Chapter 89

Elora's pov.

The forest was too quiet as Dante and I rode the ridge road. Pine, old smoke, the kind of air that says the border fires are burning down, never a good sign if you’re hoping for a peaceful night. His horse plodded ahead of mine, hooves sounding steady enough, but Dante’s back was stiff as a poker. The guy wore tension like a second skin. War does that to people, burrows right into the bones.

“Scouts saw movement east,” Dante tossed back at me, voice short and sharp. “Tracks, no blood. Not a fan.”

I snorted. “You hate anything you can’t wrap your claws around,” I shot back, nudging my mare to nose up beside him.

He shot me a look, like he was trying to x-ray my soul. “You should’ve stayed at the stronghold. Council’s orders...”

“Council can bite me,” I cut in, keeping it soft but not apologetic. “I don’t lead from behind stone walls.”

He let out this grumbly sigh, somewhere between annoyed and was that pride? “You’re starting to sound like Dominic.”

That shut me up. Wind slapped my cloak around, cold and honest. Dominic, he’d been missing in action lately, healing, but not himself. I’d seen the look in his eyes. Haunted and guilty.

We hit the crest overlooking the eastern posts. Down below, torchlight flickered, barely enough. Sentries spotted us and their faces cracked open with relief. We ditched the horses at the trees.

“Anything up?” Dante barked at the captain.

“Quiet, Beta. Too quiet.” Guy’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Tracks, scattered. Could be deer.”

Dante crouched, fingers sweeping the dirt. His jaw went granite. “Not deer. Wolves.”

My gut dropped. “Our pack?”

He glanced up, eyes hard. “No. Rogues.”

Didn’t even get a chance to let that settle. The air snapped, primal, electric, every hair on my neck standing to salute. Then the whistle. Arrow flying in from the dark.

“Down!” Dante shouted.

I hit the deck just in time. Arrow thunked into the post, still humming. Chaos exploded, shouts, steel ringing, shadows bursting from the trees. Rogues. Not hungry, desperate types, these ones moved with purpose. I yanked my blade free and braced myself.

The first one came at me, teeth bared, eyes crazy. I dodged, drove my dagger up under his ribs. He went down gurgling. Dante’s voice cut through the mess, steady as ever, barking orders.

We tried, but there were too many. Rogues slipped right through our defenses, like they’d studied a blueprint. Mira’s work, no question. The angles, the distractions, it was her playbook. My chest squeezed. She’d set us up.

I spun, hunting for Dante. He was close, blade flashing, dropping two rogues in one go. Then another one leaped out from the rocks, mean and fast, knife up.

“Dante!”

He turned...too late. I ran, but he shoved me aside, took the hit meant for me. Blade slashed his ribs, an ugly, wet sound. Dante staggered, killed the rogue with a savage swipe, then dropped to one knee.

“Dante...no!” I slid in, grabbing him just as he listed. His shirt was soaked, blood slick, and hot on my hands.

“Not... my best move,” he joked, though his teeth were clenched.

“Shut up.” I pressed my palm to the wound. “Don’t try to be a hero now.”

Blood everywhere...on me, on the dirt, probably halfway to soaking the roots. I tore off my robe and pressed it against the cut, praying it’d slow the bleeding. Around us, battle still raged.

He tried to talk, breath all ragged. “You shouldn’t...”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” My voice shook, but I forced it to be calm. “You saved my ass. Now let me save yours.”

He grabbed my wrist, grip weak. “You’re shaking.”

“So are you, genius.”

He tried to laugh, but winced instead. “You’re impossible.”

“That’s the point. Means I’m not dead yet.”

I looked up. Rogues were running, melting into the dark. Our fighters chased, but screw that...I only cared about Dante, pale as moonlight, jaw clamped tight.

“Stay with me,” I whispered. “You hear me? Stay.”

He looked at me, and this time, it wasn’t just a glance, it was like he saw right through me. “You really shouldn’t care this much,” he muttered, super low.

I swallowed, throat tight. “Yeah, maybe I shouldn’t.”

Those words just hung there. Heavy. Breakable. I pressed the rag harder to his side, feeling his heart, it was skipping all over the place under my hands. The world outside was all madness, but right then, honestly, the only thing that existed was him. Right here. Bleeding, cursing quietly, alive. The tiny gap between our breaths. The heat of his skin. That weird, magnetic pull that, honestly, scared me more than any sword swinging in my direction ever could.

“Told you,” he breathed out, trying to smile. “You’re going to burn yourself out.”

I almost laughed. “And I told you it doesn’t matter.”

The torches flickered, wind sneaking through the trees, and suddenly the whole forest felt still. I could feel his breath near my cheek shaky, but hanging in there. My hand stayed glued to his ribs, and then his fingers moved over mine, barely touching.

We didn’t say anything else. Didn’t have to. The silence did all the talking.

When the shouting finally died down, I yelled for help. Someone grabbed a stretcher. The guards showed up, looking like they’d seen a ghost when they spotted Dante. We raised him, carried him over to where the horses waited at the top of the ridge. His blood got everywhere, on my hands, under my nails, probably in my soul if that’s a thing.

Riding back, he was sprawled in front of me on the saddle, head leaning against my shoulder. Still breathing, just barely, but alive. I brushed his hair back, whispering.

“Don’t you dare leave me,” I said, voice barely more than a breath. “You hear me? Not you.”

He shifted a little, cracked his eyes open. “Didn’t plan on it.”

And as we rode under the moon, with fear and blood thick in the air, I finally admitted it to myself, I was in too deep.