Sold to the Night Lord - Chapter 91: Chapter 91

The banshee doesn’t stop screaming—not even as she walks backward down the hallway and jumps through one of the corridor’s glass windows. It takes me longer than I’d like to run after her, but all that’s left are shards of broken glass on the floor—nothing more. I turn toward Drystan, completely enraged. He remains on his knees, blood dripping from his ears. As I pass him, I offer my hand, knowing full well I’m a bastard who doesn’t deserve his friendship.
"Drystan."
He snorts, slaps my hand away, and gets up on his own. He shoots me a look that could freeze hell—but not me.
"You’ve ruined everything," he mutters. "I’m not staying to watch you build walls and wallow in your misery."
"Oh, no? And where will you go, Drystan?"
"After her," he replies, pointing at the shattered window. "She knows things, Cassian. I don’t understand how you haven’t realized it."
"Don’t hide your real intentions."
"Oh, don’t worry—I’m not." He faces me, his face just a few inches below mine. "I’m going after her because I want answers and because I want her for myself. Unlike you, I know what I want."
"Then go ahead," I snap.
I see him hesitate, casting a nervous glance between the window and me. In the end, the war raging inside him is won by something greater than his loyalty to me. He disappears through the window, leaving me alone in a hallway where I swear I can still hear the echo of the banshee’s scream, in a castle that’s beginning to grow cold.
I go to my room, where I release some of my fury. I scatter the papers on my desk, knock over the ink jar, and crack the solid wood of the desk with my hands. In the candle resting in the wall sconce appears a figure I know well—she’s been a loyal companion for some time.
"You’re an idiot!" Ank spits, forming two tiny fists with her hands, the fire of her hair flaring bright red. "You’ve let go of the only good thing left in this castle!"
"Leave, Ank."
"I promised your mother I’d watch over you, that I wouldn’t lose faith and wouldn’t let you be consumed by the darkness, with your demons eating you piece by piece—but I’m starting to think you don’t care about being devoured!"
"I don’t need you lecturing me!" I shout louder.
"You’re not even capable of realizing you’re suffering!" She stomps, sending tiny sparks of fire flying from the candle. "You’re like this because of her, but your stubbornness won’t let you see it!"
A heavy silence stretches between us. I take my time returning my breath to a natural rhythm—it takes more effort than I’d like. When I finally manage, I approach the sconce where Ank rests, so close that my shirt is at risk of catching fire.
"Where is she, Ank? I know you can find her."
"Not if there’s no fire nearby."
"Have you seen her?"
She shakes her head, the flames of her hair returning to an orange hue.
"Wherever she is, there’s no fire, no warmth," she sighs. "Poor girl, she must be scared, lost… all because of you. You shouldn’t have underestimated her—Elara was beginning to fit in here. This could’ve been her place. Now she won’t return, and I fear that may have been your last chance for redemption."
She keeps shaking her head, stepping back until she merges again with the candle’s flame and disappears. I reflect on her words for a long time, and then my mind races, trying to figure out where she could have fled. A dangerous thought strikes me. Ciro. Could it be that she sought his protection? The mere thought makes my blood roar.
Alone, with no one who can stop me now, I leave the castle and set out toward his estate. With my speed, it won’t take long to get there. I imagine all the things I’ll do to him, the forms of torture I could use for planting seeds in the mind of my feeder. Does Elara really think he and I are different? Once he has her in his hands, he’ll reveal his true face—just as monstrous as mine. The difference is that I’ve never hidden mine; I’ve always shown my ugly, sharp sides, ready to hurt anyone naïve enough to come close.
I’m halfway there when a damp, cavernous smell flutters in the air. The rage I feel now is no good companion—it clouds my reason—so it’s no surprise that I turn on my heels and redirect my attention toward the concentrated scent of the shifters. I dive into the forest, dodging branches, trees, and roots at full speed. The smell lingers in the air, and beneath the strong stench, there’s another, softer one—fruity and wild. My heart skips a beat in my chest when I recognize it, and if I was anxious to find the shifters before, now I’m on the edge of madness.
I can feel how close I am—the scent is strong—so in complete silence, I climb to the top of a tree whose foliage is thick enough to hide me. The shifter I’ve identified as their leader is talking to Elara, who keeps backing away toward the edge of a cliff. If I can hear the sound of her fearful heart, so can they.
A breeze rises that won’t hesitate to give away my position—it’s time to attack. I move my hand with a quick gesture and, fueled by fury, my powers turn all the shifters into piles of flesh and blood on the ground. As expected, the leader remains standing. I descend, push my way through the massacre, and give a quick glance over Elara’s body, searching for any wound.
I feel a strange relief upon confirming she’s in one piece, and my enemy uses that second of distraction to try to catch my arm in his jaws. I’m fast and manage to alter his trajectory with a punch to the jaw. The shifter ends up on the ground—though not for long. We engage in a relentless fight, landing punches and twisting each other’s joints at painful angles. I take my eyes off him for just a moment to make sure Elara is still there, and a deep sting of pain pierces my chest. I’m barely aware of what’s really happening—only the grooves of his claws across my torso—and I start bleeding uncontrollably.
"Who do you work for? Who are you loyal to?" I growl, thirsty for blood.
The blood runs down my chest, mixing with the blood soaking the ground.
"You have many enemies, Draven," the shifter pants.
My opponent is exhausted—his flickering appearance betrays him, occasionally revealing the man behind the beast. I look at him with a fury nearly impossible to contain, and he must know just as well as I do that this will end with his death, one way or another.
"We’ll meet again, Elara Voss."