Page 35 of Where Lightning Strikes Twice
Elder Talon nods. “A reasonable request. Commander Gale will speak with Zara.”
Two warriors step forward to escort me from the chamber. As we turn to leave, Viktor speaks once more.
“One final matter, Council members. The ground-dweller female who has compromised our Stormwright must be dealt with. I propose a strike team to capture her for questioning.”
My control slips at this direct threat to Elena. Lightning crackles around my hands, up my arms, dancing across my shoulders. The warriors beside me step back instinctively.
“You will not touch her,” I growl, my voice dropping to a dangerous register that echoes with storm magic.
The display only serves to reinforce Viktor’s claims. He gestures to my lightning-wreathed form with exaggerated concern. “You see the hold she has on him? When faced with a threat to this human, he turns against his own people.”
Elder Tempest rises, her expression hardening. “The Commander’s suggestion has merit. Bring the female here. If she has indeed corrupted our Stormwright, she must answer for it.”
“And if she is innocent?” I demand, struggling to rein in my power.
“Then she will be released unharmed,” Elder Talon states, though his eyes betray uncertainty. “Stormwarden Viktor, assemble a small team. Discretion is essential—we do not want to provoke Haven’s Heart into open conflict.”
Viktor bows his head in mock humility. “Of course, Elder. We will be swift and silent.”
The warriors guide me from the chamber, one on each side, though they’re careful not to touch me while lightning still dances across my skin. As we pass Viktor, he leans in close enough that only I can hear his whispered words.
“You’ve made this too easy, Stormwright. By dawn, both your leadership and your ground-dweller witch will be mine to dispose of as I see fit.”
It takes every ounce of my control not to strike him down where he stands. But that’s exactly what he wants—a display of uncontrolled rage that would confirm every accusation he’s made. Instead, I meet his gaze steadily.
“You underestimate her, Viktor. And you underestimate me.”
His smile never reaches his cold gray eyes. “We’ll see.”
The purification chamber lives up to its ancient reputation. Carved deep within the mountain, far from the open sky that is our birthright, its stone walls are inscribed with sigils designed to dampen magical energy. The moment I enter, I feel the difference—the constant hum of storm magic that normally fills my veins fades to a distant whisper.
The warriors lock the heavy wooden door behind me, leaving me alone in the dim light of a single oil lamp. The chamber contains only a simple pallet for sleeping, a water pitcher, and a small altar for meditation. Traditional purification requires three days of isolation, fasting, and ritual contemplation.
I pace the small space, mind racing through possibilities. Viktor has orchestrated this perfectly. By the time I’m released, he will have consolidated power, possibly eliminated Elena, and positioned himself as the clan’s savior from my alleged corruption. His temporary leadership will become permanent through formal challenge—a challenge I’ll be in no position to refuse and will have no chance to win after days of magical dampening.
But Viktor has made one critical mistake. He assumes the mate bond between Elena and me is a weakness to exploit rather than a strength to fear.
Even through the dampening effects of the chamber, I can feel her—a warm presence at the edges of my consciousness. Ourbond has strengthened with each meeting, each shared touch, each exchange of affection and magic. Although it is incomplete, it creates a connection that transcends physical distance.
I settle onto the stone floor, cross my legs, and close my eyes, focusing on that connection. Viktor may have isolated me from my clan, from the sky, from the storm itself—but he cannot sever what binds me to Elena.
I push my consciousness along that golden thread of connection, seeking her mind, her presence. It’s like trying to see through fog, the dampening sigils making what should be natural into an exhausting struggle. Sweat beads on my forehead as I concentrate, pouring every ounce of will into reaching her.
Elena, I project, unsure if thought alone can bridge the distance between us.Danger. Viktor comes for you. Hide.
Whether she receives my warning or not, I must prepare for what comes next. Viktor will not be satisfied with merely taking my position. His pride, his jealousy, his fanatical belief in Storm Eagle superiority—all demand my complete defeat and humiliation. He will force a formal challenge the moment I emerge from purification, when I am at my weakest.
I remove my ceremonial leathers, stripping down to simple trousers, and begin the ancient conditioning exercises passed down through generations of Storm Eagle warriors. If I cannot access the full measure of my storm magic, I will rely on physical strength and combat training. For hours, I move through forms designed to center the mind and prepare the body, pushing myself to the edge of exhaustion.
When I finally rest, collapsing onto the pallet, my muscles burn with exertion. But my mind feels clearer, more focused. Viktor believes he has trapped me, neutralized me. He forgets that I have led our clan through thirteen years of hardship and threats, that I became Stormwright at nineteen by defeating challengers older and more experienced than he is now.
He forgets that I have never needed storm magic to be dangerous.
Sleep claims me eventually, but it brings no peace. My dreams are fractured, violent—Viktor’s scouts dragging Elena from her quarters, Zara standing trial before a hostile Council, the aerie burning as Dire Wolves scale the cliffs beneath. I wake with a jolt, disoriented in the unchanging dim light of the chamber, unsure how much time has passed.
A new sensation pulls at my awareness—pain, distant but unmistakable, radiating through the mate bond. Elena is in danger, perhaps already captured. I reach for the connection again, straining against the dampening sigils, trying to send strength, reassurance, anything that might help her.
The door to the chamber opens without warning. Zara stands in the entrance, flanked by two young warriors who look distinctly uncomfortable.
