Elara's breath came quick and heavy, her chest rising and falling with a peculiar rhythm as though her very blood had been set aflame. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, and though she didn't realize it, something much deeper stirred within her—a power, laced with rage, fed up and restless. But she couldn't tell where the power was coming from , and she couldn't be bothered enough to pay attention to it when she had a mission on her mind .
Knowing she couldn't slip back into the castle unnoticed with guards patrolling every corridor, Elara made a bold decision. She would approach the dungeons. The lycan—whatever he was—seemed to know her, and that knowledge was more valuable than anything else to her in that moment.
Her determination burned brightly, unwavering as she strode through the castle grounds. She was tired of the darkness that shrouded her past, tired of being surrounded by people who held pieces of her puzzle but refused to help her put it together. This time, she was going to take matters into her own hands.
As she walked, the world around her began to shift. The ground trembled faintly beneath her feet with each step, the vibrations low but violent. Objects in her path—flower pots, fallen branches, and scattered debris—rose momentarily into the air, hovering as if drawn to her presence before clattering back to the ground. Elara didn't notice any of it. Her thoughts were too consumed by her purpose to register the subtle chaos she left in her wake.
When she approached the dungeon entrance, her pace slowed. Two guards stood stationed outside, but only one seemed to notice her approach. His eyes widened slightly, but no words came. Elara braced herself, expecting resistance and already preparing her authoritative command. But something was wrong.
The guard remained utterly still.
Elara glanced at the second guard, and her stomach twisted. Frozen. Both were frozen—motionless as if time itself had stopped. She stepped closer, hesitant at first, and her gaze wandered to the rest of her surroundings. Every sound had ceased. No movement, no murmurs, not even the shifting shadows she had grown accustomed to. The prisoners in the cells she passed were trapped in mid-action, their breaths caught as if frozen in place by some invisible force.
A shiver ran down Elara's spine, but she pressed forward. Her mind tried to rationalize what she was seeing, but nothing made sense. Could this be the blessing of the deities? A curse? She didn't know, and she couldn't bring herself to care. Her path was clear, and she followed it without hesitation.
The further she ventured, the heavier her steps felt. As she descended the winding staircase toward the depths of the dungeon, a strange sensation gripped her. Her pulse quickened, her breaths shallower now. Something about this place was eerily familiar, and not in a comforting way.
She hesitated on the final step, her hands clutching her dress tightly. A chill passed over her, and suddenly, an overwhelming feeling washed over her—a sense of dread, of violence, of something terrible that had happened here before.
Elara clenched her fists, forcing herself to move forward even as her body protested. Then, like lightning, a scream tore through her mind. It was high-pitched and filled with terror—a scream that sounded unmistakably like her own.
She froze, spinning around to look back up the staircase she had just descended. The shadows seemed to loom darker there, almost alive. Her heart pounded violently, the echo of the scream still reverberating in her ears.
"No," she whispered to herself, shaking her head as if to banish the haunting sound. She had to keep moving.
Picking up her dress, she quickened her pace, nearly tripping as she rushed toward the end of the corridor. Her mind swirled with fragmented images and emotions she couldn't place, but none of that mattered now. She reached the lycan's cell, stumbling to a halt in front of the heavy iron bars.
She was exactly where she had wanted to be. But her thoughts were another story entirely.
---
Her breath hitched as she stood before the cell, the heavy iron bars separating her from the beast within. The dim light from the torches on the stone walls flickered, casting shifting shadows over the figure of the lycan. She had expected him to be frozen like everyone else, locked in the same eerie suspension that had gripped the dungeon.
Her brows furrowed as she took in the sight of him. He was moving. Slowly, but deliberately. His broad back, marred with wounds again, shifted as he stood, his towering frame turning to face her.
Wounds again .
The thought pricked at her mind like a whisper she couldn't quite catch. Did she know he had wounds before this moment? The familiarity unnerved her, but she didn't have time to dwell on it.
When the lycan finally turned fully, Elara found herself looking up at a man who seemed to radiate power even in his caged, battered state. His piercing blue eyes gleamed, though they weren't directed entirely at her—more like through her, as if he could see into the depths of her soul.
Her thoughts churned. What had brought him here? Treason? Rebellion? Whatever it was, Elara was determined to find out.
He was handsome, undeniably so, in a way that felt both dangerous and alluring. There was something about him that stirred a feeling deep within her—a feeling not unlike the one Theron evoked, but stronger, more intoxicating.
Darius gripped the bars, his large hands tightening as his gaze roamed over her. Elara felt a chill run down her spine. She was only wearing a thin nightdress, and under the weight of his gaze, it felt as though there was nothing between her and him.
Her eyes narrowed. She didn't say it aloud, but her expression spoke volumes : You are being a pervert.
The lycan's lips curved into a smirk, as though he could hear her unspoken words. It was a devilishly handsome smirk that sent her heart racing, though she quickly suppressed the feeling.
Elara's stomach churned with a mix of fear and resolve. She knew how absurd this situation was—standing here in the dead of night, in the dungeons, facing the merciless and ruthless beast. But absurd or not, she had questions, and she was going to ask them.
Summoning her courage, she tilted her head slightly, her voice steady despite the tumult inside her. "Have we ever crossed paths in the past ?"
For a moment, there was silence, save for the faint crackle of the torches. His smirk widened as his blue eyes gleamed with something she couldn't quite place. Amusement? Recognition?
Her gaze flickered to the staircase behind her, unease creeping in as she wondered what she had done. But then his voice broke the silence—a low, drawling deep sound that sent a shiver down her spine.
"You always tilted your head slightly when questioning something," he began, his words slow and deliberate. "Your pupils never dilated, but your eyes… they popped. And your eyelashes—" his gaze trailed to her face, "—would flicker, like a little dance. And your thighs would clench."Elara's breath caught, her body stiffening as his gaze dropped to her legs, lingering. "But it's technically your legs," he said, his voice deep and smooth.
"You always corrected me to legs," he added, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.