraction?

She drags a hand across her mouth, as if wiping away the moment. “I’m going back,” she says, turning to limp toward the tower. “Don’t hover.”

I stand there, watching her. My breath remains ragged. “Fine,” I mutter under my breath. But I don’t follow immediately—my body is too keyed up, and if I remain near her, I can’t guarantee I’ll keep a leash on these wild impulses.