Chapter 28

Elora's pov

Something dark flashed in his eyes...pain? Maybe hope too, fighting it out in there or something. He didn’t move for a while, just burned holes through me with that look. Then, almost whispering, he leaned in till his forehead was nearly on mine.

“That’s all I needed to know,” he said. Like he was confessing, like he was making a promise.

My heart tried to come out of my chest. I pulled my hands away, held them tight in my lap. “I can’t. I can’t betray him. Not like this. Won’t give Mira the satisfaction, she wins if I do.”

He pulled back a little. The hurt on his face, that sucked. He straightened slowly, tall and shadowy, like he was suddenly both a warning and my only protection. “So I’ll wait,” he said. Like it was the only choice left. “Even if it kills me, I’ll wait for you. Because you’re worth more than being tossed aside, Elora. Bond or not.”

And just like that, he was gone. Slipping off toward the edge of the garden, his figure disappears into the night. I sat there too stunned to move, chewed up by longing and terror and loyalty ripping me apart from the inside.

When the fountain settled again, ripples gone, I stared at my reflection and just whispered, barely audible, “What if I’m never ready?” Not sure who I was even talking to. Maybe only myself.

Narrator's pov

The woods were dead quiet that night. Eerie, like even the crickets chickened out. Those leftover sunset streaks painted everything blood-red, turning the trees into these long, twitchy shadows. Elora had just bailed on the palace, the drama, the scheming, the suffocating corridors. Mira’s poison, Dominic’s stubborn pride, Dante… well, Dante just complicated stuff.

She went farther than she probably should have. Past where the guards stop pretending they are watching. It was peaceful at first, like sinking into a hot bath after a garbage day. Her shoulders dropped, her breathing got steady. But then this stubborn tightness in her chest wouldn’t leave. You can run into the woods, Elora, but you can’t really outrun your own head.

So she stopped at this little clearing with a rock that looked sort of like a throne if you squinted. She plopped down, ran her fingers through the moss, and just tried to exist. No snapping fans, no side-eyes, none of Mira’s invisible daggers. Just the trees and her pounding heart.

Guess what? Peace didn’t stick around.

At first, it was just a pop, a twig breaking somewhere too close. Then that smell hit, sour and raw, like wet dog and old blood. Crap.

Rogues.

Three of them crept out, eyes glowing like lanterns dipped in acid. They circled around her. Elora stood fast. She wasn’t a pushover; she had sparred with Dante, survived palace politics, and could throw a punch. But she was alone. No reinforcements. Not good.

One wolf lunged. She moved, thanking the goddess for muscle memory, sliced its shoulder open with those claws she barely liked to use. Yelping, it stumbled back. Another attacked her from behind, knocking the wind out of her like a sucker punch from the universe. She hit the ground hard, barely rolling away from snapping teeth.

The third bit deep into her arm. White-hot agony. She screamed. Blood-sprayed leaves. She tore free, claws raking, but it took something with it. Strength, probably.

Meanwhile, elsewhere, the drama was picking up speed. Dominic, in a mood, as usual, stormed away from Mira’s rooms. He heard of Elora's disappearance. Got that sinking, gut-clenching feeling. Off he went, ready to say all the stuff he had shoved down for months.

Dante, mid-training, stopped cold. The mate bond smashed through him like a ton of bricks. Her pain, his pain, all tangled up. No thinking, he shifted, tearing through the forest like the world was on fire.

Meanwhile, Elora was hanging on by a thread. Blood everywhere, vision blurring, bones feeling like wet clay. The wolves closed in. Maybe this was it.

Out of nowhere, Dante ripped through the treeline. Wolf form, huge, wild, eyes blistering with rage. He basically exploded through the first rogue, jaws snapping, necks snapping, you name it. Blood misted the air.

“Elora!” He half-shifts, not even registering he’s naked except for a hasty he had thrown on, and runs straight for her.

But from the other side, Dominic bursts onto the scene. Sword flashing like something out of a fever dream. Down goes rogue number two, quick and brutal.

The last wolf, desperate, takes a shot at Elora. It’s a blur, Dante’s claws, Dominic’s blade, and suddenly the forest is quiet except for Elora’s ragged breathing and blood dripping onto leaves.

Dante grabs her first, steady, urgent. “Elora, hey. Stay with me, okay?” His thumb brushes her cheek, eyes wild with panic and something softer, deeper.

Dominic’s next, glaring, voice spiky. “What were you even thinking wandering out here alone?” He wanted to hold her, tell her she would be okay, but his hand hovered uselessly in the air.

“I… I needed space,” Elora says, and it comes out all wispy and cracked.

Her knees go. Dante catches her, cradling her like she’s made of glass and fire at the same time. “Back off, Dominic. She needs care, not a lecture.”

“Oh, and you’re the only one who can help?” Dominic’s jaw looks like it might snap.

Their eyes clash, rage, heartbreak, all of it just hanging in the clearing.

“She’s my mate,” Dante growls, low, dangerous.

“She’s my wife,” Dominic throws back, cold as steel.

That cuts her worse than the bite. Elora tries to tell them to shut up, just stop fighting for one second, but everything tilts and darkness crashes down, fast and final.

Her last sight before blacking out was…