33. Elara

Chapter 33

Elara

T he shock on the Sovereigns' faces almost makes up for everything they've done to us.

Almost.

But the moment is fleeting. The High Sovereign recovers fast, roaring, " Get her! "

The Scourge Sovereign reacts first. He darts into the archway, intent on hunting Sasha.

I pull at my restraints, both relieved and horrified that my best friend is still here and has willingly put herself in the same amount of danger we're in.

In the ensuing distraction, the Silent Sovereign glides toward me. He pauses at my side, his cold leather gloves tracing the half-dried crimson symbols adorning my flesh. Yet, his touch isn't menacing. "It's time."

I blink up at him. "What?"

With a slow, deliberate movement, he removes his mask and pulls back his hood to reveal a face I know all too well. A face that fills me with a dizzying mix of fierce love and devastation.

A face I'm in love with, but aged and placed on an entirely unfamiliar body. "You look just like…"

I choke out the words, unable to finish as tears blur my vision.

His only confirmation is a slight nod before he uses his other hand that he's slipped below the slab to loosen a silk tie at my wrist.

"Run," he instructs. "Release the others."

Without waiting for my response, he shifts his attention to the High Sovereign. His stride is fluid, like a creeping shadow unfazed by the sun about to erupt around him.

Like he's accepting his fate.

The Silent Sovereign's sudden movement draws the High Sovereign's attention away from the archway. For a moment, they both freeze, staring at each other.

"Orion?" the High Sovereign asks. In my periphery, Axe's head snaps up at the name. "What the hell do you think are you doing?"

With a lightning-fast movement, the Silent Sovereign—Orion—strikes the High Sovereign's throat with the edge of his hand, then rebounds and holds the High Sovereign's neck in a vice-like grip.

"Orion—what—what is this?" he gasps around the bloodstained hand at his throat.

I don't have time to watch the rest. Time is precious when you're balancing on the razor's edge between freedom and failure.

I look down at my trembling hand, now free from its restraints. I manage to free my other wrist, then crouch over my ankles, pulling at the ties and loosening them enough to slip free. As I slide off the slab, my eyes meet Cav's across the room, his normally schooled features twisted with concern and surprise as I land on my feet.

I rush over to him, the thumps and grunts of the battling Sovereigns somewhere to my right, my hands already working on Cav's shackles. They're more complicated than mine, but I'm desperate, and desperation means speed. My fingers slip, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out in frustration.

I rip my attention away from untying him long enough to meet his bloodshot eyes. "I need you to go help Sasha," I say, my voice cracking with the weight of what I'm asking.

"Butterfly … I'm not leaving you."

"Sasha can't handle the Scourge Sovereign alone," I urge, still shaking as, at last, I free his arms. "And she can't fucking die. I won't allow it."

The words come out stronger than I feel, masking the terror that threatens to paralyze me.

Every muscle in his body tenses as he processes the situation. Cav glances down the archway for a split second before locking eyes with me again. His thin lips press together in a firm line, and I know he's made his decision.

And right then, I know I'm in love with him..

Cav is willing to put his manipulative and self-preserving ways to the side in order to do as I ask.

He grunts as he pulls his arms loose, then slides off the wooden plank, his legs less stable than mine.

So I catch him, then kiss him. Hard, quick, desperate, and deep. "I love you."

I breathe against his lips, tangling my fingers in his dark mop of hair. He stiffens in shock for less than a second before reciprocating with the same frenzied urgency, a hand moving to my bare back while the other cups my face.

"Elara…" His voice is a husky whisper against my lips. His eyes search mine, probing for truth while guarding his own. He brushes his thumb against my cheekbone, tender, restrained. "I love you, too. I shouldn't, I can't , but I do. And it's the most dangerous move I've ever made."

He pulls back just enough for me to see his world in those blue depths: the turbulent ocean of emotion, the storm of conflict.

"I refuse to allow you to die," I say. "So don't you fucking do it, either."

He nods once then breaks away from me. The sight of his retreating figure, the tortured, wounded man who is running into further danger because I asked him to, is almost too much.

The High Sovereign's enraged shout snaps me out of it and I hurry to Wilder's side. Muffled yells and the sounds of fists hitting flesh reach me as I stare up at the ceiling above Wilder in near defeat. How am I doing to reach the hooks?

"You can do it, sweetwitch," Wilder prompts wearily, drawing my gaze. "But you're going to have to scale me like a goddamned spider monkey."

"That's not the first thing I'd like to scale now that I have you back," I manage to quip, forcing a smirk despite the fangs of panic piercing my gut.

It's enough to stir Wilder, earning me his trademark grin in return.

I start climbing, using his thighs as a stepping stool and hoisting myself onto his chest. I'm all too aware of the solid muscle beneath me and the gaping wound I'm rubbing against.

"Hang in there," I tell him, praying my voice doesn't betray the very real fear lurking underneath my bravado.

He's so slick with sweat, and I'm so clammy with nerves, that I fumble once, then twice, before I'm able to straddle his shoulders, putting his face directly in line with my pelvis.

His shoulders undulate under my legs, raw power straining against human limits.

And yet, Wilder gives my pussy an encouraging lick, his tongue slipping between my sensitive folds.

It actually manages to elicit a bone-weary sigh from me. The bolt of pleasure reminds me that amid all this violence and almost losing him, we are still, and always will be, carnally connected.

Wilder pulls his mouth away just far enough to murmur a naughty promise.

I gasp at the sensation of his exhales so close, one hand working on the ropes tying his wrists to the hooks and the other having to find purchase in his disheveled mane of hair.

"Wilder—now is not the time."

The order leaves my lips at the same time I grind myself onto his face.

Quivering now, I give a last yank at the ropes. Wilder drops to the balls to his feet, swinging his arms around to hang onto my ass so I don't topple sideways from the force of it.

He stumbles backwards slightly, every muscle in his body trembling from exertion, but that doesn't stop him from giving my pussy a final peck before I slide down his body, my hands trailing over sweat-slicked skin marked by bruises, scars, and cuts.

There's a familiar roughness to him, a testament to a life spent battling against odds that were never in his favor. Yet here he is—impulsive, resilient, standing up against tyranny so familiar it's almost familial.

"John…" My voice wavers.

"Don't look at me like like you're memorizing me." His voice sounds parched with exhaustion. "Because you'll say my first name to me again. And the next time you do, it'll be when my face is buried in your pussy and I'm drinking you dry." He's panting heavily. "You're a goddamn miracle, Elara. And I'm not done worshipping yet."

He pulls away before I can find the words to reply, heading for Kaspian. Taking that as my cue, I pivot and hurry towards Axe.

Axe watches my sprint with an expression caught between gloom and relief on his face.

"Elara," he breathes out, his voice a husk of itself.

Despite his critical condition, pure willpower pushes him to his knees.

I clamp down on the knot of emotion in my chest and focus on the manacles restraining Axe, casting around for the release mechanism. The rusted iron chafes against my fingertips as I rattle the chain, trying to discern its secrets.

Concentration furrows Axe's brow as he watches me. His ragged breaths hitch when I send him a reassuring smile, pretending like I've done this a thousand times before.

Okay, I've done it twice. Third time's a charm.

Then I feel it.

"Got it!"

The lock clicks open and the manacles land on the ground in a heavy clatter, music to my ears. Axe rubs his raw wrists, flexing his fingers to renew blood circulation.

He straightens beside me, his focus regaining a lethal spark as he lands on the High Sovereign grappling with Orion.

Orion turns, a blur of red velvet. His eyes find Axe's steely gaze, and for a moment, it's as if the world stops. There's a pull in the air—a heavy, saturated charge that buzzes, hums, and thrums along my skin.

A lifetime of absence and longing condensed into a single, electric moment.

"Don't," I warn, reaching out to grasp Axe's arm.

Ignoring me, he straightens, the blood-red cloak of Orion's clashing with the stark brutality of Axe's body as he lumbers forward, one manacle still clinging to his ankle, the broken chain dragging behind him.

"Who are you?" Axe demands, though we're all coming to terms with the obvious truth.

Orion edges away from a bent over High Sovereign, revealing his the full impact of his bare face in the flickering torchlight with sunken eyes, sharp planes, and piercing gray eyes.

He holds out a hand in peace, fingers trembling slightly. "Let me explain, son."

A sound like tearing metal erupts from Axe. He hurls himself at Orion, a human missile of torn flesh and exposed rage. They clash in a spray of blood and fury, an intricate conflict of violence only Axe understands. Each blow seems to carry the weight of years of abandonment, of unanswered questions and unfulfilled promises.

Orion manages to land several crippling blows. However, each time he does, Axe bounces back with a swiftness that speaks volumes about his resilience. Agony warps both of their expressions, not just from the physical blows, but from the emotional ones as well.

Until Orion retreats.

"Axton..." His voice cracks.

"Where is she?" Axe demands, a frantic desperation underlying his ferocity. His eyes are wild, searching Orion's face for any sign of deceit.

Orion stands motionless. His eyes—mirror images of Axe's—cloud over, a tempest of inner turmoil obscuring their depths. He parts his lips, but no sound emerges. Instead, the tendons in his neck constrict, trapping words unspoken.

"Marianne is safe," is all he rasps out just as the High Sovereign leaps at him from behind, silver flashing.

Orion falls to the floor from the force of the attack, a wet gasp escaping his lips.

But my focus is on Axe, who stumbles back, a look of shock carved onto his face. He watches Orion fall, sees the High Sovereign standing over him with a triumphant sneer below his lopsided mask as he holds up the sacrificial knife he'd managed to grab by the altar.

An image forms in my mind's eye, a small boy with Axe's eyes, shoulders hunched against unseen blows, his scarred hands cradling a fragile hope he refused to relinquish. In that fleeting moment, I see the child Axe had locked away, still clutching the jagged pieces of a family he never knew, begging to give him his dad back.

"NO!" Axe roars, throwing himself at the High Sovereign. His voice cracks open, exposing a depth of anguish I know will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Axe is relentless, his strikes targeted. Each landed punch carries the weight of his pain, his anger, his fear of losing the father he's only just found.

Blood splatters across the stone floor while panic rises in my chest. I want to throw myself into the fray, to do something—anything—to help. But I'm stuck, paralyzed by my own lack of ability.

Orion is unmoving on the ground, his red cloak pooling around him like spilled blood, mixing with Orion's actual blood.

I fall to my knees beside him.

Pulling up the heavy velvet of his cloak from his body, I reveal a gory wound. Everything around me loses focus as I press my hands against the slash across his stomach, trying to slow the crimson tide flooding out.

"Stay with me, Mr. Devereaux."

We can't lose him, not when there's so much left unsaid, so much Axe deserves to hear.

I focus solely on Orion, on the shallow rise and fall of his chest, his labored breathing. His gray eyes latch onto mine.

"Elara Wraithwood," he rasps out as I cling to his hand, his firm grip reduced to a weak squeeze. "I knew your father. Replaced him."

I swallow against the lump in my throat. Outside my bubble of despair, Axe and the High Sovereign continue their clash of death. Each grunt, each smack of their bodies against the cold floor serves as a grim metronome counting down Orion's life. Thankfully, I hear Wilder coming to Axe's rescue and Kaspian's declaration to find the Scourge and peel his skin off his bones before he gets to my best friend.

"You better not die on me before you give Axe the answers he needs," I plead with Orion. "You're his father."

Orion's gaze strays towards Axe, who is now pinning the High Sovereign against the wall, delivering blow after blow with a vehemence that only stems from personal vendettas.

"I didn't … fix it in time," Orion whispers, his voice so faint I can barely hear it over the melee. "I smuggled a letter to Kaspian, trying to lead him in the right direction, to bring them here. Too late, I realized that discovering our sacrificial altar didn't lead you anywhere but to your demise."

"Orion," I beg him, "Who killed Maverick? Why the greenhouse? Why cover it up as a burglary? Please, tell me."

"Maverick... he was on the cusp of becoming one of us, a full member. His final test ... cultivate a rare poison in your greenhouse. But he discovered ... his father's research. Realized our true nature. He was going to expose us ... using your father's evidence. I found out. His access of your father's electronic files sent an alert to me. Maverick was careless, just once. But once was enough. Had to act fast. The greenhouse ... it was supposed to be his triumph. Became his tomb instead. Couldn't risk my companions getting to him first and his … torture. Too much at stake. Had to be quick ... clean."

"You killed him," I whisper brokenly. "He was one of you. And you disposed of him. Like he was nothing." I lean in close to Orion's fading face. "You took him from me."

His eyes flutter closed momentarily before opening again.

"Darian ...Wraithwood," he croaks, his voice parched. "We made a pact. For our children." His gaunt features crinkle as he grimaces in pain, choking back blood. "Marianne ... Axton ... you and your brother ... safe."

His implications brand my heart with an exposed, scalding ache.

"I failed," Orion admits.

His voice is nothing but a wheeze, the confession barely audible above the havoc that rages just feet away. His hand tightens around mine with what little strength he has left.

"I owe Axton everything," Orion confesses. "His mother... Marianne..."

I blink back tears. "Why did you leave him? He was abused. He suffered so much."

"Marianne was always safe," Orion pants out, his voice strained as he clings onto consciousness. "I made sure of it. What Silas said—the High Sovereign—is a lie I told him. She did not die. She's hidden until the Sovereigns fall. But Axe... Couldn't get to him without exposing Darian's plans to dismantle everything."

My hands, stained with Orion's blood, seize against his skin.

"Promised Darian..." He coughs, each word grating against his throat like sandpaper. "That I would keep you and Axton ... from discovering the truth. My miscalculation. The two Sovereigns ... they were onto me, so I had to become just like them or risk Axton's life."

Choked sobs escape my throat as I hold onto Orion's hand tighter.

"You left him in that hell," I say, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

"I thought he would be better off without me."

The whisper barely leaves his lips, but it carries the weight of years he's been carrying this burden of guilt. "I wanted to protect them both from this world … from the fate of the Cimmerian Court. But we failed. We failed you all. I've spent every moment since then trying to rectify my mistake. To help him, to guide him ... but from afar," he mumbles, each word forcing its way past his cracked lips.

How exhausted he must be.

"Can you ... Elara..." His voice falters for a moment, but he grits his teeth and pushes on. "Can you tell him? Tell Axton?"

My throat tightens. But I decide to give him a small gift before he dies. One I wish my father received. "Axe is not a good man because of the sacrifices you made. He's scarred, mutilated inside, and hates himself. But I see him. The real him. The man who will do anything for family, who protects me with a fierce pride, who has been reforged. Axe is strong, he is loyal, and I will take up where you failed. He won't suffer any longer."

Orion's expression softens, drifts. "Thank you."

I wish there was more time. Axe deserves so much more.

"I'll tell him," I manage to murmur. "If you tell me exactly where Marianne is."

His body relaxes slightly at my promise, a sigh slipping past his bloodless lips. I lower my ear to his mouth so I can hear him better as he confesses.

"I'm sorry..." he finishes, a mere whisper of sound.

His eyes linger on Axe one last time before his gaze grows vacant. His limp hand falls from my grasp.

Grief for Axe threatens to swallow me whole, but I force myself to stand, Orion's final words resonating in my ears.

I have a promise to keep.

I leave Orion behind. A father who had made too many mistakes and lost too much—just like mine.

Axe's ash-blonde hair clings to his forehead. He's injured, wet with sweat and blood, but fights like the demon the Sovereigns were so intent on summoning.

I sprint towards the ruby Heart. It's just lying among the debris, forgotten in the turmoil.

I scoop it up and its weight feels oddly comforting.

Axe thrashes against the High Sovereign with boundless fury. I can't hear anything as I make my way to him, clutching the ruby tight against my chest.

There's a terrifying beauty in the way Axe fights, each movement a sinuous dance laced with anger and grief so palpable, it's almost a visible aura. He's a masterpiece of muscle and fury, poised despite the years of cold conditioning under the Sovereigns.

"AXE!" I cry out, my voice ripping through slice of the High Sovereign's blade through the air, so close to Axe's neck.

He looks over. His attention rests on the Heart clutched in my hand, understanding dawning.

Axe maneuvers himself between me and the High Sovereign. He strikes out with a ferocity born from years of abuse. His hair whips across his face as he moves like a wraith.

Locking onto the High Sovereign's mask, a surge of determination shoots through me—for Axe, for my dad, for my brother, for my men ?—

I leap, my arm shooting forward with all the strength I possess.

The High Sovereign turns just as the Heart connects, his porcelain mask cracking upon impact. The sheer force of the blow sends him sprawling backward.

Time freezes, every sound coming to a sudden halt, drowned by the sharp intake of breaths. His mask shatters, revealing his true face in all its fury and disbelief.

His eyes lock onto mine—a faded blue, devoid of any humanity. I see him for who he truly is—an ogre who will stop at nothing to hoard power.

The true Exalted Regent.

His lips curl back in an subhuman snarl. "You little cunt—you can't take the Heart away from me."

"I just did," I retort.

Wilder slams a boot into the High Sovereign's chest, knocking him flat and keeping him there.

Axe comes to my side. His scarred face is filled with concern and relief. Sweating and breathing heavily from the battle, he pulls me into a tight embrace.

I wrap my arms around him, clutching him.

"Elara," Axe murmurs against my hair. His voice is hesitant, filled with countless emotions.

There's no victory cheer, no joyful hugs or laughter. But for once, it doesn't matter.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see something?—

"Axe, duck !"

The Scourge Sovereign pounces on Axe with a vehement roar. Caught off guard, Axe arms go slack around me.

But before the Scourge can land a fatal blow, I throw myself in front of Axe and slam into the Scourge with all the force I can muster.

We both crash onto the marble floor. Electric pain shoots through my body, but I grit my teeth against it and push myself up.

The Scourge Sovereign rolls until he leaps to his feet and towers over me, his hulking form blocking out the soft light of the sconces. His mask is stripped away, revealing a face that's more beast than man. He snarls, a distorted sound.

With a guttural bellow, Kaspian plows into the Scourge from the side, his body colliding with a force that'd break bones—maybe mine, maybe the Sovereign's, I don't know, because the world tilts sideways and my back slams into the cold marble floor.

Ignoring the pain radiating from my bruised body, I crawl towards the Scourge when Kaspian flings him off me and the Scourge lands on his back feet away.

Hatred shades the Scourge's eyes with a darkness that mirrors the monstrous deeds he's committed. But it isn't victory that distorts his face, but disturbance—over losing his dominance, of losing control.

My fingers curl into tight fists as I swing one leg over and sit, straddling him. Sweat drips into my vision.

I raise my arm high above me, the ruby Heart glowing with the surrounding flames, casting a crimson hue on the Scourge's despicable face.

I slam the ruby heart into his temple. Again and again, until his screams die down into whimpers.

"Elara!"

Kaspian's voice filters into my hearing, filled with a shocking amount of alarm, especially for him.

But I don't stop. Not until the Scourge Sovereign lies still beneath me, his eyes emptied.

I stand slowly, staggering a bit as waves of exhaustion wash over me. Axe rights me, pulling me into his arms just as my knees buckle.

"I've got you," he murmurs into my ear, cradling me against his chest.

His damp, blood-soaked hair frames his face beautifully. I tell him so.

A smile doesn't touch his lips, but Axe's eyes soften, and he plants a bloody kiss on my forehead.

His hold on me tightens just as the silence around us breaks. Sasha rushes over, her face a mix of horror and relief. I can feel her trembling when she wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a crushing hug.

"Holy shit, El," she murmurs against my shoulder.

"You're an idiot for staying," I whisper in return.

"You're a moron for thinking I'd ever leave you to an evil cult," she retorts.

Cav and Kaspian stride over to our little huddle, their faces unreadable as they surround us. Cav brushes my hair off my forehead, stroking with silent gratitude, while Wilder's attention stays fixed on the fallen High Sovereign.

"What should we do with this asshole?"

"Tie him to the altar in the same way he pinned my butterfly." Cav circles him, as lithe as a snow leopard stalking its prey. "I'm not done with him."

Kaspian crouches beside the Scourge Sovereign's corpse. He prods it with a single finger, lips curling. "Efficient work, beastie."

He surveys the carnage. Blood pools on the marble, seeping into hairline cracks. The tang of copper hangs heavy in the air.

I clamp my teeth together, fighting a surge of nausea. The adrenaline ebbs, exhaustion and trauma taking its place. Every breath sears my lungs, every movement ignites agony.

Kaspian's unsettling focus centers on me. Silent on his feet, he lifts me into his arms when I see it—a glint of light in the corner of my eye.

The ruby Heart.

Axe notices, reluctantly picking it up and handing it to me.

It feels oddly warm in my palm. Alive.

Perhaps it isn't cursed after all.

Perhaps, it's just misunderstood—like me, like Axe, like everyone in our battered group.

Axe's hand covers one of mine and gives a reassuring squeeze, his knuckles split and clotted with blood.

Wordlessly, Wilder rests his hand on one of my legs as Kaspian cradles me to his chest. Cav lands a kiss at the top of my head, stroking my long hair.

All of their touches sends my abused skin and my shredded soul alight. Partly from exhaustion, but mostly from that familiar spark that always ignites between us.

Sasha flanks us, her expression flitting from pride to panic as she fully comprehends what the hell we just did.

Cav's lips brush my hair as he leans in to whisper, "We broke the curse."

Kaspian pauses, his arms tightening around me. "Where to now, beastie?"

I look at each of them in turn. My warriors, my friends, my loves.

"Home," I say, my voice steady despite the adrenaline seeping out of me. "Let's go home."

Kaspian carries me, limping through the archway. Sasha assists Axe while Cav and Wilder mutter ominously about staying behind and taking care of the rest, including the High Sovereign, who is currently struggling against Wilder's bodily restraint.

It's difficult not to wonder what Cav and Wilder will do to him. Part of me wants to ask them to stop this cycle of violence, but that isn't who my men are, and I won't ask them to be anything different.

The Sovereigns took these boys when they were so young, barely teenagers, and broke them down until they were nothing but shards, with the intention of sharpening them into deadly blades. These "guardians" became fucked-up father figures to the boys, not by choice, but when their own fathers gave them over. Because of tradition and order stemming from over 300 years ago.

The consequences of this are so overwhelming, it completely overshadows the fact that I just killed a man.

The memory of the Scourge's eyes, wide with shock that an Anderton descendant was draining the life from him, and the way his face caved in, flashes through my mind.

I want to cry, to scream, to beg for forgiveness. But I also want to justify my actions, to believe that what I did was necessary.

The weight of it all presses down on me, threatening to crush what's left of my humanity. A wave of guilt, quickly followed by a sickening sense of relief, and then numbness, spreads through my body like ice water.

We move out of the manor and into the dark, away from pathways and past the imposing stone buildings of Titan Falls University, their gothic spires a monochromatic blur against the inky blackness above us.

We move as one.

I look down at the ruby heart still clutched in my hands. Light plays across the facets, refracting, fragmenting.

Sasha follows my study . "What should we do with that thing?"

"I don't know." My voice emerges hoarse, scraped raw. "Lock it away. Destroy it. Put it back to where Sarah wanted it to remain forever."

My words remain in the air long after I've said them. A vow. A promise my ancestors, and then my father and brother, made to keep this ruby and its sordid history from ever getting into the wrong hands.

One I intend to keep.

The growl of the SUV cuts into my thoughts. Tires crunch on gravel.

Exhaustion drags at me, pain a dull throb. I let my eyes drift shut, surrendering to the pull of oblivion.

The last thing I feel is Kaspian's gentle release, and I dream of the solid warmth of my men surrounding me, a shield against the demons lurking in the dark.