Sold to the Night Lord - Chapter 86: Chapter 86

The one holding Elara laughs, ignoring my warning. With a jerk of his head, he sends the rest of his pack to their deaths. The ground trembles beneath us, a mirror of my unrestrained fury. They come at me one by one, and one by one, I shred them. One manages to sink his teeth into my shoulder from behind. I grab his hair and hurl him over me, relishing the crack of his bones on impact—but it’s not enough. Shapeshifters heal quickly. His eyes widen in panic as my hand twists in his direction. I savor his agony, the way his tendons snap, his skin splits, his organs spill. In seconds, he’s a bloody heap on the ground.
Their numbers dwindle with every precise motion of my hand. I carve my path forward, leaping onto stable patches of earth, crushing enemies beneath me. Each one meets a gruesome end—yet they keep coming. Loyalty. Pathetic.
I toss the last one into a chasm I’ve torn open, watching his body vanish into the abyss. Then I lift my gaze to my final target. The golden-eyed shapeshifter smirks at me, scars twisting his face.
"Impressive." His grin widens. "Bravo. Quite the spectacle."
"Let. Her. Go. I won’t ask again."
"Are you sure?"
He grips Elara’s jaw and the crown of her head, applying just enough pressure to make the threat clear. Her eyes flutter open—normally gray, now smoke-filled. Her gaze drifts until it lands on me. I see the exact moment she realizes something’s wrong. Her eyes drop, her mouth opens in a silent scream at the sight of the blood. Her hand flies to her throat.
I don’t know what finally snaps my patience, but once I’m sure the ground beneath Elara is stable, I raise my hand toward the shapeshifter—and clench my fist. I expect his body to explode.
It doesn’t.
"Surprise," he sing-songs.
I try again. Nothing. His laughter echoes through the forest, shattering the last shred of my control. Elara’s eyes widen in horror, her lips forming two words: "Let go."
She’s insane if she thinks I’ll back down.
I don’t waste time wondering why he’s immune. That’s a problem for later. Right now, I need to get her out. Manipulating the environment is something he can’t counter easily—but shaking the earth again risks Elara’s safety. No guarantee this bastard won’t drop her.
I’m weighing my options when a breeze carries a scent I know. The shapeshifter notices too—but not fast enough. Before he can react, Ciro’s fangs are buried in his throat. He releases Elara, and before her knees hit the ground, I catch her in my arms.
Ciro tears out his throat and spits a chunk of flesh onto the dirt.
"Take her," he snarls. "I’ll handle this."
"We’ll talk about this later."
My tone isn’t friendly. I can’t ignore that this happened at one of his parties, under his roof. Coincidence? I trust no one. I learned that lesson young.
"Elara, hold onto me," I murmur.
I pull her tight against me until her arms loop around my neck, her head resting in the curve of my shoulder. Then I move, using my speed to put distance between us and the carnage. When we’re far enough, I sit with Elara in my lap, examining her wounds. She’s unconscious again, her face troubled even in sleep. I lick her neck—not to feed, but to seal the gashes. I repeat the motion until I’m sure the healing has begun. The journey that took hours by carriage is now a thirty-minute sprint.
The castle is silent. Good. Noise makes it hard to think. I carry her to her chambers, wasting no time in tearing her dress away, inspecting her bare skin for more injuries. The only damage is to her throat. I wet a cloth in the bathroom, wiping the blood from her neck. She stirs as I brush her hair back.
Despite her protests, Elara is strong. That wound should’ve killed her. Instead, she clings to life like a feral thing.
"What happened?"
I glance back at Evanora, standing in her usual gray-blue dress, her hair braided, her albino serpent coiled defensively.
"Shapeshifters," I answer.
"How? They’re nearly extinct—the few left were banished beyond the ocean."
"Seems they’re good swimmers," I mutter.
She approaches the bed where I’ve draped a sheet over Elara. Evanora adjusts the pillows, brushing hair from her forehead. Magic hums in the air. I don’t interfere—whatever she’s doing, I’ll allow it as long as it doesn’t harm Elara. Purple sparks dance at her fingertips, and from the banshee’s frown, I know drawing even this small magic is harder than it seems.
Elara sighs in her sleep, and Evanora pauses as if that’s the sign she needed.
"What did you do?"
"Eased her pain." Her skin glows faintly. "You can close wounds, but the pain remains. I can mend that."
I nod. "Good."
"Luck hasn’t been kind to her." Her lips curve in a sad smile as she strokes Elara’s hair. "It’s tragic—someone so young enduring so much. We’ve had decades to live, suffer, love… Her time is so short. For her to suffer like this feels like a curse." She looks up at me. "If she asked you—truly, from her heart—would you let her go? Would you give her life back?"
"What if there’s nothing waiting for her?"
"Her family waits. They always will."
"She doesn’t fit with them. She knows it."
"Then she’ll find her place." She clicks her tongue. "That doesn’t answer my question."
Damn it.
"The answer is no." My voice is steel. "The Treaties stand. No exceptions."
The banshee’s sad smile deepens, her pale blue eyes seeing too much. She sighs, stepping away from the bed. One last glance at Elara, ensuring she’s not in pain, and then she’s gone—silent as she came.
I watch Elara sleep, mesmerized by the rise and fall of her chest. My enhanced vision lets me see what human eyes never could—her skin knitting itself back together. Without realizing it, I’ve stretched out beside her, studying the shadow of her lashes against her cheeks, the pallor of her lips.
She’s lost too much blood.
"Cassian…"
Elara twists in her sleep. To keep her from hurting herself, I cup her face, holding her neck straight. The contact wakes her. Her pupils dilate, then contract. The gray of her eyes is even paler now—almost white.
"Don’t go," she whispers.
"I’m here."
I stroke her temple, feeling her body relax under my touch. It shouldn’t be like this. She shouldn’t melt when someone like me touches her. Her survival instinct should scream at her to run—not unravel under my hands.
"Stay with me. Please. I don’t want to be alone." I’m not sure if she’s still dreaming. "I’ve always been alone. I don’t want to be anymore. It’s so dark here."
I frown. "Where, Elara?"
"In my head."
Her words tangle with my conversation with Evanora. I lean against the headboard, letting her curl into my side while I wonder what Elara’s life might’ve been in another world—one without me. My hand drifts down her back, satisfied when she finally stills.
She’s a disaster for me. A beautiful disaster.
"Elara, you…" I exhale sharply. "You make me want to feel pity."
I let the words hang in the air, knowing only I heard them. The warmth of her body seeps through my clothes, and for once, I allow myself to relax.
I don’t want to be merciful. I don’t want to imagine her existence without me. I don’t want to watch her smile like it’s sunrise. I don’t want what she makes me want. And I know she hates herself for this. I know she hates the monster I am.
I close my eyes, locking all of it away—ensuring I won’t forget when I wake.