Sold to the Night Lord - Chapter 116: Chapter 116
You are reading Sold to the Night Lord, Chapter 116: Chapter 116. Read more chapters of Sold to the Night Lord.
It doesn’t matter what brought us together—what matters is that I felt we were.
And in their place, maybe I wouldn’t have acted differently.
I was a stranger who arrived in their lives like a gift for their son—and if I think about it, wouldn’t I have sacrificed myself anyway?
The day I almost ended my life, I chose this because I didn’t want it for them.
The dagger at Silas’s neck was a distraction—what they really wanted was to take Abigail from me. And they succeed.
It feels like they’ve torn a limb from my body, and the sensation only worsens when her honey eyes look at me as if I were her heroine—who just abandoned her.
I rise to my feet and fight the man holding her, but he slaps me across the face, knocking me to the ground.
My bones tremble from the impact, and still I find the strength to try again.
The scene repeats:
I get up.
I struggle.
A slap.
Back on the ground.
Cassian’s almost animal growls tear through my ears with each failed attempt I make.
His voice is in my head—shouting, pleading, begging me to stop.
Would he stop?
Did he, when he stood where I am now and saw his family die?
He, more than anyone, should understand that I can’t stop fighting.
Not until I am physically unable.
Maybe I’ll keep trying until then.
I get up again, try to take Abigail from her captor’s arms.
She kicks and scratches at any patch of skin she can reach, but when I get close, another slap lands across my face—this time clouding my vision in black.
The shapeshifter leader’s laughter echoes off the ceiling, and the sound makes me want to vomit.
My muscles tremble—they scream at me to stop.
“You have such a resilient spirit, dear,” she coos, “but everyone has a limit—and I intend to find yours.”
My limit is a little seven-year-old girl with a gapped smile and the biggest, most beautiful eyes in the world.
The storm around me doesn’t stop—no, it won’t spare me this pain. Instead, everything seems to slow down so I don’t miss a single detail of what will now haunt every one of my nightmares.
Ragna licks her nails, which by now look more like animal claws, and gives me a look whose meaning I already know: death.
“Don’t look, Elara! Don’t look!”
It’s too late for that—I don’t think I would have looked away even if I could have.
The claws cut through the air with inhuman speed, much like a vampire’s, and where once there was soft, velvet skin, there are now strips of bloodied flesh. Abigail’s face becomes unrecognizable in seconds, and Ragna has made sure her claws reach the neck, from which blood now pours endlessly.
The scream that claws its way up my throat is uncontrollable.
I hear cracking sounds, and for a moment I think it’s me—breaking from the pain.
It’s not. Instead, heavy chunks of metal fall at my feet, and I feel air filtering between my blood-soaked lips and lighter wrists.
My scream makes the walls tremble.
A strong body I would recognize with my eyes closed steps between us.
With his hands still restrained, Cassian tries to hold my face.
I look into his eyes—icy and blue—but it’s as if I don’t really see him.
All I can think about is vengeance.
“This is what she wants,” he whispers in my mind with the softest, sweetest tone I’ve ever heard from him.
“If you give it to her, she will have won.”
She can’t win if she’s dead.
His gaze drops, as if he’s beginning to realize there’s nothing he can do or say to stop me. In fact, I know something inside me has already changed.
He steps out of my way—I know it takes effort for him to appear weak.
My legs feel stronger from the adrenaline and from the barely hidden surprise on Ragna’s face at seeing I’ve freed myself from her pathetic toy.
I approach the man holding my sister’s body like a rag doll and before he can even think, I return all his slaps with a single one—strong enough to send him flying across the room.
I catch my sister’s body before it hits the ground and cradle it in my arms like the fragile, precious person she has always been to me.
I brush the hair from her face with trembling fingers and eyes blurred with tears.
I blink them away.
The torrent of blood at her neck has stopped and I can now distinguish different nuances in its scent.
I look at her chest—I’m well aware I won’t find any movement there, but I need to check.
I keep my eyes fixed on her still torso, and that’s when I hear something else break.
This time, it’s me.
My sanity, my restraint, whatever makes me human is shattering inside me, pouring liquid fire into my veins in the process.
A memory flashes—us walking through the castle gardens, how beautiful she looked in a place like that, as if she had been born to live among beautiful and luxurious things.
When she asked me if we’d go back to Ravag, I think she, in her young age, saw things I couldn’t.
When I told her I was starting to belong, there was no discontent in her eyes, no reproach—she just looked happy.
Thinking of her, her bright eyes, her innocent smile—it tears me apart.
Someone behind me chokes on whatever was about to come out of their mouth—it sounds a lot like a sob.
My head whips around like a lash cracking through air, and I see Eleazar standing, looking at me as if seeing me for the first time.
I pull my sister tighter against me, afraid someone might separate us.
I hear footsteps and my body shields Abigail’s, until I recognize Silas’s hands and allow myself to move slightly.
His face is colorless—just as lifeless as my sister’s body.
His features twist when he sees our little sister, his hands clench into fists, and I swear I’ve never seen such pain on his face.
“No… no…”
He shakes his head like that could make it less real.
My lips tremble as I try to hold back the sobs that only grow when Silas reaches us and takes Abigail from my arms.
He touches her curls just as I did and presses her against his chest, staining himself with blood.
I hear something snap, and when I look for the source, I realize I’ve broken a finger from clenching my fists too hard.
It doesn’t hurt—I think something deeper inside me hurts more.
Ragna’s eyes catch the moment and the corners of her mouth stretch into a satisfied smile that finally shatters my sanity.
If she thinks she’s won herself a new toy—she’s very wrong.
“It’s happening, isn’t it?”
The question isn’t directed at me—it’s to Evanora, who remains on the ground, half-sitting, with an expression of constant pain.
She nods slowly and instead of looking at Ragna, she looks at me, as if begging something of me.
“You’re doing so well, Elara. Just a little more.”
This time she is speaking to me.
At first, I don’t know what she means—until I see one of Ragna’s men heading for the last family member I have left.
My vision clouds, my reason disappears completely.
A growl escapes my throat that makes everyone hold their breath—even her men.
Without knowing how, I move as fast as one of them and position myself in front of the man who intended to kill Silas.
Driven by instinct, I grab his throat and lift his body off the ground.
His eyes widen with surprise.
I don’t think much before forcing my thumb in and crushing his windpipe.
Not satisfied with the sound of bone cracking, I keep pressing until my finger disappears into his flesh.
Blood splashes across my face and the similarity to Abigail’s death does nothing to soothe my pain.
In front of me I see two eyes rolled back and a chest no longer rising.
I drop the corpse—none of my body feels strained after holding him aloft.
In fact, my broken finger is now perfectly fine.
I turn toward Ragna, ignoring Silas’s terrified face and the others’ concerned expressions.
Cassian’s eyes burn into the back of my neck.
I take a few steps toward the shapeshifter and tilt my head as I look at her.
Does she really think I’ll obey?
How stupid can she be?
Her muzzle is broken, her magical shackles too—does she think she can restrain me?
Nothing will.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
My voice is hoarse from disuse.
“I’m going to make your screams my lullaby, you rabid bitch.”
Thousands of thoughts rush through my head, crashing into one another—
the lies, the betrayals, the faces of my lost family.
Everything seems to exist solely to feed my rage, and without knowing whether it’s me or something from Cassian, the entire hall starts to tremble and collapse over our heads.
Ragna’s neck veins bulge, and where there once was a slender figure, now stands a beast greater and more majestic than the rest of the shapeshifters.
“Elara!” Cassian shouts.
“Don’t let yourself be consumed.”
A laugh escapes me.
“I don’t think you’re the best person to talk about that.”
I don’t raise my voice—I know he can hear me.
“You, of all people, should understand me.”
I glance over my shoulder at him, and when our eyes meet, something happens that hadn’t before.
I see myself through him.
Through his eyes I see something I definitely am not.
My skin is covered in white veins that run all over me, my hair floats around me defying gravity, my eyes have turned completely white, and my face is twisted by vengeance.
I don’t recognize myself.
I see nothing of who I am.
I don’t see the human Elara.
And in their place, maybe I wouldn’t have acted differently.
I was a stranger who arrived in their lives like a gift for their son—and if I think about it, wouldn’t I have sacrificed myself anyway?
The day I almost ended my life, I chose this because I didn’t want it for them.
The dagger at Silas’s neck was a distraction—what they really wanted was to take Abigail from me. And they succeed.
It feels like they’ve torn a limb from my body, and the sensation only worsens when her honey eyes look at me as if I were her heroine—who just abandoned her.
I rise to my feet and fight the man holding her, but he slaps me across the face, knocking me to the ground.
My bones tremble from the impact, and still I find the strength to try again.
The scene repeats:
I get up.
I struggle.
A slap.
Back on the ground.
Cassian’s almost animal growls tear through my ears with each failed attempt I make.
His voice is in my head—shouting, pleading, begging me to stop.
Would he stop?
Did he, when he stood where I am now and saw his family die?
He, more than anyone, should understand that I can’t stop fighting.
Not until I am physically unable.
Maybe I’ll keep trying until then.
I get up again, try to take Abigail from her captor’s arms.
She kicks and scratches at any patch of skin she can reach, but when I get close, another slap lands across my face—this time clouding my vision in black.
The shapeshifter leader’s laughter echoes off the ceiling, and the sound makes me want to vomit.
My muscles tremble—they scream at me to stop.
“You have such a resilient spirit, dear,” she coos, “but everyone has a limit—and I intend to find yours.”
My limit is a little seven-year-old girl with a gapped smile and the biggest, most beautiful eyes in the world.
The storm around me doesn’t stop—no, it won’t spare me this pain. Instead, everything seems to slow down so I don’t miss a single detail of what will now haunt every one of my nightmares.
Ragna licks her nails, which by now look more like animal claws, and gives me a look whose meaning I already know: death.
“Don’t look, Elara! Don’t look!”
It’s too late for that—I don’t think I would have looked away even if I could have.
The claws cut through the air with inhuman speed, much like a vampire’s, and where once there was soft, velvet skin, there are now strips of bloodied flesh. Abigail’s face becomes unrecognizable in seconds, and Ragna has made sure her claws reach the neck, from which blood now pours endlessly.
The scream that claws its way up my throat is uncontrollable.
I hear cracking sounds, and for a moment I think it’s me—breaking from the pain.
It’s not. Instead, heavy chunks of metal fall at my feet, and I feel air filtering between my blood-soaked lips and lighter wrists.
My scream makes the walls tremble.
A strong body I would recognize with my eyes closed steps between us.
With his hands still restrained, Cassian tries to hold my face.
I look into his eyes—icy and blue—but it’s as if I don’t really see him.
All I can think about is vengeance.
“This is what she wants,” he whispers in my mind with the softest, sweetest tone I’ve ever heard from him.
“If you give it to her, she will have won.”
She can’t win if she’s dead.
His gaze drops, as if he’s beginning to realize there’s nothing he can do or say to stop me. In fact, I know something inside me has already changed.
He steps out of my way—I know it takes effort for him to appear weak.
My legs feel stronger from the adrenaline and from the barely hidden surprise on Ragna’s face at seeing I’ve freed myself from her pathetic toy.
I approach the man holding my sister’s body like a rag doll and before he can even think, I return all his slaps with a single one—strong enough to send him flying across the room.
I catch my sister’s body before it hits the ground and cradle it in my arms like the fragile, precious person she has always been to me.
I brush the hair from her face with trembling fingers and eyes blurred with tears.
I blink them away.
The torrent of blood at her neck has stopped and I can now distinguish different nuances in its scent.
I look at her chest—I’m well aware I won’t find any movement there, but I need to check.
I keep my eyes fixed on her still torso, and that’s when I hear something else break.
This time, it’s me.
My sanity, my restraint, whatever makes me human is shattering inside me, pouring liquid fire into my veins in the process.
A memory flashes—us walking through the castle gardens, how beautiful she looked in a place like that, as if she had been born to live among beautiful and luxurious things.
When she asked me if we’d go back to Ravag, I think she, in her young age, saw things I couldn’t.
When I told her I was starting to belong, there was no discontent in her eyes, no reproach—she just looked happy.
Thinking of her, her bright eyes, her innocent smile—it tears me apart.
Someone behind me chokes on whatever was about to come out of their mouth—it sounds a lot like a sob.
My head whips around like a lash cracking through air, and I see Eleazar standing, looking at me as if seeing me for the first time.
I pull my sister tighter against me, afraid someone might separate us.
I hear footsteps and my body shields Abigail’s, until I recognize Silas’s hands and allow myself to move slightly.
His face is colorless—just as lifeless as my sister’s body.
His features twist when he sees our little sister, his hands clench into fists, and I swear I’ve never seen such pain on his face.
“No… no…”
He shakes his head like that could make it less real.
My lips tremble as I try to hold back the sobs that only grow when Silas reaches us and takes Abigail from my arms.
He touches her curls just as I did and presses her against his chest, staining himself with blood.
I hear something snap, and when I look for the source, I realize I’ve broken a finger from clenching my fists too hard.
It doesn’t hurt—I think something deeper inside me hurts more.
Ragna’s eyes catch the moment and the corners of her mouth stretch into a satisfied smile that finally shatters my sanity.
If she thinks she’s won herself a new toy—she’s very wrong.
“It’s happening, isn’t it?”
The question isn’t directed at me—it’s to Evanora, who remains on the ground, half-sitting, with an expression of constant pain.
She nods slowly and instead of looking at Ragna, she looks at me, as if begging something of me.
“You’re doing so well, Elara. Just a little more.”
This time she is speaking to me.
At first, I don’t know what she means—until I see one of Ragna’s men heading for the last family member I have left.
My vision clouds, my reason disappears completely.
A growl escapes my throat that makes everyone hold their breath—even her men.
Without knowing how, I move as fast as one of them and position myself in front of the man who intended to kill Silas.
Driven by instinct, I grab his throat and lift his body off the ground.
His eyes widen with surprise.
I don’t think much before forcing my thumb in and crushing his windpipe.
Not satisfied with the sound of bone cracking, I keep pressing until my finger disappears into his flesh.
Blood splashes across my face and the similarity to Abigail’s death does nothing to soothe my pain.
In front of me I see two eyes rolled back and a chest no longer rising.
I drop the corpse—none of my body feels strained after holding him aloft.
In fact, my broken finger is now perfectly fine.
I turn toward Ragna, ignoring Silas’s terrified face and the others’ concerned expressions.
Cassian’s eyes burn into the back of my neck.
I take a few steps toward the shapeshifter and tilt my head as I look at her.
Does she really think I’ll obey?
How stupid can she be?
Her muzzle is broken, her magical shackles too—does she think she can restrain me?
Nothing will.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
My voice is hoarse from disuse.
“I’m going to make your screams my lullaby, you rabid bitch.”
Thousands of thoughts rush through my head, crashing into one another—
the lies, the betrayals, the faces of my lost family.
Everything seems to exist solely to feed my rage, and without knowing whether it’s me or something from Cassian, the entire hall starts to tremble and collapse over our heads.
Ragna’s neck veins bulge, and where there once was a slender figure, now stands a beast greater and more majestic than the rest of the shapeshifters.
“Elara!” Cassian shouts.
“Don’t let yourself be consumed.”
A laugh escapes me.
“I don’t think you’re the best person to talk about that.”
I don’t raise my voice—I know he can hear me.
“You, of all people, should understand me.”
I glance over my shoulder at him, and when our eyes meet, something happens that hadn’t before.
I see myself through him.
Through his eyes I see something I definitely am not.
My skin is covered in white veins that run all over me, my hair floats around me defying gravity, my eyes have turned completely white, and my face is twisted by vengeance.
I don’t recognize myself.
I see nothing of who I am.
I don’t see the human Elara.
End of Sold to the Night Lord Chapter 116. Continue reading Chapter 117 or return to Sold to the Night Lord book page.