Elowen's POV “It’s more than that,” Ranon growled, his golden eyes darkening. “It’s an insult. To us. To our bond. He thinks he can just walk in here, make threats, and walk away?” He pulled me even tighter against him, as if to physically shield me from any lingering malevolence. “He thinks he can turn you against us. He thinks he can claim you.” The word ‘claim’ sent a shiver down my spine, but this time, it wasn’t entirely from fear. There was a possessive edge to Ranon’s voice, a raw, untamed protectiveness that resonated deep within me, echoing a similar wildness I was only just beginning to acknowledge in myself. “He again said my magic was different,” I whispered, almost to myself, the words a nagging whisper in my mind. “He said it was ancient, that it needed to be unleashed. That you would try to chain it.” Ranon scoffed. “Chain it? Never. Your magic is a part of you, Elowen. We want to understand it, to help you control it, yes. But never to chain it. We want you to be f
Elowen's POV “You had to,” I mumbled into his chest, the words muffled but true. They’d gone to hunt down the rogues, to protect the territory, to do what they had to do. “We should’ve taken you with us,” Alaric insisted, his hand brushing my hair back from my face, a gentle, comforting gesture. “Even if it was dangerous, you would have been safer with us.” “I told you I was fine,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. The words tasted like ash. I had lied, not maliciously, but out of a desperate need to not be a burden, to not be the reason they hesitated. “You lied,” Ranon stated simply, his voice devoid of accusation, filled only with regret. I let out a breath that was almost a sob, a ragged sound that tore from my chest. “I didn’t mean to. I just… I didn’t want to be the reason you didn’t go. I didn’t want to be a weakness.” His arms were around me a second later, pulling me against his broad, solid chest. Warm. Fierce. Binding. It was a possessive embrace, but one born of
Elowen's POV I don’t remember how long I stood there. The silence in the house, once a comfort, now felt like a suffocating blanket, each tick of the grandfather clock in the hall amplifying the unsettling quiet. The towel had long since dried against my skin, leaving a faint, rough imprint. My hair, still damp, clung in cool, heavy strands down my back. But my hands still trembled, a persistent tremor that seemed to originate deep within my bones, a physical manifestation of the psychic assault I’d just endured. Caelum’s words were a venomous echo, replaying in an endless loop within my mind. His voice, smooth as polished stone yet sharp as obsidian, haunted the silence like a storm echoing long after the lightning faded. I couldn’t unsee his face, the predatory amusement in his eyes, the almost pitying tilt of his lips. The certainty in his voice when he spoke of my magic, of my destiny, of a connection I didn't want to acknowledge. He’d looked at me like he knew something I didn
Elowen's POV “I never—” I began, my voice barely a whisper, the denial dying on my lips even as I spoke it. It was impossible. I would never have given him access. “You never did it consciously,” he interrupted, his tone maddeningly steady, almost compassionate, as if he were explaining a simple concept to a child. “But that night in the woods, when I carried you—your magic flared. You trusted me. Even if your mind didn’t. And the Academy remembered.” He was referring to the chaotic aftermath of the attack, when I had been gravely injured, my magic spiraling out of control. It was a hazy memory, shrouded in pain and fear, but I recalled flashes of being held, of a raw, potent power that felt both alien and strangely familiar. The thought that my own magic, my very essence, had somehow granted him access, bypassing my conscious will, was profoundly unsettling. It was a violation of the deepest kind, a breach of my internal sanctuary. I instinctively stepped back, my spine hitting
Elowen's POV Days passed like that.The oppressive silence after they left was a physical weight, pressing in on me from every corner of the spacious apartment. It was a silence that screamed their absence, a stark contrast to the usual comforting hum of their presence—Ranon’s low rumble of conversation, Alaric’s playful banter, Theron’s quiet, grounding energy. I missed them with an ache that resonated deep in my bones, a raw, exposed nerve. My insistence that they go to the pack meeting felt like a fool’s errand now. “Go. I’ll be fine.” The words echoed, hollow and mocking, in the sudden vacuum. How could I have been so naive? So complacent? Days of quiet healing, of stolen moments of peace, had lulled me into a false sense of security. I’d allowed myself to believe, just for a fleeting moment, that the chaos had receded, that we had found a rhythm again. I should have known better. The nerves, a familiar unwelcome guest, began their insidious crawl under my skin, tightening thei
Elowen’s POV The stars hung impossibly low that night, a shimmering tapestry of diamond dust scattered across velvet. They seemed to lean in, closer than usual, as if even the silent, ancient heavens were listening, holding their breath, eager to bear witness. The academy grounds below had long since quieted, the last vestiges of student chatter fading into the rustle of the night. Only the occasional flutter of a night bird’s wings or the gentle, rhythmic rustling of leaves in the hidden garden broke the profound silence. But above it all—above the whispers that still haunted the lower halls, above the aching tension that permeated every stone of the academy, above the distant, omnipresent hum of magic that permeated every living thing—was this place. The rooftop. Our place. A sanctuary carved out of the very heart of the academy, known only to a precious few, and now, consecrated by our shared secrets. I found him there, right where I knew he’d be, drawn by an instinct as old a