Chapter 83 Burn the palace down
The Lycan Palace - Infirmary Wing
Matthew didn't believe in miracles... He had watched Ronan's heart stop three times in the two days since they dragged him and Elara from the forest. He had spent forty-eight hours watching the life leak out of his King.
Then, the air in the room had curdled.
A violent surge of violet light exploded from Elara’s unconscious form on the neighboring bed. It arced across the space like a living wire, slamming into Ronan’s chest. The sound was like a thunderclap in the small room.
Ronan’s body arched off the table. His lungs pulled in a jagged, whistling breath as the golden light of his Lycan heritage flared back to life, fueled by a power that wasn't his. The black veins on his neck receded. The wound in his chest knit itself together, leaving nothing but a faint, silver scar.
Ronan’s eyes snapped open... He rolled off the table. The maddening itch of the Red Moon was gone, replaced by a cold, heavy silence in his blood. The moon had set, but the darkness it left behind was worse.
"Ronan!" Arwen rushed to his side, her face pale and tear-streaked. She grabbed his arm to steady him, but he barely felt her touch.
His eyes immediately locked on the figure lying on the bed just three feet away. Elara.
She looked like a fallen statue. Her skin was a translucent, deathly white, and her breathing was so shallow it didn't even stir the air. But it was the feeling in the room that made the hair on Ronan's neck stand up. The air between their beds was humming, vibrating with a dark, predatory static.
"Elara," he rasped, his voice a ghost of its usual strength. He ignored Matthew’s frantic hands and lunged for the bed next to his.
"Don't," a sharp voice commanded.
Morrigan stepped out from the shadows near the iron door. "Stay where you are, your majesty. Every step you take toward her is a step toward her grave."
Ronan froze, his golden eyes narrowing into a dangerous glare. "What are you talking about? She’s breathing. She’s—"
"She’s a battery," Morrigan explained, her hands hovering in the air as if she were feeling for invisible wires. "Look at the air, Ronan. Use your eyes."
Ronan focused, and his breath hitched. A faint, oily purple mist was bleeding out of Elara’s pores, drifting across the gap and disappearing into him. He could feel the Shadow King inside his own chest, stretching and purring like a well-fed beast.
"The Shadow King was dormant," Morrigan whispered, her voice tight with calculation. "He was a parasite with no teeth until she awakened her bloodlines. But when she bit you, she fully powered him. She has become his power source."
Arwen let out a choked sob. "You mean... she’s feeding him?"
"She is keeping him alive so he can keep Ronan’s heart beating," Morrigan explained, looking at Elara’s slack features. "But look at the price. The closer he gets to her, the more the Shadow King hungers. He is pulling her soul into a trance to keep the conduit open. If Ronan touches her right now, the drain will double. He’ll be stronger than he’s been in a thousand years, and she’ll be a corpse before morning."
Ronan stared at his hands, then at the girl who had just sacrificed her consciousness to stitch his heart back together. The bond between them, the very thing he had spent months fighting for, was now the thing killing her.
"How long have we been out?" he asked abruptly, his voice dropping into a low growl.
"Two days, Ronan," Matthew finally spoke, stepping forward. His voice was shaky but professional. "The Forced Red Moon has passed. It broke about twelve hours ago, but the palace is still in chaos."
"The pack?" Ronan demanded, his eyes flashing. "Tell me the state of my people."
"Most are in recovery," Matthew reported. "The silver poisoning from the Nosferu weapons hit us hard. Luckily, the casualties were not much. The guards are on high alert, but without you... the Council has been trying to take control of the gates."
Ronan looked back at Elara. Two days. She had been in this grey void for two days just so he could breathe.
"The Silver Coven Council is already gathering," Morrigan warned. "They know she’s a vessel for the Shadow King now. They’ll want to move her to the High Tower. They’ll want to 'contain' the threat."
"Contain her?" Ronan turned, and the air in the room suddenly felt twice as heavy. The violet-gold light in his eyes flared with a lethal intensity. "They want to lock her in a cage after she saved this entire kingdom?"
"They see a weapon, your majesty. Not a girl," Morrigan said.
"Then let them come," Ronan growled, his voice vibrating through the stone floor. "I will not move from this room. And if any member of that Council tries to lay a finger on her, I will show them exactly what kind of monster she’s keeping alive."
He turned back to Morrigan, his face a mask of cold, regal fury.
"Clear the room. Matthew, get back to the gates. Tell the Council I am awake and I am not receiving visitors. Mother, I'll leave the court matters to you. Morrigan... find a way to wake my mate and seal that shadow bastard back into the hell it came from. Do whatever you have to do."
He reached out one last time, his fingers trembling as they stalled just inches from her cold cheek. The air between them hissed, sparking with a dark violet static that bit into his skin like a warning.
"I'm right here," he whispered, his voice cracking, the sound small and broken against the heavy silence of the infirmary. "Elara, please. Just... come back. Can you hear me?"
Inside the suffocating stillness of her mind, the Shadow King’s velvet voice didn't just speak. It purred, vibrating through Ronan's own marrow.
“She can hear you, King. But I’m the one holding the leash now. Every beat of your heart is a piece of her soul I've claimed as payment.”
Ronan jerked his hand back as if he’d been burned, his chest heaving. He was the King of the Lycans, a man who had survived a blade to the lungs, yet he was a prisoner in his own skin, forced to watch his mate fade because his very proximity was a poison.
"Clear the room," Ronan commanded. It wasn't a shout; it was a low, terrifying vibration that made the lead-lined walls shiver. He didn't look at Matthew. He didn't look at Arwen. He kept his golden, agonized eyes fixed on Elara’s frozen face.
"Find a way to wake her. Seal the shadow. Do whatever you have to do," he said, the violet light in his eyes flaring with a lethal, desperate promise. "Because if she doesn't wake up, I’m not just burning this palace. I’m going to give the Shadow King exactly what he wants and I'll let him tear the rest of this world apart with me."