Chapter 8 8. Chapter
Aurora
Elijah’s pressure and harsh warning managed—barely—to slow the bleeding, but there was no escaping the venom. As we pushed deeper into the forest, the shadows thickening around us, my legs stopped behaving like my own. Each step felt like dragging concrete through mud. My muscles no longer obeyed commands; they resisted them.
My head throbbed with a savage rhythm, each pulse a hammering blow against my skull. The pine trees blurred together. Elijah’s dark silhouette, once sharply defined by dominance, wavered at the edges like a fading memory. The venom that the fanatic had injected into me wasn’t behaving like any vampire toxin I had been trained to expect. According to the Clan’s records, vampire venom was typically numbing, disorienting—but survivable until treated.
But in me, the pain was sharp, overwhelming, tearing through my nervous system like jagged lightning.
It was as if my weakness—my lack of elemental power—left my body defenseless against it. There was nothing buffering the poison’s assault. No magic to weaken its effects. No inner fire to counteract it. I was experiencing the venom raw, unfiltered, in its most brutal form.
“Faster,” Elijah ordered from ahead. His voice was deep, steady now—stripped of the earlier fury. What remained was cold, merciless purpose.
“I’m trying…” I whispered, though the effort to speak cost me precious breath. My neck burned as though a brand had been pressed into it. Every heartbeat felt like a needle driving into my nerves.
The dizziness worsened, turning the world into an unstable tilt of trees and shadows. Slowly, with a crawling sense of dread, I realized the truth:
I wasn’t merely weakened.
The venom was shutting down my central nervous system.
Piece by piece.
Thought by thought.
Breath by breath.
Only discipline and stubbornness—the two things beaten into me through years of hunter training—kept my body moving. My red hair clung to my face, damp with sweat. My vision tunneled, my green eyes frantically searching for stable ground so I wouldn’t stumble.
I cannot stop.
If I stop, I die.
And if I die, the Sovereign wins.
Staggering, leaning forward as though gravity itself intended to crush me, I followed Elijah’s tall figure. He, too, bore the scars of the earlier fight, but being a vampire meant his regeneration was already underway. Even his breath seemed steadier.
I felt the contrast like a blade:
He was strength regained.
I was strength unraveling.
Then, without warning, the darkness swallowed me entirely.
My knees buckled. The ground vanished beneath my feet. There was no time to reach for my dagger, no chance to catch myself. And a protective barrier—something any elemental hunter could have summoned—was forever beyond my reach.
I fell.
Cold pine needles, damp soil, and rough tree roots caught me with merciless finality. The world drifted away from me like a receding tide. My consciousness peeled back layer by layer.
The venom had won.
My lack of elemental power had delivered the final blow.
The last sensation I felt was the cold, moist forest floor pressing against my cheek.
When awareness finally returned, the world still spun—but faint warmth cocooned me. Something soft cushioned my head. A steady, rhythmic motion carried me upward and forward. Not walking—being carried.
Blinking hard against the dizziness, I forced my eyes open.
Moonlight filtered weakly through the dense canopy above, and through that pale glow, a shocking sight formed.
Elijah was holding me.
The Sovereign of the Vampire Clans.
The head of the High Council.
A hunted king stripped of his throne.
He carried me in his arms as if I weighed nothing. One arm under my knees, the other supporting my back. My head rested against the ruined elegance of his black suit—now smeared with ash and flecked with my blood.
“Don’t you dare die, Hunter,” his voice rumbled near my ear, deep and ragged. “Not now—especially not when your pathetic weakness is the reason I have to carry you.”
“W–what…” My voice rasped, barely more than a breath.
“You fainted. Like a bloodless child.” His tone dripped with contempt, yet his footing remained firm, unwavering. “I had no choice. Leave you there, and you would’ve bled out or been found by the fanatics. And I need you alive—until I understand how you caused my downfall.”
The forced intimacy was unbearable. Even through the venom haze, I felt his body heat, the solid muscle beneath the fabric, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he moved. The absurdity of the situation hit me with a fresh wave of panic—Elijah, my sworn enemy, holding me as though I were fragile.
And I was.
The venom, the exhaustion, the humiliation—all of it crashed down. But fatigue was stronger than pride. Stronger than fear. My limbs grew heavy again. My eyelids drooped.
With the bitter knowledge that I was suspended in the arms of the one I should have feared most, I let consciousness slip away once more.
I didn’t have the strength to resist.