Chapter 17
Elara's POV
I stood there collecting my sparring gear, hands moving on autopilot while my brain tried to process what the hell just happened.
Kael Harrington had stopped Sophia from clawing my face.
Why?
In the forest last night, he'd watched me stumble away without a word. Let me go like I wasn't worth the effort.
Today he crossed that gym floor in three strides and grabbed Sophia's wrist hard enough to make her gasp.
I shoved my water bottle into my bag, trying to look normal. Casual. Like my thoughts weren't spinning in circles.
Maybe he just hated rule-breakers. Alphas like him—born into power, raised on hierarchy—they got off on maintaining order. Sophia breaking Coach Warren's rules probably pissed him off more than any actual concern for me.
That made sense.
Except I'd seen his face in that split second before he went cold again. Seen something that looked almost like—
My left wrist flared hot.
I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, tasting copper. The rune cuff was rejecting this body, or maybe the body was rejecting it. Either way, I'd pushed it too far during that fight and now it felt like someone was holding a blowtorch against my bones.
Fuck.
I needed to get out of here before anyone noticed my hands shaking.
"Elara?"
Chloe's voice. I looked up too fast, probably looked guilty as hell.
She was hovering near the door, blonde hair damp with sweat, green eyes worried. "You okay? You look really pale."
"Bathroom," I said. Voice came out rougher than I meant. "Need to—just give me a minute."
Her face scrunched up. "Want me to come with you?"
"No. I'm fine. I'll catch up."
She didn't look convinced but she nodded and headed out with the last few stragglers.
The second the gym door swung shut, I moved.
The bathroom was empty, thank God. I locked myself in the furthest stall and yanked up my left sleeve.
The skin around the cuff was angry red. Like a fresh burn that hadn't quite blistered yet.
I leaned back against the cold metal divider and focused on breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. The old technique, the one I'd drilled into muscle memory for twenty years.
Except this wasn't my body. Not really.
This was Elara's. Seventeen, asthmatic, never shifted, probably never would. So fragile I could feel my own ribs when I breathed too deep.
And I'd just used ancient rune magic on it like it could handle the load.
Stupid. So fucking stupid.
The burn started to fade—slowly. I kept my eyes closed and made myself think through the problem instead of just reacting to the pain.
Beating Sophia today had been necessary. Couldn't let her walk all over me, not if I wanted any chance at survival.
But it had also been reckless.
The cuff had given me just enough edge to read her moves, to time that sweep. Without it, I'd have been on my ass in thirty seconds.
With it, I'd won.
And now my body was screaming at me for it.
I needed to get stronger. Fast.
In my old life, I'd spent ten years turning my body into a weapon. Trained until my muscles gave out, pushed past every limit until there were no limits left.
I didn't have ten years now.
Hell, I might not even have a week before the Wild Hunt tracked me here.
When they came, this body needed to be strong enough to at least run.
I opened my eyes, staring at graffiti carved into the stall door. Someone had scratched "SOPHIA SUCKS" into the paint.
Huh. Guess I wasn't the only one who hated her.
I rolled my sleeve back down, made sure the cuff was hidden, and unlocked the stall. My reflection in the mirror looked like death—pale, hollow-eyed, hair falling out of its ponytail.
I splashed cold water on my face. Fixed my hair. Tried to look less like I'd just barely survived a meltdown.
The hallway was mostly empty when I walked out. Late afternoon sun slanted through the windows, turning everything gold and hazy.
I headed for the main exit, already planning. Cardio first—this body's stamina was complete shit. Then strength work. Basic combat drills in my room at night where nobody could see.
I'd have to be careful. Couldn't draw attention. Couldn't let anyone catch me doing anything that looked too skilled.
But I could run. I could do bodyweight exercises. I could—
"Elara. Wait."
I stopped so fast I almost tripped.
Blythe stepped out from the side hallway, blocking my path. Afternoon light caught in his golden-brown hair, made his blue eyes look almost warm.
He was smiling. That easy, charming smile.
It made my skin crawl.
"We need to talk," he said. Voice friendly. Casual. Like we were still friends.
I stared at him. Remembered the diary entries. Years of Elara knitting that stupid scarf, waiting for him to notice her, letting him use her feelings like a security blanket.
Remembered how he'd locked her in that storage room and walked away.
"I'm busy," I said.
"It'll just take a minute." Still smiling.
I moved to step around him. He shifted left, blocking me again.
My patience, already worn thin from the fight and the rune burn, snapped.
"Get out of my way."
His eyebrows went up. Genuine surprise. "Whoa. I'm just trying to be nice here—"
"I don't have time for this." I tried to go right. He moved with me.
"Elara, come on. You've been avoiding me for weeks. Won't answer my texts. Acting like I'm some kind of stranger when we've known each other since we were kids—"
"Move, Blythe."
"Not until you talk to me." His voice shifted. Less friendly now. More demanding. "What's your problem lately? You've been acting really weird and I don't—"
"My problem?" I cut him off. Kept my voice flat. "I don't have a problem. I just don't want to talk to you."
His jaw tightened. "That's not fair. I care about you—"
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do." He stepped closer. Not threatening exactly, but definitely invading my space. "We're friends, Elara. We've always been friends."
Friends.
Right.
Friends who left you to suffocate in a locked room.
I looked at him—really looked at him—and felt nothing but contempt.
"We're not friends," I said quietly. "We never were."
His face did something complicated. Hurt, then anger, then back to that concerned expression he probably practiced in mirrors.
"You don't mean that."
"Yeah, I do. Now move."
"Elara—"
I sidestepped him, my shoulder brushing his pointedly as I moved past.
He grabbed my arm. Not hard. Not violent. But enough to stop me.
"Let go," I said.
"Just listen for one second—"
"Let. Go."
Something in my voice must've registered because his hand dropped.
But he didn't move out of the way.
We stood there in the hallway, afternoon sun streaming through the windows, and I could see him trying to figure out his next move. Trying to find the right words to make me fall back into line.
"You've changed so much," he said finally. Almost wondering. "What happened to you?"
I died, I thought. And someone else came back.
Out loud, I said nothing.
His expression shifted again. The anger bled away, replaced by something that might've looked like concern if I didn't know better.
"Look," he said, voice dropping to that soft, reasonable tone. "I know things got complicated between us. And I'm sorry about the storage room, okay? I really am. But you can't just shut me out like this. We have history."
History.
A history of him taking and her giving until there was nothing left.
I looked at him standing there in his expensive jacket with his perfect hair and his practiced expressions.
He wasn't dangerous. Not like Sophia with her claws and her vindictive streak. Not like Kael with his Alpha power.
Blythe was just pathetic.
A boy who'd gotten used to being worshipped and couldn't handle losing his favorite devotee.
And right now, with my body screaming and my mind already three steps ahead to survival plans, I didn't have the energy for his ego.
"I need to go home," I said.
"Elara, come on—"
"I'm tired. I hurt. And I really need you to move."