Where the broken howl

Chapter Fourteen

Elara

The morning light barely touched the corners of the hall, yet it cut through her like ice. Elara pressed her cheek to the cold stone floor, counting the bruises that had appeared overnight. Her body had become a map of punishment—pain etched into her skin for mistakes she hadn’t made, for simply existing.

Her Lycan was silent again. She remembered the first time she had felt her companion’s presence in months, at the cliffs when she had met her mate. The joy of hearing her voice again, of feeling her Lycan resonate in her mind, had been overwhelming. That spark had given her hope, a tether to herself, to her strength. And now, that voice was gone, muted by weeks of beatings, isolation, and constant fear. Only a faint, distant pulse remained beneath her skin, a reminder that her companion was alive, but unreachable.

Elara tried to steady her breathing, willing herself not to cry out. One wrong sound, one misstep, and Maren, the Beta, would be on her instantly. She hadn’t dared make a sound last night when he had come for her, his intentions cruel and clear.

Her stomach twisted as the memory surfaced. Maren had loomed close, predatory, claiming she smelled of another wolf—a mark, in his mind, only he had a right to. She had resisted, fought with every ounce of strength she had, and he had punished her harder than she thought anyone could.

Now, she felt him coming again. The hall seemed to shrink around her. Her body tensed, coiled with dread.

“Elara,” Maren’s voice was low, dangerous, silk hiding the whip of cruelty beneath it. “Get up. Clean this mess.”

Her hands shook as she tried to rise, the bruises screaming in protest. She dropped her rag, trembling, wishing she could vanish entirely.

He stepped closer, eyes dark, hands reaching. His smirk was cruel, predatory. She couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through her.

“You’re mine,” he hissed, leaning close. “Anyone who would touch you, mark you, or dare—”

Elara pressed her hands to his, forcing them away. Her mind raced for excuses, for anything to buy herself a moment of safety.

“I… I need water,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I can’t… I’m too weak.”

Maren’s frown deepened, eyes narrowing. He leaned closer, and for a heartbeat, it felt as though there would be no escape.

Then—footsteps. A voice echoed faintly down the hallway, calling for someone else.

Maren froze, frustration tightening his jaw. His hands clenched, nostrils flaring, and he pulled away abruptly. The interruption didn’t calm him; if anything, it made him angrier. He muttered a curse under his breath, his glare following her as he stalked off down the hallway, furious that she had been interrupted before he could take what he wanted.

Elara sagged against the wall, relief washing over her in a trembling wave. But fear didn’t leave her entirely. The bruises throbbed, her father’s looming wrath was still there, and Maren’s claim lingered like poison in her mind.

Her Lycan remained silent. Elara pressed a hand to her temple, aching for even a flicker of the voice that had returned at the cliffs, the warmth she had felt when she first encountered her mate. That spark of hope, brief as it had been, had meant everything. Now, the emptiness felt cruel, a reminder that the world could snuff out even the tiniest light.

She slid down to the floor, curling into herself. Thoughts drifted to the cliffs—wind on her face, open space, freedom just for a heartbeat. Those memories were bittersweet. Lyria’s words echoed in her mind: It would be easier to fall… easier to stop fighting.

Her stomach twisted at the thought. She couldn’t allow herself to give in—not for herself, and not for her Lycan. To give up now could doom her companion to pain, confusion, perhaps even death. That thought burned brighter than any fear. She swallowed the despair as best she could.

The cliffs had been her sanctuary once, the only place she had felt free, even for a moment. The memory of that spark at the cliffs, the one that had pulled her toward someone stronger, someone who had recognized her, returned faintly now. It reminded her that her Lycan was alive, tethered to her, and waiting—even if silent.

Her fingers flexed against the cold stone floor. She would survive. Somehow, she would endure. The world might try to claim her, to silence her Lycan, to twist her body into submission, but she still had one weapon no one could take: herself.

The hall was empty again. Maren gone for now. Elara remained pressed into the corner, trembling, bruised, aching, yet alive. Her mind ran through excuses she could use to avoid him next time, ways to keep herself safe, ways to survive another day in a pack determined to break her completely.

Her bruises throbbed, her body ached, but deeper still was the absence of her Lycan’s voice. She whispered softly into the emptiness where her companion should have spoken.

“Stay with me… please.”

The bond pulsed faintly in response, subtle but undeniable. Even in silence, her Lycan remained tethered to her.

For the first time that day, Elara allowed herself to imagine that she might see her Lycan again. That thought, fragile as it was, gave her the tiniest spark of strength she had felt in weeks.

Even in the weight of fear, abuse, and isolation, she clung to that hope. It was all she had, and somehow, she would make it last.