Page 13 of Fractured Loyalties (Tainted Souls #2)

His body stiffens, shoulders tightening as if drawn by wires. Even from this distance, I see him freeze. Then his hand twitches to his side. Not all the way. Not a draw.

Just a warning.

Elias doesn’t flinch.

I can't hear the words. But I see Elias speak. One sentence. Maybe two.

Caleb answers with a grin. The kind he used on me. Like the danger was part of the charm.

The man behind Caleb shifts, reaching subtly toward his jacket.

I hold my breath.

But Elias is faster.

His hand moves—a flash of shadow, a shift in stance—and then the second man hits the ground. Hard. I can’t see the weapon. Only the way the man doesn’t get up.

Caleb stumbles back, snarling something. And then Elias is on him.

They collide like a storm splitting open. Not wild. Not chaotic. This is surgical. Calculated.

Elias drives him backward, slamming him into the side of the shack. Caleb swings, lands a hit. Elias barely reacts. Then he counters with an elbow, a knee, something that drops Caleb to the dirt.

It’s fast. Too fast.

And it’s not over.

Elias kneels, one knee pinning Caleb’s neck, and I watch him raise a fist, poised for something final—

My breath breaks.

I don’t look away, not even once.

Elias’s fist hangs in the air for what feels like forever. Time stretches thin around it, like the world is waiting to exhale.

But the blow never lands.

Instead, Elias says something—short, guttural. I can’t make out the words. His voice is low, but sharp. Like he’s spitting broken glass.

Caleb barks out a reply. Too cocky. Even pinned, even bleeding, he has the nerve to smirk.

Elias shoves his knee harder into Caleb’s neck and leans in, their faces inches apart. His fingers twist the fabric of Caleb’s shirt, anchoring him there without lifting. His face is a shadow of fury and restraint. He speaks—too fast to lip-read, too low to carry. But his mouth moves with venom.

Whatever Elias said wipes the smirk from his face.

Elias stays crouched over him, knee still digging into Caleb’s neck. He leans closer now, words flung like knives, body rigid with rage. One hand clenched tight at his side. The other grips Caleb’s collar like he could tear him in two.

And then….

Elias stops.

He just stops.

And gets up.

Caleb gasps, coughing hard, scrambling backward in the dirt like a rat dragged into daylight. He stumbles once, twice, then bolts toward the opposite edge of the clearing—away from the shack, away from Elias, away from me.

I don’t breathe again until he’s gone.

Elias doesn’t follow.

He stands in place, shoulders heaving, gaze fixed on the dark tree line Caleb disappeared into. Then his jaw shifts.

He turns, slams his fist once—hard—against the side of the shack. The impact echoes across the clearing.

Another hit.

Then he paces, circles, stops again. His hand scrapes through his hair like it burns. He swears. Quiet, violent. A man unraveling in silence.

I stay where I am, curled behind the rise, chest tight, throat raw. I should move. But I don’t.

Eventually, Elias turns toward me.

And starts walking.

Each step eats the distance like a slow tide. Deliberate. Heavy. And when he reaches me, he doesn’t speak right away. Just stops at the top of the rise, looking down.

“You saw.”

I nod. “All of it.”

His voice is rough. “He’s gone.”

“I know.”

He lowers himself beside me, sits in the dirt like the weight finally cracked him.

I hesitate. “And the other one?”

His jaw flexes. “He’ll live. Won’t be useful to Caleb anymore, but he’s breathing.”

Somehow, that doesn’t shock me. Not with the way Elias moves—clean, deliberate, purposeful.

“I was going to kill him,” he says after a beat.

“I know that too.”

He looks away, but not fast enough to hide the grief in his eyes. Not sadness. Not guilt. Something deeper. A rage that swallowed itself.

“I don’t know why I didn’t,” he murmurs.

I swallow hard. “Maybe because some part of you still remembers how to stop.”

A long silence stretches between us.

“He’s not done,” I say eventually. “He won’t just disappear.”

“I know.”

“But you didn’t kill him.”

“No.”

I stare out at the clearing. The spot where Caleb had been. The place where he could have died.

“Does that make you weak?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer right away. When he does, it’s a whisper.

“I don’t know anymore.”

The drive back is wordless.

Elias doesn’t look at me, doesn’t speak, and I don’t press him. His grip on the steering wheel is tighter than before, knuckles white against the leather, his jaw locked like it’s holding back more than words.

The night swells thick around us, forest slipping past in a blur of shadows and pale light. Every turn of the road feels like it should bring relief, but it doesn’t. My heart stays coiled tight.

When the house reappears through the trees, it feels unreal—like something remembered in a dream. Familiar, but now altered by what it’s witnessed.

He cuts the engine. We sit there a moment longer, the hum of the motor replaced by the soft ticking of cooling metal.

I glance over.

His face is unreadable.

I speak first. “You didn’t have to bring me.”

“You needed to see it.”

“Did I?”

He finally looks at me. His eyes are tired. Unfiltered. “You needed to see what I’m capable of.”

I nod once. “And you needed to see what you’re still capable of stopping.”

That hangs between us.

He exhales hard and climbs out. I follow. We walk inside together, but it doesn’t feel like together. The door shuts behind us with a sound too final.

I peel off my coat. Hang it on the hook by the stairs.

“I’m going to make tea,” I say, just to fill the quiet.

Elias stands in the center of the living room, unmoving.

“Do you want some?”

His voice comes low. “No. Thank you.”

I retreat into the kitchen and let the kettle boil while I stare at nothing. My fingers tremble, so I brace them against the counter. When I bring the mug back to the living room, Elias is still standing where I left him, but his hands are at his sides now. Open.

“I’m not afraid of you,” I say quietly.

“I know.”

“I thought I would be.”

“You should be.”

Silence stretches long.

But I step closer. Close enough to see the way his throat works when he swallows. The taut lines near his mouth. The minute flicker of restraint still grips him.

He finally speaks. “If I hadn’t stopped….”

“But you did.”

He nods. Barely.

I sit on the couch. “Come here.”

He hesitates. Just a breath. Then he moves. He sits beside me but doesn’t reach for me.

“I didn’t do it for him,” he says.

“I know.”

He turns his head slowly. “I did it for you.”

I sip my tea. Let it burn my tongue. Let it anchor me.

“Good,” I whisper.