11. Elara

Elara steps left, her focus on Laith as he watches her with just as much intensity and mirrors her movement. She can smell the green of the grass, the warmth in the air, the hint of autumn clinging to the trees. She can hear Denzel shuffle ever so slightly to the side as he watches the sparring match, hear the way his breath slows as she and Laith continue to circle each other. Hear the faint flick of his tongue over his bottom lip.

She can see Laith's intention to move a split-second before he does.

He faints right, but she meets him on the left. She ducks the swing aiming for her head, then leaps over the kick at her midsection. Laith growls, rushing at her as frustration tinges his cheeks a darker shade of red. Elara sweeps her leg out, tripping him. With quick-footed movements, he rights himself, ensuring the attack is little more than a glitch in his momentum.

He tries to strike her. Elara blocks.

He leaps. She retreats.

He grabs hold of her arm. She yanks and twists.

Elara almost allows herself a smile as Laith plows into the soft grass. She's improving in ways she didn't know possible. She feels almost untouchable. As if she's faster than she can imagine, stronger than she ever imagined.

"Confidence leads to complacency."

Denzel says the words softly. As a warning.

Right before he powers a kick straight at her jaw.

Elara groans at the impact. She folds in the middle as she flies backward, then groans again as she hits the ground. The grass no longer feels soft. She can no longer smell its moist color.

It feels like cement. All she can smell is outrage. Blood fills her mouth, flooding her mind with the taste of copper.

"Elara!" Laith cries. He launches himself at Denzel, true anger twisting his features.

Denzel barely glances at him as he spins so fast he's a blur. His hand shoots out, flat palmed and extended, and strikes Laith in the chest. He's also sent flying, landing on the grass in a tangle of limbs and grunts.

Denzel straightens, not even breathing hard. "It's the attack you never expect that you need to be prepared for."

The pain has spread from Elara's jaw to her whole head. It suffuses her brain, drenching it. The agony clings to her skull, making it feel fragile and weak.

Two words Elara refuses to be defined by. Not anymore.

She leaps to her feet, using the pain to fuel the fury at being caught so off-guard. She's a werewolf. A powerful one. Others need to realize who they're messing with.

Denzel's brows twitch to see her already upright, but he quickly recovers. He lifts his fists, ready to fight, his center of gravity angling toward her.

Except Elara's hurting.

And she's angry.

She has no intention of backing down.

She leaps, a battle cry climbing up her throat and erupting almost as a growl. Her wolf is just below the surface, primal and thirsty for retribution. Denzel also launches forward, determined to meet her.

But he won't be touching her again.

Elara unleashes the pressure that was accumulating within her. A ball of fiery energy explodes out, searing the air yet impossibly silent. It hits Denzel in the chest and he flies back just like she did. Except Denzel lands feet away, gouging through the grass like its buttercream. He skids to a halt, unmoving.

"Denzel!" Elara cries, running to his lifeless form. What did she just do? "Denzel!"

His leg twitches, then rights itself from the undignified sprawl it was angled at. Relief tsunamis through Elara as she goes to kneel beside him. "I'm so sorry?—"

Denzel pushes to his feet with a growl, making her stumble back a step. "What the hell, Elara?"

She blinks. Then blinks again. How can she answer that question when she has no idea what just happened? "I…I think it was a combination of the pain and anger…"

Denzel jams his hand through his close-cropped hair. "You just blasted me!"

"I'm so sorry. I really am." It was never a conscious choice.

Laith joins them, slipping a protective arm around her shoulder. "We're still learning how to control all of this."

"You're supposed to be honing your wolf strength and speed!" Denzel half-shouts. "Not… Not your magic!"

Kade's warnings filter through Elara's mind. His warnings that Denzel and the wolves will see her as a threat because she's far more powerful now feel prophetic.

Because she's not just a werewolf. She's also a witch.

Laith frowns. "We both have magic."

Denzel already knew this, but the blatant show of exactly how powerful that could be is now irrefutable. Elara's taken their powers from unspoken to undeniable.

He shakes his head, then straightens, looking like he's composing himself. "You cannot let the other wolves know you have these powers."

She stills. "W-what? Why?"

"Magic makes you powerful, Elara. That makes you…"

He doesn't finish the sentence, possibly because she's now several things.

Different.

Unknown.

Dangerous.

She takes a step back, disentangling herself from beneath Laith's arm. Concern tightens his features, but all she can do is shake her head. She can't reassure him. Right now, she's not okay.

So she turns and runs. Past her car. Through the forest. Blindly and with tears stinging her eyes.

Trees pass in a blur. The sound of cars can be heard in the distance but she stays away from the possibility of running into humans. Elara barely registers any of it. Her mind is swirling too fast. Her heart is hurting too much. All she knows is she needs to get away.

When the trees abruptly end, she stumbles to a stop. A clearing opens out, revealing a squat, concrete building. She knows she's on the outskirts of town, so she shouldn't be surprised to find something tucked amongst the trees, but she is. Possibly because it's like she just ran straight to it.

Possibly because it looks like a bunker crossed with a research facility.

Stopping beside a tree, Elara gives herself a moment to catch her breath. She draws the crisp air into her lungs, trying to get a sense of what she's found. She smells brown earth, chalky cement, and…

Her eyes shoot open wide.

She knows exactly how she ended up here.

Breaking into long strides, she makes her way to the door, any sense of shock washing away. Of course she found this place. Her heart knew where to go if it wants to feel safe.

Wide steps lead to an opaque glass door which she already knows is locked. Does she knock? Elara's about to clear the final step, her hand already forming a fist to do just that when the door whooshes open.

She grinds to a halt, surprised all over again.

The man who just stepped through stiffens, his head snapping in her direction. Professor Blanchard's eyebrows twitch as his mouth presses into a line. He straightens, nodding curtly. "Elara," he says cordially.

Then strides straight past her.

He's in a car she didn't register and driving away before she snaps out of her stupor. Professor Blanchard was the last person she expected to see, let alone here. And he remembered her name. She eyes the building, now suddenly wondering what she's stumbled across.

No, not stumbled.

She ran here with unerring accuracy. With a purpose she didn't know was driving her.

Because she was running to Kade.