Chapter 3 Marked and Taken

Elara fell through silver.

The world had cracked apart the moment her fingers touched Ronan's. One second she was standing in the courtyard of the Moonfang stronghold, Kael's roar echoing behind her-then she was weightless. Pulled into something vast and colorless, a void humming with cold energy. Her body twisted, her thoughts scattered.

No ground. No sky. Just rushing wind and silver light.

When she hit something solid again, it felt like waking up from a nightmare-except the nightmare had followed her here.

Elara hit the ground on her knees, breath catching in her throat. The air around her was heavy with fog and a strange, pulsing heat that seemed to rise from beneath the earth.

She gasped, trying to gather her bearings.

Wherever this was... it wasn't home.

The ground beneath her hands felt like stone, but it glowed faintly beneath her touch. Soft, almost alive. Like the surface was breathing in time with her.

"Elara," came a voice, low and steady.

She looked up sharply.

Ronan stood a few feet away, arms crossed, silver eyes glowing softly in the darkness. He looked perfectly at ease, like stepping through realms was just another walk in the woods.

She pushed herself to her feet, legs unsteady. Her mark was still warm, still tingling at her neck like it had a pulse of its own.

"Where are we?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

"A sanctuary," he replied simply. "Hidden between folds of this world and the next. They can't follow you here."

"They?" she echoed, heart pounding.

"Kael. The pack. Anyone bound to the laws of the old world."

Elara backed away slightly, suddenly aware of the unfamiliar terrain around her. The place looked like a forgotten temple swallowed by mist. Towering stone arches stretched above, broken in places and covered in black ivy. The moon overhead looked different-dimmer, tinged with red.

Nothing felt stable. The air itself shimmered like it was stitched together from magic and memory.

"You didn't ask me before you brought me here," she said.

"You didn't say no."

"I didn't get the chance."

Ronan studied her for a moment, then stepped forward slowly. "You were about to be hunted, Elara. Whether you realize it or not."

She frowned. "Kael wouldn't hurt me."

"Wouldn't he?" Ronan's voice lost its softness. "He rejected you in front of the pack. Then he saw your mark and ordered you removed. That wasn't fear. That was control slipping through his fingers."

Elara looked down, arms crossing over her chest. The image of Kael's cold expression flashed through her mind-his voice so final, his judgment unshakable.

She didn't respond.

"I didn't take you to harm you," Ronan said gently. "The opposite, actually."

"Then what do you want?" she asked quietly.

He was silent for a beat. "To protect what's been hidden."

She blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Instead of answering, he reached into the folds of his coat and pulled out a small mirror-like disc. He handed it to her.

"Look."

Elara hesitated, then took the disc and angled it toward herself.

At first, she only saw her reflection-her tangled hair, flushed cheeks, wide eyes. But then the mark began to glow again, and her reflection changed.

A woman stood in the mirror instead. Tall. Regal. Her hair long and silver. A crown of stars on her head. The same glowing symbol burned near her jaw.

"That's..." Elara's breath caught. "Who is she?"

"She was the first Nightborn," Ronan said softly. "A daughter of moonlight and shadow. A guardian of forgotten magic. And your ancestor."

"No..." Elara shook her head. "That's not possible. I'm just-"

"Ordinary?" he offered. "Were you ordinary when the light burst from your skin? When the ancient mark chose you? When you vanished into silver and left your Alpha behind?"

Elara's fingers tightened on the disc.

"I didn't choose this."

"I know." His voice softened again. "But sometimes destiny doesn't ask permission."

She sank down onto a nearby stone bench, overwhelmed. "Why me? Why now?"

"Because the balance is shifting," Ronan said, looking up at the moon. "The Nightborn are awakening again, and the old blood calls to the new. You're not the first. But you may be the last hope."

Elara stared down at her hands. They looked the same-but she didn't feel the same. Something ancient stirred under her skin, and her emotions tangled with it. Fear. Curiosity. Power.

And Ronan...

He was watching her carefully, his silver eyes unreadable.

She glanced at him. "What are you?"

"I'm a protector," he said simply. "Of your kind. Of our truth."

"You're Nightborn too?"

He nodded once. "Different lineage. Same blood."

Silence stretched between them, thick and charged.

Then Elara whispered, "That voice in my head... was that you?"

He smiled faintly. "No. That wasn't me."

Her eyes narrowed. "Then who-"

Before she could finish, the air rippled.

A sound-deep, metallic, and distant-rippled across the sanctuary like thunder rolling through water.

Ronan stiffened. "We're not alone."

"What is it?" Elara asked, rising to her feet.

His eyes scanned the mist around them. "Something breached the veil. That shouldn't be possible."

"You said no one could follow us here."

"I said no one should be able to," he corrected.

The sound came again-closer this time. A rumble. A groan. A whisper layered in shadows.

Then shapes began to form in the mist.

Elara stepped back.

From the fog emerged tall figures-cloaked in black, faces hidden, eyes glowing with violet fire. They moved like smoke, graceful and unnatural.

"Who-what are they?" she whispered.

"Wraithborn," Ronan said grimly. "They guard the threshold between worlds. They shouldn't be here unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Unless someone sent them."

The Wraithborn moved closer.

Elara's mark flared again, searing like fire under her skin.

"They're reacting to me."

"They're drawn to your power," Ronan said. "We need to leave. Now."

He stepped forward, lifting his hand-but the nearest Wraithborn raised its arm, and the magic twisted mid-air, shattering Ronan's spell in a burst of violet sparks.

"They blocked it," he growled.

"How do we stop them?" she asked.

"We don't."

He grabbed her hand again, and this time, he didn't ask.

A violent wind burst from beneath them, silver light exploded, and the sanctuary cracked beneath their feet.

Elara's last image was of the Wraithborn reaching for her-before the world shattered again.

They were not alone. And now they were hunted in more than one realm.