Sold to the Night Lord - Chapter 118: Chapter 118

His sister is fighting a wolf twice the size of any shapeshifter and four times his sister’s size—and he chooses this moment to refuse my help.
My fingers dig into his arm and I glare at him.
“The fault lies with the one fighting your sister—and if we don’t hurry, it might cost her her life too. So you decide: do you want to keep arguing, or do you let me get you out of here so I can go back and help her?”
He takes longer than I’d like to respond.
I force him to grab onto me while still clutching his sister’s lifeless body.
I find it hard to look at the little girl—apart from her sister, she’s the only Voss I ever tolerated—because I’m one hundred percent sure Silas and I will never get along.
Casting one last look toward Elara, I start running with her brother.
No one stops us on our way out. Most of the shapeshifters are outside battling ours—and the number of corpses on both sides shows that neither has the upper hand.
The castle, already in ruins, continues collapsing under Elara’s uncontrolled power. Being inside isn’t safe, so I take Silas outside, to the blood-stained shore.
I scan the area for somewhere distant and hidden enough to keep him safe while the battle unfolds.
I don’t hesitate when I see some rock formations—I drag him with me and hide him behind them.
“Do you feel that?” I ask once I let him down.
I extend my power toward him and whisper my thoughts into his mind.
His face is unreadable except for a slight furrow between his brows.
"Every few minutes I’ll do that again, and I want you to respond so I know you’re still in one piece."
“What was that?”
“That’s my gift, human. One of them.”
I step back. “Do you understand?”
He doesn’t respond, just nods and looks away.
When I retrace my path and re-enter the interior, everything looks even more shattered. Maybe I was outside for five minutes, but there’s barely any time left for this place. Parts of the ceilings have fallen onto the stairs in the foyer, and as I follow the corridor leading back to that hall, I see it’s full of obstacles.
I kick open a door and find Drystan with Evanora in his arms. Eleazar lies nearby, unconscious amid the debris.
“What happened?”
“She’s getting more and more out of control.”
He doesn’t need to say her name for me to know who he means. The stairs leading up to the throne are mostly destroyed, the floor is open in multiple places, and a glance down them makes me think that if I fall, I could reach the center of the Earth. The most striking thing is the throne itself, where Ragna writhes with one of the fangs that form it sticking out of her belly. Her animal form has vanished, so I can see her white teeth stained red.
“You can’t kill me.”
I listen closely.
“I will.” Elara’s voice is not of this world.
“Even if it’s the last thing I do, I will drag you to hell with me.”
“Are you taking me to your mommy?” the wolf-lady laughs.
Elara’s fists clench, turning white, but whatever she’s trying to do doesn’t happen—surprise flashes across her face, then frustration. She bares her teeth—I can see her fangs, long and sharp, not at all human. Another column falls, splitting the hall in two and knocking me off balance.
“You need to do something, Cassian,” I read in Drystan’s mind.
“I have to get Evanora out of here—but like this, it’s impossible. She’s going to bury us alive.”
I look at Elara again. He’s right. Whatever is happening to her is beyond her control. I step over shattered stones, look up hoping nothing will fall on Elara—at least long enough to reach her. I approach and see Ragna's wound is starting to close around the fang, but Elara has her arm over it, preventing her from pulling it out.
Saliva drips from her mouth—she looks entirely feral.
“I underestimated you, thinking I could restrain you with a bit of magic,” Ragna admits.
“Still, you can’t tear out my soul, can you? That’s because I don’t have one, dear.”
A growl rises from deep in Elara’s chest—and with another collapse, Drystan yells my name. Stones fall near me, but I dodge them and pull Elara with me before they can crush her. She falls on top of me, writhing in my arms and snarling in my face.
“We will find a way for you to get your revenge, but right now you need to be yourself again, Elara.”
I gently shake her shoulders.
“Please, you’re not seeing what you’re doing to yourself.”
It’s true—her fingers are clenched and broken from her own strength, her fangs have torn part of her lower lip, and there are many wounds on her face and arms that haven’t stopped bleeding. This isn’t about what happens to us—she’s destroying herself.
“What good is all this if you die in the process?”
My words don’t reach her; instead, they unleash her further. She lunges at me and sinks her fangs into my neck. I remain utterly still, feeling her absorb my blood. In another time, this would’ve been even erotic for me—but now I’m just stunned. No woman has ever fed from me like this—I’ve never been the one being bled from.
I don’t fight; I grab her hair and let her take what she needs if it calms her. When she withdraws her fangs, she becomes Elara again for a few moments. Her black hair shines brighter than ever, her eyes are storm-gray again, and her lips are stained red. Then she disappears once more, giving way to the raging creature Ragna helped create.
She leaves me there like a rag. My attempts to stop her fail—she’s focused only on killing Ragna, and Ragna continues to heal her wounds. If she truly has no soul, Elara can’t destroy her like she would others. If her blood wasn’t in Ragna’s system, it would be as easy as breaking her mind…
“Cassian…” Drystan repeats.
I look back and see Eleazar—somehow he escaped. The doorway is now blocked by rubble—we’ll die here if Elara doesn’t stop. I stand up the moment Ragna twists Elara’s arm, attempting to break it. I rush forward and with one blow slam Ragna to the other side of the hall—into a still-standing column. I offer my hand to Elara, but she, consumed by madness, repels me. She raises invisible barriers around her, keeping me at bay while everything falls apart.
“I can’t do anything,” I tell Drystan.
“I refuse to die here.”
“She won’t let me reach her,” I protest.
“You can—already know how.”
A silence falls and I lock eyes with my friend—he looks at me with iron determination and anguish. I shake my head and step back as if his words hit me in the stomach.
“I can’t do that.”
“You can and must. Evanora and she will die if you don’t. What I’m asking still gives you some hope—if she dies, that, my friend, is irreversible.”