Chapter 20 It’s your fault!
Elara stared at the man crouched before her with wide, terrified eyes.
Her back was pressed hard against the cold stone floor beneath the bed. One hand clutched painfully at her chest as if her heart might tear itself free, the other wrapped around her body in a desperate attempt to hold herself together.
Ronan.
His massive frame was lowered to her level, shoulders hunched, head bowed slightly so he wouldn’t loom. Steam still clung faintly to his skin, his dark robe pooling around him like a shadow, but none of that mattered.
All she saw were his eyes.
Golden. Burning. Too intense.
Her breath hitched.
“Elara,” Ronan murmured.
His voice was different now. Gone was the thunder, the fury that had shaken the palace. What remained was low and careful, frayed at the edges, as if one wrong word might break her.
She shivered violently. Still, she didn’t move.
Arwen remained standing, composed but alert, watching every tremor in Elara’s form. The guards outside the chamber stayed where they were, while the maids lingered near the walls, unsure, hands folded, eyes wide as ordered. No one entered. No one spoke.
Arwen straightened sharply. Her gaze swept the room, cold and commanding. “Excuse us,” she ordered.fir now.”
No one hesitated.
“And if a single word of this leaves these walls,” Arwen added softly, “your heads will decorate the eastern gates by nightfall.”
Panic rippled through the servants. They fled in a rush of skirts and hurried footsteps. The elite guards repositioned themselves silently outside the doors, sealing the chamber.
The room fell quiet again.
Arwen lowered herself gracefully to the floor beside Ronan. “Elara,” she said gently, “you’re safe now. You can come out.”
Elara’s fingers dug into the fabric of her gown.
She shook her head.
Her heart was pounding too fast. Every sound felt sharp, magnified. She could hear the guards’ breathing outside the room. The crackle of dying candles. The steady, terrifying thud of Ronan’s heartbeat.
Too loud. Too close.
Then Ronan spoke again.
“Elara… please.”
Something shifted.
The moment his voice reached her, the noise dulled. The panic loosened its grip just a fraction. Warmth spread through her chest, slow and unfamiliar, wrapping around her like invisible arms.
She frowned, confused by the sudden calm.
Her senses felt sharper than they had ever been as they zeroed in on him. On the scent of pine and smoke. On the deep, steady rhythm of his breathing. On the way his presence felt… grounding.
Her body reacted before her mind could argue.
She inched forward.
Ronan didn’t move. Didn’t reach. He stayed perfectly still, as if afraid she might vanish if he so much as breathed wrong.
Their eyes met. Gold locked onto silver.
Arwen’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. "She hears only him," Arwen realized.
The thought unsettled her more than she expected. Elara lifted a trembling hand. Her fingers brushed Ronan’s fingers. And then, she recoiled violently.
“No!” Elara gasped, scrambling backward, her breath coming in sharp sobs. “It—it was you.”
Ronan froze.
Her words sliced through him.
“You caused it,” she whispered, tears spilling freely now. “You sent me into the woods. If you hadn’t—if you hadn’t made me fetch those herbs, I wouldn’t have been attacked. I wouldn’t have been bitten.”
Her voice broke.
“This is your fault.”
The words hit harder than any blade.
Ronan felt something tear inside his chest. He had carried the guilt silently for months, let it rot in his bones, but hearing it from her lips, raw and broken made him drop to his knees completely.
His hands curled into fists at his sides. “I know,” he said hoarsely. His voice cracked, and he hated that she heard it. “Elara… I know.”
He swallowed, adjusting his robe as if the simple act of breathing had become difficult. “Please,” he added quietly. “Come out. Let’s talk.”
"No..." She shook her head furiously, retreating deeper into the shadows beneath the bed, "Don't- don't come any closer..."
Fear spiked through the bond.
Arwen exhaled slowly. She reached out through the mindlink. "Ronan. Leave."
He stiffened.
"She needs space. And right now, you are too much for her."
Ronan looked at his mother, devastation clear in his eyes.
His mate was afraid of him.
Fenrir snarled, restless and wounded, but Ronan forced the beast down. He gave one last look toward the darkness beneath the bed.
“Elara,” he said softly. “I’ll be right outside.”
Then he stood and turned away. Matthew followed him without a word. The door closed behind them with a muted thud.
Only then did Arwen turn back to Elara. “You can come out now,” she said gently. “He’s gone.”
Elara hesitated.
When she was truly sure that Ronan had left, Elara crawled out from beneath the bed.
Her chest lifted off the floor slowly, muscles protesting as though they weren’t used to obeying her anymore. She moved stiffly, awkwardly, limbs not quite remembering how to exist in open space. Every sound made her flinch. Every shadow pulled her attention.
Arwen extended her hand. Elara stared at it for a long moment.
Her fingers twitched once… twice… then hovered inches above Arwen’s skin, trembling violently. When she finally made contact, her breath hitched.
Arwen tightened her grip just enough to steady her. Elara tried to straighten and immediately swayed, her knees giving out beneath her.
“Easy,” Arwen murmured, wrapping an arm around her waist before she could fall. “You’ve been asleep a long time. We’ll take you somewhere quieter.”
The guards parted silently as they moved through the corridors.
Elara walked between them like prey being escorted through unfamiliar territory. Her eyes never stopped moving. From tracing archways and listening to echoes, to memorizing exits. Every footstep behind her made her shoulders tense. Every flicker of torchlight felt like a threat.
The chamber Arwen led her into was smaller. Softer. The light was dim, filtered through moon-veined stone that gave the room a muted silver glow. The air was warm and still — almost too still.
The bath steamed gently at the center.
The moment the heat brushed Elara’s skin, she froze. Her entire body locked.
“No,” she whispered, backing away so fast she nearly tripped. “No water.”
Arwen immediately lifted her hands, stepping back. “Alright. No one is forcing you.”
But the damage was done.
Elara’s breathing fractured, chest rising too fast, too shallow. Memories surged without warning — cold water, hands pinning her down, voices telling her to stop struggling.
She folded inward, arms wrapping tightly around herself as she shook.
“You’re safe,” Arwen said firmly, grounding the words. “No one here will touch you without your consent.”
The maids waited, tense but patient, keeping their distance.
Minutes passed.
Then Elara nodded once.
Barely.
The first touch of warm water against her arm made her gasp sharply. Her muscles seized, breath catching painfully in her throat as instinct screamed at her to fight, to flee.
The maids moved slowly, deliberately — one hand at a time. No sudden motions. No voices.
Still, it was too much.
Too close.
The clink of a basin against stone rang too loud causing Elara to flinch violently.
Suddenly, the candles lining the chamber flickered. Not once but twice.
The air thickened, pressing in on her chest. The warmth turned suffocating. Her heartbeat roared in her ears as something else stirred beneath her skin — sharp, restless, furious.
The moon-veined stone beneath her bare feet pulsed faintly.
Silver.
Elara cried out, clutching her head as power surged without direction. The water in the bath rippled violently. Candles shattered against the walls. Somewhere beyond the chamber, guards cried out as an unseen force slammed into them.
Arwen spun. “Clear the room. Now!”
The maids fled.
Elara dropped to her knees, shaking, breath coming in broken sobs as her senses overwhelmed her. Too much sound, too much light, too much everything.
Then a faint, deep and foreign voice, yet entirely her own escaped her throat.
A low, trembling growl.
Not human. Not fully wolf. Not fully vampire. Not fully witch.