Elara
The fire had long since turned to embers, but I didn't move. I sat cross-legged on the rug in Lucien's room, the cracked feather from the Shadow Walker resting in my palm. The energy pulsing from it was faint, but twisted—once something pure, now warped.
"She was like me," I whispered again.
Lucien sat on the bed, shirtless, cleaning blood from his ribs. His gaze flicked to me. "And now she's a killer."
"She didn't want to strike a killing blow. She had the chance... but didn't take it."
Lucien's jaw clenched. "That doesn't mean she's safe."
"No," I agreed, standing. "But it means she's still reachable. I felt it."
I crossed the room to him and placed the feather on the nightstand. Lucien didn't look at me as I touched his shoulder, fingers grazing the healing gash there.
"I can fix this."
"It's already healing."
"Not fast enough."
He finally looked up, and gods—his eyes. Burning with that molten gold, wild and stormy. But underneath it… something softer.
He reached for me, pulling me between his legs. My breath hitched.
"Elara," he murmured, voice like dark silk, "you're trembling."
"I'm not afraid."
"Not of her, maybe," he said, eyes locked to mine. "But what about me?"
My heart kicked. "Never."
His hands slid up my thighs, slow and possessive. "You should be. I'm losing control every time I'm near you. One day, I won't stop."
"Then don't."
He froze.
I slid onto his lap, straddling him, arms circling his neck. "I don't want you to."
"Elara—"
"I want you," I said, voice steady. "Now."
The bond between us pulsed like a live wire, thickening with raw energy. Lucien's restraint cracked. He surged up, kissing me like he'd been starving, hands sliding beneath my shirt, possessive and desperate. I gasped against his lips as he picked me up with ease, laying me back against the bed.
There was no hesitation. No fear. Only fire.
Clothes vanished. Skin met skin.
Lucien's lips worshipped every inch of me, moving lower, slower, teasing until I begged. When he finally took me, it was fierce—claiming, grounding, anchoring me to him like he could tether my soul with every thrust.
His name broke from my lips like a prayer. Over and over.
And when I came apart beneath him, it felt like the stars themselves exploded inside me.
He followed with a roar, burying his face in my neck, arms locked tight around me.
After, we lay tangled in each other, breathless and quiet. I could feel the bond humming between us—stronger than ever.
"You're mine," he whispered against my skin.
"I always was."
---
We slept for only a few hours before Rowan summoned us to the library.
Kira and a few other warriors were already there, bruised but standing. The room smelled of old leather and burnt herbs. At the center of the massive oak table was an old, glowing map.
"I think I found her origin," Rowan said without preamble.
"Who?" Lucien asked.
"The Shadow Walker."
Kira leaned in. "She's not just some rogue assassin. She's tied to something ancient."
Rowan tapped the map. "This valley here. The Hollow of Veil. It's rumored to house one of the last remaining Blood Altars."
Lucien stiffened. "Those were destroyed centuries ago."
"Not all," Rowan said. "One survived. And if what Elara felt was right—if that girl was turned—it might have happened there."
I stepped closer, staring at the marked location. Cold trickled down my spine. The same cold I'd felt when the Shadow Walker touched me.
"I need to go there."
"No," Lucien said instantly.
"I need to understand."
"It's a trap."
"I don't care."
Lucien growled, stepping between me and the map. "You think I'll let you walk into a cursed valley full of ancient blood magic alone?"
"You're coming with me," I said softly.
His mouth shut.
Rowan raised a brow. "It's a three-day journey."
"We leave at dawn," Lucien said. "Take only who we need."
---
The rest of the day passed in a blur of preparations. I packed light—just my cloak, spell stones, and the feather. The scent of magic clung to it like a warning.
That night, Lucien didn't let me out of his arms.
"Promise me," he said softly as we lay in the dark, "if something happens—"
"You'll fight with me."
He nodded once. "Always."
---
Three Days Later
The Hollow of Veil
The air changed the moment we stepped into the valley.
The trees were dead. The ground cracked. And the magic—gods, the magic—was thick like smoke, ancient and heavy.
Rowan lit a crystal torch as we followed a faint path into the mist.
It wasn't long before we found it.
The altar stood in a clearing of blackened stone, surrounded by broken pillars and faded runes. At its center, a pool of shadow bubbled like oil.
Elara stepped forward, drawn to it.
"Elara," Lucien warned.
But I couldn't stop.
I knelt by the altar, placing the feather onto the stone. It flared to life with a hiss, shadows rising like mist, forming her face.
The Shadow Walker.
But she looked younger now. Softer. Unmasked.
She was crying.
And then her voice—broken and ghostly—whispered into the clearing.
"Help me…"
Lucien stepped forward, snarling. "What is this?"
"A memory," I whispered.
I reached out.
The moment my fingers touched the stone, a shock slammed into my chest, and I was gone—
Spinning.
Falling.
Into darkness.
Elara
Darkness wasn't just around me—it was me. It pulled me in, devoured thought and time, until I didn't know where I ended and it began.
But the moment I touched the altar, something ancient opened—like a door slammed off its hinges—and I fell straight through.
Into her memories.
---
The chamber was cold. Not with weather, but something older, something cursed. A circle of runes glowed faintly beneath my feet, thrumming in a pattern that reminded me of a heartbeat—fast, frantic, failing.
Stone walls, tall pillars, a dome of fractured glass that let in no light. And at the center…
A girl.
She knelt, shackled by iron laced with wolfsbane, arms trembling beneath the weight of something invisible. Her dark hair was matted with blood. Her skin glowed faintly, not with health, but with power—power that refused to die.
She looked up slowly. Her face…
Gods.
It was me.
No—not me, but similar. Her eyes were the same storm-silver, her jaw set in the same stubborn line. But older. Broken. Worn down by things I hadn't yet faced.
I stepped forward.
And then everything shifted.
---
The world melted, reforming around a memory not mine—hers. The room exploded in chaos. Flames danced along the edges of the stone walls. Screams echoed.
She stood now—no longer shackled, but surrounded.
Five robed figures circled her. Their magic lashed at her like whips, each strike stealing a piece of her light.
"You will serve," one of them hissed, "or you will burn."
Her voice cracked through the noise. "I was born to protect, not destroy!"
One figure stepped forward. "Then we'll remake you."
I screamed.
But the memory didn't stop.
They dragged her to the altar—the same one I'd touched—and carved something into her shoulder. A symbol. The same mark the Shadow Walker bore when she slashed at Lucien.
And she—my shadow—screamed until her voice was gone.
---
I staggered back, gasping, as the vision bled away. I was back in the present, but the pain lingered in my bones like frostbite. Lucien was shouting, shaking me, but I couldn't hear him.
Because I knew her now.
The Shadow Walker hadn't always been a killer.
She had been like me.
An omega gifted with rare, forbidden power. Someone the world feared enough to try and cage. And when they failed… they corrupted her.
She wasn't hunting us.
She was warning me.
---
"I saw her," I whispered as Rowan and Lucien helped me to my feet. "She's like me. They did something to her at the altar—they made her forget who she was."
Lucien's hand tightened around mine. "What exactly did you see?"
"She was a protector, not a monster. They bound her powers. Turned her into a weapon. That mark," I touched my shoulder, "it's not just a brand. It's a curse."
Rowan's face darkened. "Blood Altar magic is irreversible. Once corrupted, the soul bends—forever."
"Not if I stop it."
Lucien growled. "You are not risking your life for her."
"She's already dead," I said quietly. "But if I follow the trail back—if I find who did this—I might be able to undo it. I can stop it from happening again. To me. Or anyone else."
He didn't speak for a moment. Then: "You're not doing it alone."
---
That night, we set camp just outside the Hollow. I couldn't sleep. The fire crackled, and the wind howled like a voice calling my name.
Lucien joined me, his arms wrapping around me from behind.
"She's in pain," I whispered.
"So are you."
I turned to face him. "Do you think I'm cursed too?"
"No," he said, lips brushing my temple. "I think you're fire that refuses to burn out. And it scares the hell out of them."
"Does it scare you?"
His eyes locked with mine, golden and soft. "It ignites me."
I melted into his kiss.
This time, we didn't make love with desperation or hunger. We did it slowly, reverently—like we were stitching ourselves together in all the places we were unraveling.
And when I lay against his chest after, I felt safe.
But safety, I knew, never lasted.
---
Two Days Later
We arrived at the Moongrave Sanctuary—a hidden temple deep in the western ridges. Rowan believed the monks there might know more about the Blood Altar curse.
The sanctuary was carved into the side of the mountain, guarded by wards so old they crackled beneath my touch.
A priestess named Lyra greeted us. She was ancient, blind, and immediately turned toward me when I entered.
"You carry her mark," she rasped. "And the fire to break it."
I bowed. "Can you help?"
She led us into the temple's inner chamber. It was a vast dome covered in glowing runes.
"You must go deeper," she said. "To the place between soul and memory."
"A vision?"
"No," she said grimly. "A journey. One where you may not return."
Lucien stepped forward. "Then I go with her."
Lyra shook her head. "She must go alone."
---
I lay on a cold stone slab as the priestess began the ritual. Lucien knelt beside me, brushing hair from my face.
"If anything happens—"
"I'll fight my way back to you."
His lips brushed mine once. Then again. Longer.
And then I was falling.
Again.
---
This time, the world was all white.
No pain. No voices. Just stillness.
Until a figure stepped forward.
She looked like me. But her eyes were shadow.
"Why did you come?" she asked.
"To save you."
She laughed bitterly. "I don't want saving."
"But you cried out."
"I wanted to die," she said softly. "Not be reminded of what they stole."
I stepped closer. "They didn't kill you. They buried you."
Her form flickered. "Too late for me."
"No. Not yet."
I reached out.
She backed away. "If you try to take this curse, it will devour you."
"I'm not taking it," I said. "I'm ending it."
The ground trembled. The memory fractured. And she screamed.
But I didn't let go.
I grabbed her hand and dragged her back into the light.
---
I woke screaming, my body covered in sweat, Lucien's arms around me.
"You were gone for hours," he whispered, voice raw.
"I found her," I said.
He stiffened.
"She's still in there."
Rowan approached with wide eyes. "Elara, your mark—it's gone."
I looked down at my shoulder.
The cursed brand had vanished.
But something new had taken its place.
A glowing crescent, the symbol of the first Guardian.
The Shadow Walker's original mark.
She had given it to me.
A gift.
A warning.
And a promise.