Page 29 of Where Lightning Strikes Twice (Fated Mates, Stubborn Hearts #2)

ELENA

V iktor’s guards drag me from my cell at dawn. My body aches from days of captivity, but I refuse to show weakness as they march me across the war camp. The silver manacles on my wrists block my healing abilities—ancient Storm Eagle technology designed to suppress magic. Cruel, but effective.

“The ritual preparation begins today,” one guard informs me, his silver-tipped wings half-extended in intimidation. “You should be honored. Few ground-dwellers serve such a sacred purpose.”

I say nothing. Three days in Viktor’s camp have taught me when silence is the better strategy.

Around us, the camp buzzes with activity—Storm Eagles and Dire Wolves working together in uneasy alliance.

The sight still unnerves me—natural enemies collaborating in the service of Viktor’s twisted vision.

We approach a large tent near the center of the camp. Unlike the utilitarian structures around it, this one gleams with magical symbols stitched in silver and gold thread. Guards stand at attention outside, their expressions reverent. The ritual tent.

Inside, Viktor waits beside a stone altar transported from the ancient temple ruins. He looks up from the scrolls spread before him, his steel-gray eyes assessing me coldly.

“Dr.Ashford. I trust you slept well?” His mock courtesy never reaches his eyes.

“Beautifully. Nothing like a hard floor and constant interrogation to ensure quality rest.” I match his tone, refusing to cower.

A slight smile touches his lips. “Your spirit remains unbroken. Good. The ritual requires a strong life force.”

He gestures toward a table laden with medical equipment—my equipment, stolen from the Haven’s Heart outpost during their raid. Beside it stands a young Storm Eagle woman with dark golden feathers braided into her hair. Her eyes avoid mine.

“This is Lyra,” Viktor says. “One of our healers who finds your research… enlightening. She’ll assist you today.”

I recognize her immediately. She had been among the Eagles who’d sought medical help at my field hospital—one of the few who’d trusted a ground-dweller’s medicine. Before my capture, she’d whispered that not all Storm Eagles supported Viktor’s regime.

“What exactly am I supposed to be doing?” I ask, though I already suspect the answer.

Viktor unrolls a parchment covered in ancient symbols. “You’re going to help us identify those with impure bloodlines among our prisoners. Your genetic sight, combined with your scientific knowledge, makes you uniquely qualified.”

“To assist in genocide.” I don’t phrase it as a question.

“To purify our bloodlines.” Viktor’s voice hardens. “The ritual requires sacrifices with specific genetic markers. Those without the markers will merely be… prisoners of war.”

The cold calculation in his voice chills me more than any threat. This isn’t madness—it’s methodical extermination disguised as sacred tradition.

“And if I refuse?”

Viktor smiles. “Then I start executing prisoners immediately, beginning with the children. At least with your help, some might be spared.”

My stomach twists. I’ve seen the holding pens—Haven’s Heart civilians, neutral clan members, even Storm Eagle dissenters. All are waiting for Viktor’s judgment.

“Fine.” I extend my shackled hands. “I’ll need these removed to work properly.”

“Of course.” Viktor nods to a guard who produces a key. “But understand this, Dr.Ashford—attempt to use your healing magic on anyone but those I designate, and the children die. Try to escape, and the children die. Sabotage the ritual preparations in any way…”

“I understand.” The manacles fall away, and I feel my connection to magic returning—a warm current flowing beneath my skin.

“Lyra will oversee your work and report directly to me.” Viktor rolls up his scrolls. “I have preparations to complete before the full moon ritual. You have until sunset to examine the first group of prisoners.”

After he leaves, Lyra approaches cautiously. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“None of us do anymore.” I begin organizing the equipment, mind racing through possibilities. I need to find a way to warn Kael about the ritual details without alerting Viktor.

Lyra helps me set up the portable genetic analyzer, her movements betraying medical training. “I studied your research papers,” she admits quietly. “The ones about genetic diversity strengthening bloodlines. They make sense.”

I glance at her, surprised. “Viktor doesn’t agree.”

“Viktor sees only what confirms his beliefs.” She checks over her shoulder before continuing. “Many younger Eagles question his interpretation of the prophecies, especially since you presented your evidence at the trial.”

Hope flickers—a dangerous emotion in captivity. “How many?”

“Enough to matter. Not enough to challenge him openly.” Lyra adjusts the calibration on the scanner. “Not while he controls the Dire Wolf alliance.”

We work in silence for several minutes, preparing the lab equipment.

My mind catalogs everything I know about the ritual from the ancient texts Kael and I translated.

Viktor’s version requires a storm-touched healer—me—to identify genetically “pure” victims for sacrifice.

The combined magical energy released by their deaths would theoretically grant him control over all storm magic.

But the texts had also revealed a counter-ritual—one that Kael and I might perform if we could complete our mate bond. A ritual of creation rather than destruction, joining rather than separating. The exact opposite of Viktor’s plan.

“The first prisoners are coming,” Lyra warns as guards approach with five bound captives—all wearing Haven’s Heart civilian clothing.

I straighten my shoulders and prepare to begin the most delicate deception of my life. Each examination must appear legitimate while secretly gathering information that could help stop Viktor’s plans.

For hours, I examine prisoners—taking blood samples, scanning genetic markers, and creating detailed medical profiles.

To Viktor’s guards, I’m identifying impure bloodlines for the ritual.

In reality, I’m embedding coded messages in my medical notations—information about camp defenses, ritual timing, and Viktor’s magical vulnerabilities.

“This one has the markers,” I state clinically about a middle-aged woman, knowing Viktor will read my reports.

Then I add annotations that appear to be technical data but contain hidden messages when decoded properly: “Nucleotide sequence A-T-G-C shows unusual binding properties consistent with eastern quadrant adaptation patterns.”

To anyone familiar with my research methods—like Kael—the message reveals: “Eastern quadrant minimally guarded. Ritual preparations are unstable.”

By midday, I’ve examined twenty prisoners, carefully marking most as “unsuitable” for the ritual with fabricated genetic incompatibilities. The fewer impure sacrifices I identify, the weaker Viktor’s ritual will be—assuming he doesn’t realize my deception.

A commotion outside interrupts our work. Shouts and the sound of beating wings announce a new arrival. Lyra tenses beside me.

“They’ve captured more Storm Eagles,” she whispers. “Kael’s loyalists, trying to infiltrate the camp.”

My heart stumbles. Kael is building a coalition—I’ve heard the guards discussing it. Storm Eagles, wild clans, even Haven’s Heart forces joining against Viktor’s threat. But if his scouts are being captured…

The tent flap opens, and Viktor strides in, flanked by his personal guard. Behind them, two Storm Eagles with bound wings are forced to their knees—young warriors with defiance in their eyes.

“Traitors to their own kind,” Viktor announces, grabbing one by the hair. “Scouting our defenses for your mate.”

I keep my expression neutral despite the surge of hope. Kael is coming. He’s preparing to fight.

“I have no use for their examination,” Viktor continues. “Their treachery has already determined their fate. But I thought you should see what happens to those who follow Kael Stormwright.”

He draws a ceremonial dagger from his belt, the blade glowing with unnatural light. “This is merely a preview of what awaits your mate when I capture him.”

I lunge forward instinctively, but guards restrain me before I can reach him. “Don’t! They’re just scouts—they were following orders!”

“Exactly.” Viktor plunges the dagger into the first prisoner’s chest. The blade doesn’t just kill—it absorbs, drawing glowing energy from the dying Eagle into the weapon itself.

The young warrior doesn’t scream, doesn’t beg.

His eyes lock with mine in his final moments, conveying a message I understand immediately: Die well. Die with purpose.

When it’s done, Viktor holds the dagger aloft, now pulsing with stolen life force. “Each sacrifice strengthens the ritual blade. By the full moon, it will be ready to claim the final sacrifice—you.”

The second prisoner is dragged away, presumably for the same fate elsewhere. I struggle to control my breathing, to push down the rage and grief threatening to overwhelm me. Emotion is a luxury I cannot afford.

“Continue your work,” Viktor orders. “Every prisoner you examine brings us closer to the new world order. A world where Storm Eagles rule as they were always meant to.”

After he leaves, I collapse onto a stool, hands shaking. Lyra cautiously approaches with a cup of water.

“I need to get a message out,” I whisper, barely moving my lips. “The ritual blade—I recognize it from the ancient texts. It’s storing magical energy for the final ceremony.”

Lyra glances nervously at the tent entrance. “They watch everything. The prisoners, the reports…”

“Not everything.” I pull a small vial from the medical equipment. “Blood samples. Viktor expects me to analyze genetic markers. He won’t suspect a message hidden in technical data.”

Understanding dawns in her eyes. “I deliver the results to the ritual preparation team.”

“And if that team includes someone sympathetic to Kael…”

She nods almost imperceptibly. “I’ll try.”

We resume our examinations with renewed purpose. Each prisoner represents another opportunity to encode information. By late afternoon, I’ve examined over forty individuals, carefully marking most as unsuitable for the ritual while embedding critical intelligence about Viktor’s plans.

When the guards finally return me to my cell at sunset, exhaustion weighs heavily on me.

But beneath the fatigue burns determination.

Viktor has revealed both his timeline and his method—the ritual blade that stores magical energy with each sacrifice.

Knowledge Kael can use, if my messages reach him.

After Viktor discovered my subterfuge with the encoded messages, he increased security around me but still requires my expertise. Lyra has become my lifeline—when she brings medical supplies for me to analyze, she smuggles out my observations hidden in routine inventory reports.

In my tiny cell, I curl onto the thin pallet, conserving energy. The mate bond, incomplete though it remains, pulses like a distant heartbeat. I focus on it, trying to project my thoughts toward Kael. The bond doesn’t allow direct communication, but perhaps emotions, impressions…

Come for me, I think fiercely. Not for my sake, but for everyone Viktor plans to sacrifice. I send images of the ritual blade, the altar, and the timing of the ceremony. Whether these impressions reach him or not, I don’t know.

A guard slides a tray of food through the small opening in my door. Tonight’s meal contains a small surprise—tucked beneath the hard bread is a folded scrap of paper. I palm it quickly, waiting until the guard’s footsteps retreat before examining it.

The note contains just three words in tiny script: “Coalition approaches dawn.”

Kael is coming. With allies. Tomorrow.

I destroy the note, crumbling it into dust between my fingers. One more night to survive. One more day of pretending to help Viktor while actually undermining him. And then—battle. Reunion. And perhaps the chance to stop this madness before it claims hundreds of lives.

I lie back on my pallet, eyes closed but mind racing.

In the distance, thunder rumbles—not Viktor’s magic, but natural storm energy gathering.

The weather itself seems to mirror the coming conflict.

I reach for that energy, feeling my connection to it strengthening despite my captivity.

My storm-touched heritage, awakened by Kael and nurtured through our bond, responds to the distant lightning.

Tomorrow, I’ll need every ounce of that power. Tomorrow, everything changes.

I fall into uneasy sleep, dreaming of golden wings and healing light, of battles in the sky and rituals of blood and love. And through it all, a sense of certainty:

When lightning strikes twice, nothing remains the same.