Page 47 of His Darkest Devotion

I square my shoulders. “I’ll stand with you,” I say, voice steady despite the storm inside me. “We’ll find a way to stop this—whether it’s sealing the gargoyles or forging alliances with those who see reason.”

Her tense expression softens, relief evident. She reaches out, lightly brushing her fingers across my cheek. “Thank you,” she breathes.

Heat flushes my skin at her touch. The sense of being an undeserving creature lingers, but I push it down, focusing on the resolve she inspires. As we descend the ridge, stepping carefully to avoid tumbling into a gorge, another gargoyle roar ripples across the sky. We exchange grim looks.The world is changing faster than we can adapt.

Once again, we seek a hidden hollow to rest as dusk settles, mindful of the roars echoing in the far distance. My side pulses with renewed pain. Each step forward reaffirms that I can’t revert to the Overlord’s pawn. My feelings for Elira might be my only compass in this chaos.

When we finally set up a tiny camp at the base of a scraggly pine, night has fallen. We share the last scraps of rations, chewing in silence. The distant howls of gargoyles never quite fade, sending intermittent chills up my spine. I suspect Elira’s illusions cloak us from prying eyes above. I don’t question her, simply trusting her skill.We rest again in a precarious hush.

As we settle side by side in the gloom, I sense her gaze on me. When I meet her eyes, a subtle warmth passes between us. The events of the day—my turmoil, her unwavering belief, the roars in the distance—press down, but so does the memory of our closeness. I long to hold her again, to find solace in her arms. Yet guilt tugs me back, reminding me of the beast beneath my skin.

She notices my hesitation. “It’s all right,” she whispers, shifting closer. Her illusions swirl, forming a faint glow that cradles us in a private world. “We don’t have to figure out everything tonight.”

I exhale a shaky breath, letting her head rest on my shoulder. My arm hesitantly loops around her waist, drawing her near. It’s a small comfort in the face of monstrous forces, but it’s enough to steady the ragged edges of my soul.For now, we cling to each other as a shield against the darkness.

The night drags on, gargoyle roars occasionally breaking the silence. Each time, dread flickers in Elira’s eyes, and the gargoyle essence in me stirs uncomfortably. But we remain together, hearts pounding in uneasy unity. I don’t know if I can truly cast off the Overlord’s hold forever or subdue my gargoyle instincts, but in the warmth of Elira’s presence, hope flickers.It might be enough.

And so we endure, battered and unsure, haunted by roars from newly awakened horrors, yet bound by a fragile bond.A bond we both need more than we dare admit.I drift into restless half-sleep, Elira’s gentle heartbeat echoing in my ears, the only lullaby in this desolate wilderness.

Come morning, we’ll trek onward, battered hearts braced against the oncoming storm. But tonight, in the cavern’s hush, I allow myself the sliver of belief that perhaps, despite my monstrous blood, I can stand at her side, not as a hound of Orthani but as a man forging his own destiny. Even if that destiny leads me into the jaws of slumbering gargoyles, I’ll face it with Elira’s hand in mine.

15

ELIRA

Iwake at dawn to the soft light filtering into our cavern, the distant echoes of gargoyle roars still buzzing along my spine. My eyes flutter open to find Vaelin’s arm draped across my waist, his breathing slow and warm against my shoulder. My heart clenches at the memory of everything we’ve endured—battered bodies, an uncertain alliance, and a bond that has grown deeper than I ever thought possible.

For a moment, I let myself revel in his closeness. Despite the cold stone beneath us and the tang of damp air, a faint glow of contentment stirs within me. He’s here. We’re alive. We have a chance, however fragile, to shape our fate. But the prophecy looms, tangling my stomach in tight knots.We can’t hide forever.

Gently, I shift, trying not to rouse him. My muscles ache, bruises from past battles throbbing in protest. The faint light reveals Vaelin’s angular features, silver hair still tangled from restless sleep. Something inside my chest tightens at the sight of his calm face, free from the torment that usually shadows his eyes. Part of me wants to linger, to press my lips to his cheek and pretend we have a lifetime of mornings like this. But reality tugs, reminding me of the chaos waiting beyond these cavern walls.

As I edge away, Vaelin stirs, blinking in confusion until recognition softens his gaze. “Elira,” he says quietly, voice hoarse. His arm retracts, as though he’s unsure whether he can keep holding me.

I offer a small, comforting smile. “Good morning.” My pulse quickens at the intimate memory of our bond, how we fused magic and hearts to break the Overlord’s hold. The knowledge that I’m part of the reason he’s free both humbles and terrifies me. If I fail him, if I fail all of us…No, I can’t dwell on that.

He sits up, wincing at the strain on his ribs. “Another day,” he murmurs, exhaling a heavy sigh. “Have the gargoyles grown louder?”

I pause, straining my hearing. The wind outside the cave whispers over the rocky slopes, carrying no immediate roars. Yet dread lingers, as though something monstrous prowls at the edge of hearing. “Not at the moment,” I reply, shaking my head. “But that doesn’t mean they’re gone. They might be prowling lower terrain. Or resting, if gargoyles even do such a thing.”

He grimaces. “We should get moving soon.”

I nod in agreement and rise, gathering my battered cloak. Our meager possessions fit easily into a single satchel. I’m tucking away a leftover strip of dried fruit when a sudden wave of dizziness hits me, accompanied by a familiar tingle of telepathic magic. My mind lurches—someone from my coven is reaching out.

“Elira.” The voice resonates inside my skull, urgent and layered with static. I stagger, leaning against the cavern wall. Vaelin springs to my side, concern etched across his face.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, brow creased.

I hold up a hand to silence him, focusing on the telepathic thread. It’s the Matriarch’s voice, crackling with distance and strain. “Elira,” she repeats, “hear me if you can. The Gargoyle Warlord has emerged. The Red Purnas have allied with the Overlord. They’re marching on—” The connection crackles, nearly slipping away. I push more focus into bridging the distance, ignoring the pounding in my skull.

“Matriarch, I’m here,” I project silently, heart racing. “What do you mean the Red Purnas allied with the Overlord?”

Her response is faint, clipped. “They struck a deal for power. Our wards are compromised. The Gargoyle Warlord has awakened in the old fortress of Ghalarak. He’s leading the others. Elira… the prophecy is culminating. We need you—only you can stand against them.”

Fear coils in my gut. A fortress, an army of gargoyles, and a twisted alliance between my worst enemies. My teeth clench. “I’ll come. I’ll bring help. Where are you?”

“Retreating to the mountain pass north of the coven,” she replies, voice laced with desperation. “We plan to fortify, gather loyal purnas. Hurry.”

Then, as abruptly as it began, the telepathic link severs. I stumble forward, gripping Vaelin’s arm for support. A shudder wracks me—my whole body hums with the residual magic of that forced connection.

---