Page 50

50

SEREN

T hey drag me through the obsidian halls of Jalith’s fortress, my feet scraping against the polished floor. Chains coil around my wrists, digging deep into bruised skin, but the true prison isn’t metal.

It’s magic.

Ancient words hum through the air, weaving between the towering pillars of the ceremonial hall. The dark elves stand in rows, draped in silken robes, their faces lifted toward the domed ceiling as they chant. The sound isn’t loud, but it presses against my skull like iron, each syllable latching onto my limbs, my bones, my very breath.

They are binding me.

I thrash against the guards gripping my arms, my body refusing to submit even as my mind is trapped in an unseen vice. My muscles lock. My spine bows forward, dragged toward the center of the chamber, toward him.

Jalith stands at the altar, clad in deep amethyst robes embroidered with silver filigree, the patterns shifting like veins of molten metal. He watches me with the satisfaction of a hunter who has snared his prey at last.

The room is suffocating. Not from the heat of the torches, but from the weight of what’s happening.

They are forcing the mate bond upon me.

My body moves against my will.

Terror curdles in my gut as I stumble closer to Jalith, my boots catching against the marble, but I can’t stop. My breath tears from my lungs as the magic tugs at me, dragging me into the center of the spiraling runes carved into the stone floor. The symbols glow with eerie violet light, curling like grasping fingers.

The collar around my neck tightens.

Jalith smiles, stepping forward. "No need to struggle, little one. It will be over soon."

The spell forces my body to still, but my mind is a storm of rage.

I meet his gaze, hatred blistering behind my eyes. "I will never be yours."

Jalith chuckles, as if my resistance is nothing more than a child’s tantrum. "You already are. The moment you ran, you ensured this would happen. You should have accepted my kindness when you had the chance."

I snarl, my teeth bared like an animal.

He reaches for me, his fingers brushing my cheek, and the spell burns beneath my skin, urging me to lean into his touch.

No.

My vision swims. The runes beneath my feet pulse harder, their glow winding around my ankles, binding me.

The pull intensifies. My heartbeat stutters, my ribs threatening to cave in under the pressure. The mate bond. It’s forming.

No. No. No.

A scream builds in my throat, raw and agonized.

I don’t want this.

Not with him.

The pain drives deeper, clawing at my lungs, wrapping around my soul.

Somewhere in the haze, I feel it, a tether, faint but unyielding, pulling in the opposite direction.

It’s not Jalith.

A name rips from my lips, shattering the chanting, cutting through the magic like a blade.

"Xirath!"

The chamber trembles.

Gasps rise from the gathered elves as the glow of the binding spell flickers, the magic quivering like a beast sensing its first wound.

Jalith’s expression sharpens, his amusement vanishing. "What did you say?"

My body convulses against the spell, against the unseen hands trying to wrench me toward him. The pain threatens to splinter me apart, but I cling to the single truth that surges through my veins with undeniable certainty.

I scream again, the words ripped from my very soul.

"Xirath is my mate!"

The entire hall shudders.

The runes crack, jagged fractures splitting the stone. The magic’s hold falters, just for a moment, but it’s enough.

A vicious growl tears from Jalith’s throat, his calm composure shattering like glass. "You stupid girl," he snarls. "You think shouting his name will change your fate? You are mine!"

The magic slams back into me, harder, crueler. My legs buckle. The collar flares with agony, burning deep into my skin, forcing me to my knees.

I taste blood.

But I do not take it back.

I do not surrender.

Jalith looms over me, his fury barely restrained. He grabs my chin, forcing me to meet his eyes, but there’s something else in his gaze now.

Doubt.

His fingers tighten. "No more games, little one. You will be mine. Even if I have to carve Xirath’s name from your very soul."

The magic swirls again, darker, crueler.

But deep in my chest, beneath the agony, beneath the pull of Jalith’s spell, something else stirs.

A whisper in the blood.

A presence on the horizon.

He is coming.

I will hold on until he does.