The Rejected Mate’s Return

Chapter 5: The dagger

A silver dagger flew straight at Elara's heart.

She saw it coming and couldn't move. Silas's hand was still raised, his smile still gentle, and the blade was already inches from her ribs.

Then a body slammed into her.

She hit the snow, and warm blood splashed across her face.

"Damon!"

He lay on top of her with the dagger buried in his shoulder, his dark eyes wide with shock, as if his own body had betrayed him. Red foam bubbled at his lips.

For one second, neither of them breathed.

Then he shoved himself off her and staggered up, pressing a hand to the wound.

"Don't," he snarled. "Don't look at me like that."

"You saved me."

"It was the bond." His voice shook with rage. "My wolf moved before I could stop it. It means nothing."

"Damon, you're bleeding..."

"I said it means nothing!"

Black veins crept out from the wound and raced up his neck.

Poison, her wolf hissed. Moonblood poison. Meant for us.

Damon's knees buckled. He caught himself on his sword and glared up at Silas, and for the first time, doubt cracked across his face.

"Silas," he said hoarsely. "What did you do?"

Silas sighed, as if disappointed by a child. "Such a waste. I wanted you alive a little longer."

He lifted two fingers.

Every Blackthorn wolf dropped to their knees at once, clutching their heads. Their eyes rolled white. Then they rose, snarling, and charged the gates.

"The collars!" Kane roared, ducking a blade. "He's controlling them!"

Steel rang across the snow. Wolves howled and men shifted mid-leap. Elara dragged Damon behind a boulder, ignoring his curses, and pressed both hands against his wound.

"Stay awake," she ordered. "I'm not done being angry at you."

He gave a cracked, bitter laugh. "Good. Neither am I."

"Elara!" Kane slid in beside her, blood on his sleeve. "Silas is heading for the treeline."

Across the field, Silas walked calmly through the chaos, untouched. Wolves lunged at him and veered away at the last second. At the edge of the trees, he turned and held up a tiny glass vial.

"Would you like to save him, little Moonblood?"

Her heart stopped.

"One drop is all he needs. He has less than an hour." Silas tossed something toward her, and it skidded across the snow and stopped at her feet. A pendant, a crescent moon cut from black glass. "Come to the Moonstone Altar at midnight. Alone."

"It's a trap," Kane growled.

"Perhaps," Silas said pleasantly. "But are you willing to bet his life on it?"

Then he was gone. The collared wolves dropped like puppets with cut strings, groaning and confused.

The battle was over. Nobody cheered.

Elara knelt in the snow as Damon's breath grew shallow.

"You're not going," Kane said.

"If he dies, I'll never learn the truth."

"That's not why."

She didn't answer.

Look at the pendant, her wolf murmured, low and strange.

She picked it up. The glass was ice-cold and humming like a heartbeat. As she turned it over, silver light flickered at its core, and understanding slid into her mind like a blade.

It's a key. Made from our blood. It opens a seal, and it closes one.

Elara's stomach dropped. "Then the cure..."

Is the last piece of the lock. He doesn't want to save Damon. He wants to bury me forever.

Damon's eyes fluttered open, glassy and distant. His fingers found her wrist.

"Elara," he whispered. "Whatever he gives you... don't take it."

"How do you know?"

His grip tightened, and something she had never seen crossed his face. Fear, old and deep.

"Because he gave me a cure once," Damon breathed. "When I was eight."

His eyes rolled back, and his hand fell limp.

And across the frozen mountain, the old tower of the Moonstone Altar began to toll.

One hour until midnight.