Chapter 69 Whispers of the High Court
The violet smoke of the Aether-Bloom was still clearing when the terrified shrieks of the Lunas echoed through the pavilion. They scrambled toward the exit, their silk skirts rustling like dry leaves as they pointed trembling fingers at Elara.
"Monster!" one cried, her voice cracking with horror. "The King has brought a blood-drinker into our sanctuary!"
Ronan ignored the fleeing noblewomen. His entire world narrowed down to the girl trembling in his arms. Beads of sweat had formed on Elara's forehead, and her silver-red eyes were wide with a frantic, fractured light. He pulled her flush against his chest, his golden aura acting as a grounding wire for her surging power.
"What the hell happened here?" Ronan’s voice was a low thunder that made the remaining furniture rattle.
Pandora, who had come within inches of feeling Elara’s fangs in her throat, was frozen. Her mouth worked soundlessly, her face a mask of pale, etched terror. She looked at Elara, then at the King, but the words died in her throat.
"Your Majesty," Draven’s voice cut through the tension as he strode into the center of the tent. His eyes were fixed on Elara with a disturbing, predatory focus. "I would like to take Elara with me. She clearly needs Northwood’s... specialized treatment."
The name hit the remaining Lunas like a physical blow. One of them—a quiet woman with platinum hair and bright, green beady eyes—gasped. "Elara? Isn't she the adopted daughter of Hector Northwood? The one they said was wolfless?" She leaned closer to her companion, whispering loudly, "What is a Northwood stray doing in the King's arms?"
Cierce gritted her teeth so hard her jaw ached, hearing the whispers ignite like wildfire. Pandora finally found her voice, sensing a chance to salvage the situation. "Yes... His Highness should give her to Draven. She is his subject, after all."
Draven’s gaze didn't leave Elara, who had her face buried in the crook of Ronan’s neck, her breath hitching. Cierce caught the hunger in Draven's eyes and muttered a venomous curse under her breath. “You bitch,” she hissed, directed at both Pandora for the failed plan and Elara for simply existing.
Ronan’s grip on Elara tightened. "And why, exactly, would I do that, Alpha?"
Draven’s jaw worked, his claws lengthening as Varkai roared for him to claim what was theirs. But before the confrontation could boil over, Elara pulled back. Sucking in a jagged breath, she forced her vampire side into a temporary, painful submission. She adjusted her mask with trembling fingers, her silver eyes cooling into a guarded hazel.
"I... I sincerely apologize for the accident," Elara said, her voice surprisingly steady. She looked at the lingering Lunas, her gaze firm. "I had my first shift only yesterday. I am still learning to control the... intensity of it. It was a lapse in judgment, nothing more."
The Lunas, desperate for a rational explanation that didn't involve a vampire massacre, seemed to grab onto her words like a lifeline. The tension in the air ebbed, replaced by the hushed rustle of resettling skirts.
Draven’s eyes flashed with rage at being ignored, but he remained silent, his pride stinging. Elara turned her back on him completely, looking only at Ronan. "What are you doing here? Weren't you supposed to be at the hunt?"
Ronan looked away, a rare touch of sheepishness crossing his features. “Tell her,” Fenrir grumbled in his mind. “Tell her you abandoned the Great Hunt the moment you felt her soul scream.”
"It doesn't matter why I'm here," Ronan whispered, his hand lingering on her waist. Matthew stood a few paces back, watching the perimeter with a grim expression.
"But you are the King," Elara persisted, her brow furrowing.
"And you are my—" Ronan stopped, clearing his throat and shifting his weight. "You are under my protection."
Draven heard the hesitation, and Varkai snarled within him. “Get our mate away from that golden lapdog!”
Cierce, watching the exchange, felt a fresh wave of murderous jealousy. She saw the way Draven looked at Elara, not as an outcast, but as a prize he would burn the world to possess.
"I’m tired of the luncheon," Elara said suddenly, her voice dropping. She turned to Pandora and gave a shallow, formal bow. "Lady Pandora, I apologize for leaving before the conclusion, but I find I need to rest."
Pandora’s smile was a stiff, terrifying thing. "Of course, Lady Elara. Do... rest well."
Elara nodded to the other Lunas and turned to leave. Draven took a step to follow her, but Ronan’s arm shot out, barring his path. The King’s eyes were cold gold. "Put a leash on your Luna, Draven. Else I will do it for you."
Draven’s face turned a mottled red. "Yes, Your Highness," he managed to choke out.
Once Ronan and Elara had vanished toward the royal quarter, Draven turned a lethal gaze on Cierce. She flinched, the blood draining from her face. "I would like to speak with you," he said, his voice a low, terrifying growl.
Cierce forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Yes, Alpha."
In the Northwood Tent
A sharp crack echoed through the tent followed by a scream. Cierce shielded her head as Draven slammed his hand against the table, the wood splintering.
"Stop!" she cried, but Draven grabbed her by the chin, forcing her to look into his glowing red eyes. Varkai was at the surface, his presence suffocating.
"You knew," Draven thundered. "You knew the masked woman and Elara were the same, yet you hid it from me? You let her stay in that man’s camp?"
Cierce spat at his feet, her fear turning into a jagged defiance. "Why are you still so obsessed with that outcast? She is already warming the King's bed! She is lost to us, Draven! Let her go!"
Draven raised his hand to strike her again, but halted, his breathing heavy. "For how long did you know?"
"It wasn't long," she yelled. "But does it matter? Look at her! She doesn't even smell like a wolf anymore. She’s a monster! She should be killed, not brought back!"
Draven let out a dark, manic laugh. He grabbed her by the throat, lifting her until her toes brushed the dirt. "Do you have a death wish? You are a placeholder, Cierce. A warm body until my real mate returned. Elara is mine. Varkai demands her."
He tossed her aside like a rag doll. Cierce crumpled into the corner, coughing and gasping for air. Draven looked at the broken furniture, his eyes narrowing. "The horse incident... that was your hand, wasn't it?"
"It’s her fault!" Cierce wheezed. "If she had just stayed dead in those woods, I wouldn't have had to!"
Draven smirked dangerously. "I have a reputation to keep here. I won't kill you in the King's camp. But when we return to Northwood... you will learn the cost of interfering with an Alpha’s bond."
\---
Inside, guards were positioned like statues at every entrance. Elara sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Arwen and Ronan stood by as Morrigan moved her hands in a slow, rhythmic circle over Elara’s head, her white eyes glowing.
"I'm fine now, really," Elara murmured.
Morrigan exhaled, her hands dropping. "The seal on your vampire side is intact, but it is... loose. Tampering with it is like trying to mend a glass heart while it’s still beating. It’s risky."
"Risky how?" Ronan asked, his brow furrowed. "Can't you just redraw the marks?"
"No," Morrigan said. "The seal was tampered with by a vampire long ago. As the Red Moon draws closer, the thirst will only intensify. Unless she learns to master the hunger herself, no seal will hold it back."
Elara’s heart dropped. The image of Pandora’s pulsing throat flashed in her mind. She didn't want to be the monster they whispered about. Ronan sensed her panic through the Twin Flame resonance; it felt like a cold shiver down his spine. He sat beside her, taking her hand. The warmth of his touch immediately calmed the storm in her blood.
"I’m here," he whispered. "If you are thirsty... feed off me."
Elara shook her head violently. "No. I won't drink from anyone. I won't be that."
"At some point, you will have to," Morrigan said gently. "For now, animal blood will suffice. But you must also stop neglecting your witch blood. It is the balance, Elara. If the witch remains dormant, the wolf and vampire will grow chaotic. The witch is the human anchor. If she turns stagnant, she turns evil."
Elara shivered. Lyra stirred in the back of her mind, finally awake. "We need to train, Elara. No more slacking."
Arwen hummed, her eyes thoughtful. "The hunt is only on its second day. Perhaps Elara should return to the palace now to continue her training in safety?"
"No," Elara said, her voice firm. She looked at Ronan. "We came together. We leave together."
Arwen smiled at her resolve. "If that is your wish."
Morrigan cleared her throat. "Your Majesty, I would like a word with the King... in private."
Ronan glanced at Elara, a silent question in his eyes. She squeezed his hand. "Go. I need to rest anyway."
Ronan stood, his grip lingering on her arm for a heartbeat longer than necessary. "I’ll be back," he promised.
Morrigan conjured three heavy, ancient grimoires from the air, setting them on Elara’s lap. "Keep yourself busy with these. They are beginners' guides to elemental channeling." Elara’s eyes lit up as she took the books. Arwen chuckled at the girl’s sudden enthusiasm before following Ronan and Morrigan out.
Once they had retreated to the privacy of the High Witch’s personal tent, Morrigan gestured for Ronan and Arwen to take their seats. She remained standing, her expression grave as the flickering candlelight cast long, dancing shadows against the silk walls. "Your Highness... regarding the Shadow King."
Ronan tensed. "Speak."
"I have not found a way to seal him," Morrigan admitted. "The Shadow King has waited a thousand years for this alignment. He does not just want your body anymore. He has found the catalyst."
Ronan gripped the edge of the heavy oak table, his knuckles white. The black veins around his eyes throbbed in rhythm with the lunar pulse. "Elara," he choked out.
"Precisely," Morrigan hissed, stepping into his space. "She is the Keystone. Her shifted blood is the purest conductor of magic this world has seen in centuries. The Shadow King will use the Red Moon to fully possess you, and then... he will drain her dry. He will consume her life force to shatter his cage and walk the earth in your skin. To save yourself is to kill her. To save her... is to let him hollow you out."
Ronan’s golden eyes flared, a desperate, feral light clashing with the encroaching dark. "I will not touch her."
"The moon does not ask for your consent, King," Morrigan warned.
Arwen frowned. "So we just wait for the inevitable?"
"I’m afraid so," Morrigan whispered.