Chapter Twenty One :Eclipse Rising
671 Words
The dream was the first sign.
Elara stood in a field of bones.
The moon overhead was blacked out — a complete eclipse. Crimson light bled from its edges, dripping into the ground, soaking the skeletons beneath her feet. She could hear whispers — low, ancient voices calling her by a name she had never spoken:
“Moirae…”
“Come back to us…”
“Unleash the ruin…”
Her hands were covered in blood, but she didn’t know if it was hers — or Zayne’s.
Then a growl behind her. Familiar. Deep.
She turned.
A wolf stepped from the shadows.
Not Zayne.
Herself.
Her wolf. Fully formed. Wild. Deadly.
It locked eyes with her… then lunged.
Elara screamed—
And woke with a gasp.
Zayne was beside her, instantly alert, his hand cupping her cheek. “Another vision?”
She nodded, breath ragged. “Worse this time. I saw… me. But not me.”
He pulled her into his chest. “We’ll get through this.”
But Elara’s hands were trembling. And her heart whispered a truth she couldn’t speak aloud.
The wolf wasn’t just inside her.
It was starting to take over.
By morning, the Hollow was in a frenzy.
The eclipse was only four nights away. And every elder, every soldier, every witch and wolf was preparing for the worst.
“Elara needs protection,” Lucien barked at the council. “We bind her power until after the moon passes.”
“No,” Zayne snapped. “You won’t put chains on her just because she’s afraid. She’s not a weapon.”
“She’s not?” the high priestess hissed. “Then explain the scorch marks on the sacred stone. Or the split in the Moon Altar. That wasn’t the wind, Zayne.”
Zayne clenched his fists. “She’s evolving. That’s all.”
But even he felt the unease clawing at his gut.
Elara’s power was growing — too fast, too wild.
And Rhydian… was waiting.
Later that night, Elara stood alone in the ritual chamber, staring at the cracked altar.
Her fingertips brushed the stone. It pulsed beneath her touch.
Zayne entered, silent as always, and wrapped his arms around her from behind. “They want to cage you.”
“I know,” she said softly.
“But I won’t let them.”
She turned to face him, her eyes filled with storm. “And if they’re right?”
“Then let them fear you.”
She searched his face. “Would you?”
Zayne didn’t answer with words.
He pulled her against the altar, lifting her onto it with one swift motion, his mouth claiming hers in a hungry kiss that left no room for doubt.
“I don’t fear you, Elara,” he whispered against her lips. “I worship you.”
He kissed down her neck, his hands trailing over her body, worshipping every inch like it might be the last time.
She gasped as he knelt between her legs, spreading them wide, tasting her like a sinner begging absolution.
“Zayne—”
“Say it,” he growled, eyes locked on hers.
“I want you,” she moaned.
He rose, kissing her deeply, then thrust inside her with a force that stole her breath. The altar vibrated with their rhythm, with the heat building between them, with her cries echoing against sacred stone.
“Mine,” he snarled, pounding into her. “Every part of you.”
“Yes,” she gasped. “Always—”
They came undone together, a sacred sin painted across ancient ruins.
And when they collapsed into each other’s arms, trembling and slick with sweat, Elara whispered, “I’m scared I’ll hurt you.”
Zayne kissed her brow. “You already have.”
She blinked, startled.
“With how deep I’ve fallen,” he added with a crooked smile.
She slapped his chest, laughing weakly — but the fear in her chest remained.
Because the next time she dreamed…
She didn’t scream.
She howled.
- Writer
