Chapter 18

The Blackthorn warriors closed in, their eyes cold, their postures rigid with obedience.

Leon shifted beside Elara, his stance lowering instinctively into a fighter’s position. His ice-blue gaze swept the courtyard, calculating, measuring. He knew the odds were bad. So did Elara.

Draven took a step forward, his presence casting a long shadow against the firelit stone. The smirk curling his lips was one of triumph.

“You've always been reckless, Elara,” he mused. “Running into the dark, thinking you'll be the one to change the story.” He shook his head. “But the truth is—”

Elara lunged. She moved before he could finish, her dagger flashing in the torchlight, aiming straight for his throat.

Draven didn't flinch.

A hand snatched her wrist midair, twisting with brutal efficiency. Pain flared up her arm as she was wrenched off balance and shoved backward.

Leon caught her before she hit the ground.

The warrior who had stopped her stepped into the light.

Soren.

Elara’s breath came in hard, ragged pulls as she stared at him.

He held her gaze, his expression unreadable, but his grip had been careful. Not enough to break, just enough to stop.

Elara’s pulse pounded. “You knew.”

Soren exhaled through his nose, his jaw tightening. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Leon's snarl was low, deadly. “You always have a choice.”

Soren’s amber eyes flicked to him. “And what? Let Draven hunt you down like traitors?” His voice was sharp but not unfeeling. “You think | wanted this?”

Elara’s throat tightened.

Draven clapped his hands together. “Well, wasn’t that dramatic?” His smirk widened. “Now, are you done? Or do we have to make this more

unpleasant?”

Leon’s fingers brushed against Elara’s armsubtle, grounding.

Her mind whirled. They were outnumbered. Soren had already picked his side.

For now.

Elara forced herself to stand straight, lifting her chin.

She would not give Draven the satisfaction of seeing her shaken.

She was a Blackthorn.

“You don't want to kill me,” she said, voice even. Draven’s brow lifted. “Oh?”

Elara took a step forward, ignoring the warriors surrounding them, ignoring the way Leon subtly shifted to remain close. “You need me.”

Draven sighed. “See, this is what | don't like about you, cousin.” He gestured vaguely. “All this self-importance.”

Elara didn’t blink. “You wouldn't have gone to such lengths if | wasn’t important.”

Draven’s smirk twitched, but there was something colder beneath it. He knew she was right.

Leon's voice was low, controlled. “What do you want?"

Draven turned his gaze to him, and something in his expression hardened. “You.”

Elara stiffened.

Draven smirked at her reaction. “Oh, don't look so shocked, Elara. You knew this was coming.” He exhaled. “Leon Darkwood is a liability to you. To all of us.”

Leon tensed, his fingers twitching at his sides. Elara’s chest tightened.

“No.” The word left her before she could stop it.

Draven’s smirk didn’t waver. “Ah.” He tilted his head. “So it’s true, then?”

Elara clenched her fists. “You're not taking him.” Draven's gaze flicked between them, slow, calculating. Then he let out a soft chuckle. “You really don't see it, do you?”

Elara frowned. “See what?”

Draven’s smirk widened. “You're already his.”

The words slammed into her like a physical blow.

Leon's breath hitched beside her, barely audible, but she felt it.

Felt the weight of what Draven had just said settle between them like a live wire.

Elara’s heartbeat pounded in her ears.

“No,” she said, voice quieter now. “I choose my own fate.”

Draven let out a slow, almost mocking sigh. “How very noble of you.”

Then, with a flick of his wrist“Take them.” The warriors moved.

Leon reacted instantly, shoving Elara behind him as he struck out, knocking one to the ground. He twisted, his dagger flashing, fighting like hell itself had been unleashed.

Elara spun, narrowly dodging a strike aimed at her ribs. Her blade found purchase in another warrior’s shoulder—just enough to wound, not enough to kill.

But it wasn’t enough.

Soren grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms.

Elara snapped her head back, catching his jaw. “Damn it, Elara”

She struggled, but more hands grabbed her, forcing her down to her knees.

Leon was still fighting, his breaths harsh, his movements ruthless.

But there were too many.

Draven watched impassively as warriors restrained him, forcing him to the ground.

Leon snarled, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his ice-blue eyes locked onto Elara’s.

Draven crouched beside him. “You should've run while you had the chance.”

Leon didn’t speak. Didn't move. But his gaze burned.

Draven exhaled, standing again. “You two make this far more complicated than necessary.” He glanced at Soren. “Separate them.”

Panic clawed through Elara’s chest.

“No”

Leon fought.

They struck him hard across the ribs. He barely flinched.

“Elara!” His voice was sharp, raw.

She kicked against her captors, struggling against the hands gripping her.

“Leon!”

His gaze locked onto hers desperate, furious and helpless.

Then a blade slammed into the side of his head. Leon crumpled.

Elara screamed.

Something inside her broke, something she couldn't name, couldn't hold onto.

Draven turned to her, sighing. “There. That's better.”

Elara thrashed, her throat raw, but the hands on her wouldn't let go.

Draven knelt beside her, his dark eyes gleaming. “Now,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“Let's talk about your future.”

Elara’s chest heaved, her breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps.

Her vision blurred.

The last thing she saw was Leon’s unmoving form, blood dripping from his temple.

Then

Darkness.

A Fate Sealed in Blood

Deep in the Blackthorn stronghold, in a chamber locked away from the world, Elara stirred.

Her wrists were bound in cold iron.

A single candle flickered beside her, casting golden light against rough stone.

The scent of blood lingered in the air.

And across from her

Leon.

Unconscious.

His arms were chained, his head tilted forward, his breath shallow.

Elara’s pulse roared.

Draven's voice echoed from somewhere in the dark.

“You're going to learn, Elara.”

Footsteps neared, slow and deliberate.

His voice dropped lower, amused.

“You were never meant to be free.”