Chapter 118

Elora’s POV

Mornings always feel off. My skin still has hints from Dante, but my chest was tight as hell. Like there was a secret jammed right under my ribs. Satisfied, sure, but gutted at the same time. Go figure.

I just lay there, staring at the sun shining through the curtains. Dante was already up, sitting by the edge of the bed, his hair scattered like he had forgotten to brush it, and those eyes actually looked human for once.

“Morning,” he said, voice calm. He looked like he wanted to smile, but didn't.

“Morning,” I answered back, pulling the cotton blanket up.

He got up and walked over to the table by the door, and suddenly, a tray of food was lying there. When did he bring it in? The smell hit first... bread, tea, some salty meat thing. My stomach rumbled, which felt rude to the whole emotional crisis vibe.

“You didn’t,” I blurted, already half-laughing.

“Palace kitchen,” he said, all smug, and set the tray on my lap. “They tried to stop me. Apparently, I outrank anyone who says no to you. Their words, not mine.”

That got a real smile out of me, even with my insides spinning like laundry. “You can’t just swipe food from the palace kitchen.”

He just grinned, sliding back beside me. “Didn’t steal. Borrowed. For you.”

Ridiculous. Heart-melting. I hated how much it worked on me. He looked at me like I was the only normal thing in his whole storm of a life. It was honestly unfair.

We ate, mostly not talking, just throwing glances back and forth that said way too much. Every time his fingers brushed mine, I felt that stupid bond buzz under my skin. Not just love, something heavier, messier. Like fate, but meaner.

When we finished, he leaned over, so close that I could feel his breath on me. “You should rest,” he whispered. “You didn’t see you sleep much.”

I could still feel the marks he had left, the pain in my body. But just because of him, but everything.

“I can’t,” I said, trying to smile. “Luna stuff doesn’t handle itself.”

He frowned, all the lines and worried. “You don’t have to carry it all, Elora.”

“Yeah, I do,” I shot back. “That’s the whole point.”

He didn’t argue, just reached out, hand warm against my jaw, thumb tracing my skin. Then his voice dropped. “Then let me be your strength when you run dry.”

My throat tried to close up. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I might believe you.”

We just stared at each other for a long moment and I got up before I did something stupid.

The walk back to my room felt like dragging a hundred regrets uphill. The body is still humming, the brain is basically a hurricane. Every step, last night kept replaying in my head... Dante’s voice, the way he had said my name.

By the time I reached my door, my heartbeat was racing wildly. I shoved it open, ready for my quiet, empty room.

Nope. Dominic’s standing inside.

He wasn't wearing his royal robe or armor, just a plain shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair damp like he’d been out fighting. He looked up and stared at me with those eyes filled with relief and suspicion.

“You’re back,” he said, softly.

“Yeah.”

“Where from?”

I froze. He already knew, with the way his jaw was clenched so tight.

“Dante’s.” There was no point lying, so I just stared back.

We both stared at each other in silence.

“I see,” he said finally, voice steady but his fists sent a different message.

“Don’t,” I said, voice low.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t act like this doesn’t bother you.”

He met my eyes, and for a second, I wished he would yell. “Would you rather I didn’t?”

Wow.

“I’d really rather you didn’t hate him over this,” I said

He let out a heavy breath and shook his head. “I don’t hate him, Elora. I just... I hate that every time I start to convince myself I’m over you, you do something and I realize I’m nowhere close.”

My chest twisted up sharply. I tried to hold it together, but the room felt too small for the both of us.

“Dominic…”

He cut me off, stepping in close. “Nah, don’t say my name like that. Not after you spent the night in his bed.”

“I didn’t come here to argue,” I mumbled.

He just looked at me, voice dropping. “Then why are you shaking?”

Because I was a mess. Because the way he looked at me with hurt, anger, and still so gentle, made my heart ache.

I swallowed. Hard. “I should go wash up. There’s stuff to do.”

He didn’t move. He just watched me.

When I finally got the door, I closed it with a soft click. I just leaned against the door and let myself cry. I let out angry sobs.

I made my choice last night. I thought it would fix something in me. But it just ripped open a wound I can’t patch up.

That night? I was wiped out, and crashed fast. Prayed for blackout sleep.

Suddenly I’m standing in some wild field, moon shining, mist curling around my feet. Out of the fog came two wolves. One dark as obsidian, one this blinding gold.

The dark one’s eyes, I’d know them anywhere. Dante. Just looking at him, I felt it. That pull. That possessive, electric thing. Mine.

The golden wolf just watched, quiet and heartbreakingly patient. Dominic. His eyes didn’t ask, didn't beg, just a silent ache that felt ancient.

They started circling, low growls rumbling. Not at each other, at me. Like I was supposed to pick, right there, or the world would crack open.

“Stop,” I tried to say, clutching my chest like that would help.

They didn’t stop. Of course.

The moon started glowing brighter, and then both wolves howled a wild, tangled sound, half pain, half longing. It felt like it could rip me in two.

I dropped to my knees, hands over my chest, agony tearing through me. Light burst out of my chest, gold and red, swirling like a hurricane.

The last thing I heard was their voices, tangled together in my head.

“Elora,” they called. “Choose.”

And then... nothing. Just black.