Stories Untold - Elara

Stories Untold - Elara
Locking the door behind me, I slid down until my back hit the wall and my knees came up to my chest. The room smelled faintly of dust and old paper, comforting in a way that felt dangerous now. My fingers trembled as I opened the book, the worn pages already warm beneath my touch, as if it had been waiting for me.

I didn’t fight it this time.

I let the story take me.

The world shifted without sound. No rush of wind, no pull in my stomach—just a quiet unfolding, like stepping into a memory that had always existed and was finally ready to be seen.

Lima stood alone.

She was older now than the last time I’d seen her. Not frail—never that—but marked. Fine lines traced the corners of her eyes and mouth, etched there by years of watching, waiting, knowing. Her porcelain skin still glowed faintly, but the magic around her no longer danced. It hovered, restrained, sharpened into something deliberate.

She knew.

She had known for a long time.

Nathan approached her from behind, his footsteps familiar enough that she didn’t turn. His hand rested on her back, warm and possessive, fingers spreading just slightly as if to remind her he was there. His voice was soft when he spoke—gentle, even loving—but his thoughts… his thoughts were knives.

“I stayed,” I whispered, my voice barely existing in this place. “You stayed because of the pack.”

Lima’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. Not happiness. Acceptance.

She had stayed because the children laughed in the fields. Because the elderly trusted her. Because the wolves looked to her for stability when Nathan’s ambition grew restless and sharp. She had stayed because leaving would have broken more than her heart.

The scene shifted again.

Nathan spoke easily now, lies rolling off his tongue as smoothly as affection once had. He kissed her cheek, murmured promises about the future, about strength, about legacy. Lima watched him with sadness—not surprise. Never surprise.

“She let him think he was winning,” I murmured, the realization pressing into my chest.

This wasn’t a woman caught unaware.

This was a woman preparing for war.

My breath caught as the truth slammed into me with brutal clarity.

This wasn’t just a love story gone wrong.

It was a blueprint.

A witch binding her power to the man she loved, knowing—knowing—he would one day try to take it. Knowing that love twisted by hunger always turns cruel. And ensuring that when he did, the cost would be absolute.

“She planned it,” I breathed. “The binding spell wasn’t desperation. It was protection.”

The dagger beneath my shirt pulsed faintly, heat blooming against my skin as if in agreement. I sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly aware of the hum filling the room—not from the book alone, but from the resonance between the two objects.

They were calling to each other.

The realization dragged me back, the story dissolving as the real world forced itself into focus. The hum didn’t fade—it deepened. A low vibration that settled into my bones.

Then came the sound.

A heavy, concussive bang slammed into the far wall.

The room shuddered. Dust drifted down from the ceiling. My heart slammed into my ribs as another impact followed, stronger this time, rattling the reinforced door of the safe room.

I clutched the dagger to my chest and rose slowly, dread pooling cold and heavy in my stomach.

Another blow.

I moved toward the glass partition just as a familiar shape came into view.

Austin.

But not the Austin I knew.

Dark energy crawled beneath his skin, faint but undeniable, a sickly glow bleeding into the edges of his eyes as he struck the wall again with a force that wasn’t his own. Power rippled outward from him in waves, distorting the air.

My chest tightened painfully.

“Austin,” I whispered.

He looked up.

For a heartbeat, his eyes cleared.

Shock crossed his face—real, raw, horrified. He stared at his own hands like they were weapons he didn’t recognize, then at me, fear and apology warring in his expression.

Then he turned and ran.

Not away from me.

Away from the room. Away from the house. Away from whatever had taken hold of him.

The silence he left behind was deafening.

I slid down the wall again, my breath coming fast, my hands shaking—not with fear now, but with certainty.

Taylor hadn’t just followed Nathan’s path.

Someone—something—was repeating it.

And Austin…

My throat closed painfully.

Whatever was inside him wasn’t just influence.

It was inheritance.

I snapped the book shut, the sound final and sharp in the quiet room. My hands steadied as clarity settled over me like armor.

The packhouse might not be safe anymore.

The bond I trusted more than anything—my anchor, my constant—had been violated.

But I wasn’t powerless.

Not anymore.

I gathered the book into my arms and pressed the dagger flat against my ribs, feeling the pulse between them slow as if acknowledging my resolve.

These two items couldn’t stay together.

And Austin couldn’t fight this alone.

I wiped my face, squared my shoulders, and stood.

If dark magic thought it could turn me quiet—

It had chosen the wrong Luna.