Page 5

5

NORA

T he sound of approaching footfalls is too light, too careful.

Hunters.

My breath catches, the weight of the realization pressing against my ribs. They have found me.

Of course, they have. The dark elves always find their prey.

The old temple offers little protection. The roof is half-collapsed, moonlight filtering through in broken fragments. There is nowhere to hide, no way to run. I am still too weak, my magic tangled and slow, my body not yet recovered from the bond— from him.

Rhaegar shifts beside me, his molten gaze flickering toward the entrance. His wings, still more shadow than substance , curl at the edges, like a beast scenting the air before a kill.

"How many?" I whisper, barely daring to move.

"Four," he says. His voice is quiet, unhurried. "Hunters."

My stomach clenches. They are not just soldiers. Hunters are specialists. They do not miss. They do not fail.

They have been trained to track and kill creatures like me, a nd creatures like him.

The temple’s silence stretches thin, suffocating. The scent of blood and damp earth lingers in the air. The stone beneath my hands is slick with condensation, cold seeping into my bones.

Suddenly, a whisper of movement.

The first arrow strikes.

I flinch , but Rhaegar moves faster.

His wings snap outward, half-formed and shimmering with unnatural darkness. The arrow meant for my throat shatters against his skin, the force of it barely making him flinch.

A heartbeat later , another comes, aimed lower, toward me.

He moves again, a snarl ripping from his lips. His arm sweeps across my chest, knocking me back just before the arrow embeds itself in the stone where I had been.

I barely have time to think before the hunters step into the temple.

Dark elves.

Their silver hair gleams under the moonlight, long daggers glinting in their hands. They move with the practiced ease of killers, their crimson eyes locked onto me with something hungry, merciless.

The tallest of them tilts his head, appraising the scene. His gaze flickers over Rhaegar—his shifting form, his too-dark eyes.

A slow, predatory smile spreads across his face.

"Impossible," he murmurs, rolling his shoulders. "You should be stone."

Rhaegar does not answer.

But I feel the heat building beneath his skin, the slow, simmering rage winding through his body.

The lead hunter clicks his tongue, gaze returning to me. "You should have run faster, Purna."

I bare my teeth, forcing my chin up. "You should have aimed better."

He laughs.

"Brave little thing," he muses. His blade shifts, glinting as he moves closer. "But bravery will not save you. Not from us. And certainly not from him."

His eyes flick toward Rhaegar again, assessing. Curious.

But there's a hint of u nderstanding in there.

My stomach drops as realization flickers across his face. He sees it. He knows.

The bond.

They must have sensed it. The way my magic has twisted, the way my aura now flickers with something wrong.

The hunter exhales sharply, a smirk curling at the tips of his lips. "Oh, little healer," he murmurs. "What have you done?"

Rhaegar moves.

It is not human movement.

It is too fast, too fluid. One moment, he is beside me.

The lead hunter’s throat is in his grip.

A sharp crack.

The elf’s body goes limp, his neck snapping like brittle bone.

A beat of silence.

Then chaos.

The remaining hunters move as one , their blades flashing in the dark. Rhaegar does not falter.

He is a storm given form, a living nightmare. His wings unfurl, half-formed but still powerful enough to send one of the elves staggering back. Claws—because that is what they are now, what his fingers have twisted into— slash across another hunter’s chest, parting leather and flesh.

A scream.

Blood spatters across the stone.

I should move. I should help. But I am frozen, trapped between awe and terror as I watch him unleash himself.

This is not just a fight.

This is a slaughter.

The third hunter lunges toward me, blade angled for my ribs. Instinct takes over.

I duck, but I am too slow.

The edge bites into my arm , pain lancing through me. I stumble back, vision blurring for half a second— too long.

A mistake.

I feel the air shift, the weight of another hunter at my back.

I turn but I'm too late.

The dagger plunges into my stomach.

I inhale sharply.

For a moment, there is nothing. No pain, no fear. Just the sudden, cold shock of it.

Suddenly, there's fire.

It burns , radiating outward, spreading through my limbs with a cruel, consuming heat.

I choke on my own breath, my knees giving out beneath me.

The hunter pulls the blade free, a slow, deliberate motion, as if savoring the moment. I gasp, blood pooling between my fingers.

Distantly, I hear Rhaegar snarl.

And then he is there.

I do not see what happens next.

But I hear it.

The wet, sickening crack of breaking bone. The gurgled scream as the hunter dies.

And then hands are on me.

Not cruel. Not unkind.

Strong. Unyielding.

"Purna."

I try to focus. Try to breathe.

The world is tilting , my vision fading. But I feel him— his heat, his strength, the crushing weight of the bond pulsing between us.

I blink up at him, barely seeing. His face is blurred at the edges, but his eyes, those molten, unforgiving eyes are clear.

"You cannot die," he growls.

A demand. A command.

I try to laugh, but it comes out as a choked, wet sound.

"I think—" My fingers twitch, failing to grasp at him. "I think I already have."

And then the darkness takes me.