"Get in there," a man's voice said right before Elana hit the floor, scraping her wounded arm in the process.
Heavy metal clanged behind her—doors, keys, locks.
Now this was a prison.
The cold smell hit her first: stale dust, old filth and the faint sting of human waste.
She pushed herself up and crawled forward, hoping to find a wall to brace herself against. Her hands brushed the sole of a shoe—someone was wearing it.
She gasped and jerked.
"Who's there?" she whispered.
A man scoffed. "What's a sweet pie like you doing in here?"
Tears welled in her eyes. They put her with men? They could have killed her quietly—why traumatize her first?
She shielded her chest, praying to God to spare her this once before she died. "P-please…don't hurt me. Have mercy."
"Relax, Lady." Another voice, older, edged but calm, came from the left. "We're not those types of men."
Elana froze. She was surprised.
If they weren't bad men. Why were they in Prison?
Hot tobacco breath brushed her cheek. "Are you blind?" The first man asked.
She hesitated—should she say it?
.
"We won't hurt you, Lass," the older one said. "Promise."
Elana nodded slowly.
A rough hand took hers—surprisingly gentle—guiding her toward the wall.
"Here you go," he said, releasing her.
His footsteps retreated a few feet before he slumped down with a sigh.
"Thank you," she whispered. She still couldn't understand why these good men were here. Were they also sentenced to die?
"You're Welcome. I'm Zane," the gentle-rough voice said. "My friend is Vaughn. And the quiet one with him is Cara."
"Thank you, Ma—" she started..
"Just Zane is fine, Sweet pie."
Vaughn cleared his throat. "What could they possibly want with you, Miss..?"
"Elana." Her voice shrank, fear pressing on her chest. "I was sentenced to death…for being infected."
"Death my foot," Zane scoffed. "Trust me, darling—as long as you are here, you're not dying any time soon."
A small flicker of hope pierced her. "Why?" she whispered.
"It's true." a woman said—Cara. "Our fate is decided after the war."
Elana curled up, hugging the only part of her body she could—her knees.
If they weren't going to kill her? Why was she here?
Her arm throbbed and neck burned. Her emotions coiling tight inside her, threatening to burst.
They had dismissed her like she was nothing. The 'blind slave of the Gringer family.'
After the carriage accident with wolves…she felt Azael.
But only a beast had fangs long enough to puncture a human throat.
Nothing added up.
Especially since she couldn't hear him or feel his cold skin.
At least he had seen her as normal enough to kiss her.
She'd lost everything so fast because she dared to be happy. Secretly, she blamed the universe. The fate of a disabled like her only mattered in the hands of the abled.
Just like Naina telling the king she was useless. How Israel was taken from her?
No one would care for her wounds except Trisha. No one would hold her hands and kiss her like Azael.
Elana couldn't hold it in, she hoped the noise wouldn't bother the other prisoners as she burst out, crying.
Trying to muffle the noise in her dress, the one that had some of Trisha's dandelion scent on it.
The prison walls echoed back her grief but not once did the other prisoners complain.
**
"It is done. Lord Azael." the ghost mediator said.
Azael nodded and stepped outside, his ear immediately picked an approaching noise.
He snapped his head aside just in time as three claws sliced past him and buried themselves in the wall behind.
Azael clenched his jaw and his gaze snapped to the source—Fen.
The bastard laughed, emerging from the forest in human form—at least clothed this time.
"Ready to go again, Fen?" Azael arched a brow. Might as well scratch Fen's itch for a fight.
"Not quite, but I'm looking forward to it." Fen cocked his head. "You killed my wolves over humans?"
Azael's heart skipped, expression stoic.
"Humans have been appearing a lot in your space my lord and now you're protecting them?" Fen said.
Azael's eyes followed his movements. "Since when did you become a philosopher? Fen."
"Since you fed on a certain ginger-haired girl." Fen replied, a grin cracking his face as he met Azael's eyes intently.
His heart faltered again, beneath a mask of calm; even a breath too sharp would give Fen the satisfaction he craved.
Fen stepped back, a flicker of unease crossing his grin. "Suddenly I'm craving ginger-haired girls with slightly dark skin."
Azael teleported to an oak tree, barely containing his rage.
He was about to lunge Fen right there before he finished the words.
But he couldn't let Fen see.
Bloody Fen—he was smarter than Azael had expected.
His body spiked with goosebumps, sensing black magic.
Probably Fen.
The ghost mediator was still stretching the spiritual cast of his domain.
**
From his spellroom, Syrus laughed, eyes catching the sudden appearance of the ancient perched on an oak tree.
His features confirmed his vampiric nature, even his supernatural strength that allowed him to appear from nowhere.
This one was strong. He had attempted to observe the vampire up close, using the magic he left behind.
But the creature reacted. Syrus had to retreat to avoid detection.
The king's selfishness was a useful tool for his search for Ancients.
The blind girl he had observed wasn't short of blood—not even a pint. Why had a vampire marked her without feeding?
There was also a bite—a wolf bite.
His head clicked.
The little boy had described man-sized wolves. Werewolves too?
Elana should have turned by now if they were.
Syrus scratched his stubble, wondering how she had been bitten by a wolf and a vampire.