Page 8

KORRIN

N ight presses against my wings, the air too cold for comfort, but I fly on. My mind churns with the memory of the human woman— Elyria —I left trembling by that stream hours ago. Even with the wind and distance between us, I can’t banish her from my thoughts.

I can still see the fear in her eyes when I landed, the shock etched across her face as I ripped that dark elf guard apart.

There was a moment, hardly more than a breath—when her gaze locked with mine, and something inside my chest squeezed.

I should have ended her there; that’s what I’ve been trained to do.

Yet I flew away, leaving her with nothing but the stench of blood and my pounding heartbeat roaring in my ears. No explanation. No final blow.

Now, high above the looming trees, I regret my own hesitation.

The Alpha’s order is clear, no human female should be left alive, certainly not one carrying purna blood.

But I keep telling myself I will follow through—that next time, I won’t falter.

A lie. The remnants of that moment keep clawing at me, turning over in my head.

The wind whips across my face, a biting chill that stings my eyes.

The storm from earlier has mostly passed, but the air is damp with leftover drizzle, and stray tendrils of fog writhe across the treetops.

I spot a handful of gargoyles from my patrol circling the fortress we raided last night.

They’re scouring the area for stragglers, presumably to hunt down any human who slipped through the cracks.

If I join them, I can be the first to discover any sign of her. Then I can finish what I started.

Finish . The word resonates like a hollow gong inside me.

I’m not convinced that killing her is truly what I want.

My every instinct shouts that I should want it— she’s a threat, or at least she might be.

Letting her roam free, especially if she indeed holds purna lineage, is risking the safety of my race. A hazard we can’t ignore.

But as I glide through the cold air, I recall the shape of her face, the raw terror that gave way to confusion when I didn’t strike.

I remember the chain dangling from her collar, the fresh lash marks on her ankles.

Fragile, I tell myself. She’s nothing but prey.

Yet the image won’t align with what I saw in her eyes—flickers of defiance, of something fierce.

Something that parted the storm inside me for that single, breathless moment.

I land on a high outcropping of rock, hooking my claws into the stone.

Peering down into the forest canopy, I let out a low growl of frustration.

This entire region is heavily wooded, making it difficult to spot her from above.

The terrain slopes into a series of ridges and hidden ravines.

If she’s smart, she’ll keep moving. If she’s injured, she might try to find shelter.

Regardless, I can’t ignore her. Something in me refuses to let her slip away, no matter how dangerous it is for me to keep her alive.

I can’t quite name the impulse that drives me to track her down.

Obedience to the Alpha? Possibly. The temptation to see her face again?

More likely. My wings twitch, unsettled by the truth I’m dancing around.

It’s a mistake to let personal curiosity drive my next action.

Still, the next moment I push off the rock, diving into the labyrinth of trees below.

The canopy swallows me as I drop. I land in the soft undergrowth, leaves rustling beneath my feet.

The scent of damp earth clings to the air.

My breath rumbles low in my throat. If she’s close, I might catch her scent—fear has a particular tang to it.

Carefully, I pick my way forward, using the dense shadows to conceal my approach.

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 should care. 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 I don’t care, 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 I refuse to 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, to claim her 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.