Chapter 16: Too Close

The shadow lunged. I slashed with the dagger, expecting it to cut through nothing. Instead, where metal met darkness, blue-white light erupted like sizzling oil. The creature recoiled, a keening noise filling the air.

The dagger now glowed, symbols etched into its blade lighting from within. I had no time to question it. The shadow regrouped and attacked from multiple angles. I spun, slashed, and dodged—the dagger trailing light in the darkness.

My back hit a stone column as the shadow loomed, tendrils reaching on all sides. I braced for a desperate strike, but before I could move, a blur tore through the creature’s center.

It was Connor. He landed crouched beside me, partially in his werewolf form—claws extended, eyes gleaming gold in the darkness, yet still mostly human.

“You felt it too,” I said, not as a question.

“Couldn't ignore it.” His eyes tracked the reforming shadow. “You were afraid.”

I didn’t have time to deny it. The creature attacked again, and we moved—together.

I had never fought alongside a werewolf before, let alone Connor, yet somehow I knew his movements. Our new bond allowed a shared awareness. When I slashed, Connor was already exploiting the opening; when he pushed the creature back, I flanked it.

We moved as one entity with two bodies, our coordination seamless, as if trained together for centuries. My blade etched wounds of light in the darkness—wounds the creature couldn’t mend before Connor’s claws struck.

The shadow screeched, its form dissolving at the edges. With one final, desperate attack—not at me, but at Connor—I sensed his intention in our bond a split second before, and saw him deliberately place himself between me and the strike.

“Connor, don’t—” I started.

Too late. The shadow’s tendril struck his chest, tearing through his shirt and leaving a smoking grey wound. Connor snarled in pain but didn’t fall. He thrust his clawed hand into the center of the shadow.

Light burst from the creature—from the wound my dagger had made. The shadow convulsed, then collapsed into itself, dissolving into the night air with a distant scream.

The sudden silence was louder than the battle. Connor staggered, hand pressed to his chest, and I caught him, supporting his weight.

“You fool,” I whispered as I helped him to a stone bench. “Why did you do that?”

“Instinct.” His voice was rough with pain, yet his eyes were clear. “Are you hurt?”

I shook my head, examining his wound. The gray was receding—werewolf healing countering the shadow’s magic. Relief flooded me; I knew he felt it through our bond.

“Let me see,” I said, gently pulling his hand away.

“It’s nothing. I’ve had worse from training pups.” Despite his dismissiveness, he let me inspect the wound.

The gray had faded to a faint line on his chest. My fingers traced its edge, feeling warmth return. Connor’s breath caught, and I realized how close we were—my body between his knees, my hand on his chest, his eyes fixed on mine.

“I hate that you always find me,” I whispered, unable to pull away.

“Because you’re always calling me.” His hand covered mine, warm and certain.

I wasn’t sure who leaned in first. The space between us shrank; I felt his breath on my lips. Logical reasoning aside, I wanted this.

“Elizabeth!” My mother’s voice cut through the moment. She stood at the terrace entrance with Lord Gustav and a contingent of guards behind her. “Step away from him. Now.”

Connor and I separated instantly, the spell broken, yet the memory of what almost happened lingered—tangible as the bond that had brought him to my side.

The Great Council Chamber filled quickly despite the late hour. Every noble vampire had been summoned to an emergency session by Lord Silverash. I stood near the back, still in my hastily chosen clothes from the attack. Connor stood at the center, surrounded by guards, his face unreadable, and I alone felt the tension radiating from him through our bond—a barely contained storm.

Lord Silverash took his seat at the table, his silver-white hair gleaming under the chandeliers. My father sat at the head, impassive, while my mother sat beside him. The other council members filed in, their expressions ranging from confusion to thin hostility.

“An attack on our very doorstep,” Lord Silverash began sharply. “Our wards breached, a guard killed, and yet conveniently, the Alpha of the Moon Hunters was present to ‘save’ us.”

Connor didn’t react, but I felt a flicker of cold anger through our bond.

“I’ve called this emergency session to address the obvious,” Silverash continued. “This was a staged attack, orchestrated by the werewolves to gain our trust or gather intelligence on our defenses. And we must act consequently.”

“That’s absurd,” I blurted before I could stop myself, drawing every eye in the room.

My father gave me a warning look. “Elizabeth, you may address the council when recognized.”

“With respect, Lord Blackwood,” Silverash pressed, “your daughter was found with the werewolf immediately after the attack. Her perspective is compromised.”

What? Was I considered part of the enemy now?