Page 32 of Where Lightning Strikes Twice (Fated Mates, Stubborn Hearts #2)

ELENA

T hrough the mate bond, I feel Kael’s presence like a surge of electricity moments before I see him in the shadows. Relief floods through me so powerfully that I have to fight to keep my expression neutral. He’s here. He’s alive. The coalition held.

The guards beside me remain oblivious, their attention focused on the sounds of battle filtering through the temple walls.

I’ve spent three days memorizing their patterns, their weaknesses.

The one on my left favors his right leg—an old injury that makes him slower to pivot.

The one on my right has a tell when he’s about to move—his wings twitch slightly, a nervous habit.

Kael reads my subtle signals perfectly, understanding flowing between us through our bond without the need for words. I watch him position himself, storm magic gathering around his hands in controlled pulses.

Before either of us can move, the chamber door swings open and Viktor strides in, his silver-streaked hair gleaming in the torchlight. “Dr. Ashford,” he says, his voice falsely pleasant. “I hope you’ve had time to consider your position. Your mate has arrived, just as I predicted.”

I keep my expression neutral despite the fear that spikes through me. Viktor knowing Kael is here, changes everything. “The only thing I’ve considered is how fundamentally you’ve misinterpreted the ancient texts. The ritual you’re attempting wasn’t designed for domination.”

“No?” Viktor’s smile is cold, predatory. “Then what was its purpose, doctor?”

“Balance,” I reply, buying time, feeling Kael’s tension through our bond. “Unity between sky and earth magic. Not supremacy of one over the other.”

Viktor laughs, the sound sharp and bitter. “A convenient interpretation for someone in your position.” He turns toward the shadows where Kael hides. “Isn’t that right, Kael? You can emerge now. My guards have this chamber surrounded.”

Kael steps into the light, lightning crackling visibly around his hands. The sight of him—powerful, determined, here for me—makes my heart race despite the danger. “It’s over, Viktor. Your forces are in disarray. Our coalition has broken through your defenses.”

“Irrelevant.” Viktor draws the ritual blade from his belt.

It pulses with stolen life force, casting sickly light across the chamber.

The sight of it makes my stomach turn—I know exactly how many lives have fed that hungry blade.

“Once I complete the ritual, I’ll have power beyond anything our clan has seen in centuries. Power enough to crush any resistance.”

“At the cost of innocent lives,” Kael says, moving slowly to position himself between Viktor and me.

“Necessary sacrifices for our clan’s ascendance.” Viktor’s eyes narrow. “Though I’m disappointed you couldn’t see that. You were supposed to be our prophesied leader, Kael. Instead, you’ve betrayed everything we stand for.”

“I’ve seen the true prophecies,” Kael counters. “Not your corrupted translations. They speak of balance, not domination. Of cooperation, not conquest.”

Outside, explosions shake the temple. The battle is intensifying. Through the bond, I feel Kael’s urgent need to free the prisoners before Viktor can use them.

“Lies from a leader corrupted by ground-dweller influence,” Viktor snarls. He raises the ritual blade. “But it doesn’t matter now. Your mate will be the final sacrifice. Her storm-touched blood will complete the ritual, and I will claim the power that should have been yours.”

“You’ll have to go through me first.” Kael summons his storm magic fully, electricity arcing between his hands in brilliant displays.

Viktor smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

The battle erupts with shocking speed. Viktor lunges forward, the ritual blade slicing through the air with unnatural speed. Kael dodges, releasing a bolt of lightning that Viktor deflects with the blade. The stolen life force within it absorbs the attack, growing brighter.

“Your power feeds mine,” Viktor laughs. “Every attack strengthens the blade.”

I use the distraction to work on my bonds, my fingers glowing faintly with silver-blue light. The guards haven’t noticed, their attention fixed on the spectacular battle between the two Storm Eagles. My healing magic, awakened and strengthened by Kael’s presence, eats away at the restraints.

From where Viktor’s trap has dragged me—chained to the ritual circle’s edge—I can only watch as Kael shifts tactics, engaging Viktor in close combat where the blade’s advantage is minimized.

They trade blows with supernatural speed, the clash of their storm magic filling the chamber with crackling energy.

But I can see Kael is tiring—days of preparation and battle taking their toll.

The token Lyra pressed into my hand burns against my palm.

“Keyed to the chains,” she’d said. I work it carefully against the lock mechanism, feeling it respond to the magical signature.

The chains loosen, but I keep my position, waiting for the right moment to break free of them.

Through our bond, I send Kael a pulse of readiness.

He responds by maneuvering the fight toward the prisoner cages. “You never understood the true source of Storm Eagle power,” he tells Viktor, dodging another slash. “It isn’t isolation that makes us strong. It’s connection.”

“Sentimental nonsense,” Viktor sneers. “Power comes from purity. From superiority.”

“Then why ally with Dire Wolves?” Kael counters, catching Viktor’s wrist as he thrusts the blade toward his chest. “Why compromise your precious purity?”

The question hits home. Fury flashes in Viktor’s eyes. “Temporary necessity. Once I have absolute power, they’ll be the first to kneel—or die.”

“Now, Elena!” Kael shouts suddenly, releasing a blinding surge of lightning.

The token completes its work, and the chains fall away. I spring forward, my hands already glowing with healing energy.

Not killing—I feel through our bond that my influence has tempered his combat style—but disabling with surgical precision.

Viktor recovers from the blinding light, rage contorting his features. “Stop them!” he shouts, but it’s too late. The prisoners closest to me—the ones I managed to free with the token—stream toward the exits, where sounds of combat indicate our forces have breached the temple.

I race to Kael’s side, our proximity immediately strengthening both our abilities through the mate bond. My hands glow with healing energy while lightning dances around him—storm and earth magic in perfect complement.

“The ritual blade,” I say urgently. “We need to destroy it.”

Viktor hears me. “You’re too late,” he snarls, backing toward the main chamber. “The preparations are complete. All I need is power—and there are plenty of other sources available.”

He raises the blade high, beginning an incantation in the ancient Storm Eagle language. The blade’s glow intensifies, drawing energy from the ambient magic in the temple itself.

“He’s using the stored life force,” I explain rapidly to Kael. “If he completes the ritual, he’ll gain permanent dominion over all storm magic—and the ability to strip it from others.”

“How do we stop him?” Kael asks, his hand finding mine.

“Together,” I say, understanding flooding through me. “The blade is designed to absorb life force taken by violence. But freely given power—that’s something it was never meant to handle.”

Kael’s eyes widen with understanding. “The counter-ritual. The one from the ruins.”

We move as one, following Viktor into the main chamber. The scene that greets us is chaos—Sable’s wolves have broken through, engaging Viktor’s remaining guards while freed prisoners flee toward safety. The ancient altar stands at the center, surrounded by ritual circles carved into the floor.

Viktor stands before the altar, the blade now blazing with stolen power. The temple trembles as magical energies converge, responding to his dark invocation.

“We need to reach the inner circle,” I tell Kael. “The original one, beneath Viktor’s markings.”

We fight our way forward, our combined abilities creating a path through the chaos. Viktor sees us approaching and speeds up his incantation, desperation evident in his movements.

We step into the ancient ritual circle just as Viktor raises the blade for the final verse of his spell. The moment our feet touch the carved symbols, they ignite with silver-blue light—the temple recognizing its original purpose.

“No!” Viktor screams, but he’s already committed to his ritual, unable to stop without the backlash destroying him.

Kael and I join hands across the circle’s center, and I feel our incomplete bond surge toward something greater. We begin the counter-ritual, our voices joining in the ancient language that predates the Storm Eagles themselves.

“From sky to earth, from storm to healing,” Kael intones.

“From separation to unity, from conflict to harmony,” I continue.

Power builds between us—not the dark hunger of Viktor’s ritual, but something bright and clean. The incomplete mate bond strengthens with each word, drawing on our freely offered energy rather than stolen life force.

Viktor realizes his danger. “You cannot stop this! The power is already mine!” He brings the blade down in a vicious arc, aiming to shatter our circle.

But the blade meets our combined barrier—my healing energy woven with Kael’s storm magic.

The collision creates a deafening crack.

The ritual blade, designed to absorb life force taken by violence, cannot process the freely given power of our bond.

It begins to vibrate violently, light bleeding through sudden cracks along its surface.

“It’s overloading,” I breathe, my scientific mind fascinated even in this moment of danger.

Cracks race across the blade’s surface, light bleeding through like a star about to go supernova. The corrupted magic binds itself tighter to Viktor, his eyes widening in panic as he realizes the weapon is no longer under his control.

“Get down!” Kael shouts, pulling me close as the chamber shakes violently.

But instead of shattering, the blade stabilizes with a horrible lurch, its glow dimming to an unstable, sickly pulse. Viktor staggers backward, clutching it as though it’s burning him, yet unable to let go. The circle hums with volatile energy, unfinished, dangerous.

Around us, freed prisoners stream toward safety, the coalition forces pushing Viktor’s loyalists back through the temple halls. For now, the blade still holds—but I can feel through our bond that it’s only a matter of time before it fails completely.

Kael’s gaze meets mine, golden eyes grim and determined.