Chapter 20: Loyalty of Her Shadow

  Third-Person POV

  The medical camp flickered with a torchlight. Evanora lay surrounded by vampire healers. Beta Kaden’s left shoulder, broken and elevated, was stiff with pain, yet his gaze never left her. The canvas walls barely muffled the distant cries of battle winding down. Inside, Evanora lay on a cot draped in old Devourix cloth—frayed, but woven with magic to retain warmth and vitality.

  Her skin was pale, even for a vampire. Her breathing was shallow, her once-commanding presence reduced to silence. The half-human heart inside her chest—foreign, fragile—struggled beneath the weight of a body born for war, not mercy.

  A Devourix healer muttered a chant, fingers glowing as they hovered over Evanora’s chest.

  “The body rejects vampire healing and Devourix magic… and human blood is not enough,” she murmured, brows furrowed.

  Zagan stood at the entrance, his silhouette a silent sentinel. His shirt was torn across one shoulder, crusted with rogue blood, but he made no move to rest or change. His gaze never left her.

  “She needs rest,” the healer finally said, exhausted.

  He said nothing.

  Then, slowly, he moved forward. Every step toward her cot was a study in control, the storm inside him carefully bottled beneath clenched fists and a rigid jaw. He knelt beside her.

  Her eyes fluttered open at his presence.

  Not alarmed.

  Just aware.

  Calm.

  “Zagan…” she breathed, her voice unsteady.

  He bowed his head slightly.

  “I should have trusted my instinct more,” he murmured.

  “Next time,” she whispered.

  He reached out slowly, wrapping one gloved hand around her bitten leg, as if afraid she might turn to dust if he touched her too harshly.

  Her skin was ice.

  Without a word, Zagan bit into his wrist, letting blood trail into a waiting basin.

  “Use this,” he said to the healer. “It’s fused with my shadow power. She’s lived off it before.”

  The healer hesitated, eyeing the blade-touched, shadow-laced blood warily.

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  “That could be dangerous.”

  “She’s more dangerous,” Zagan said flatly.

  The healer obeyed. They had already lost too many.

  As Evanora sipped the mixture—shadow-warmed, laced with his essence—color slowly bled back into her cheeks. Her eyelids no longer trembled with unconscious spasms. She gave him a faint, knowing smile before sleep claimed her again.

  Three nights passed beneath the Devourix wards.

  Zagan didn’t leave her side.

  Worry lined his face.

  This wasn’t the first time she had been in danger—and not the first time he had stood between her and death—but this attack revealed something he refused to accept: her fragility.

  His rage stayed buried.

  Not now.

  She needed to recover.

  A wind passed through the tent.

  Her eyes opened. A small smile touched her lips.

  Unlike before, her voice carried strength.

  “I’m not fully healed,” she said steadily. “But I feel… less pain.”

  Her gaze was calm, tinged with pride.

  Zagan nodded. She had never needed reassurance. He didn’t need her gratitude—he needed her present and command.

  “Next time, I will be more careful,” Zagan muttered.

  “I feel alive,” she smiled.

  “Why don’t you?” he asked quietly. “I don’t like seeing you like this.”

  “Zagan, why worry? Those Thorn Hunters were dead by your sword.” Her pride in him hadn’t faded.

  “They didn’t bind me with their thorn tails,” he replied. “Their energy was already spent—wolves, Devourix, war.” Zagan did not forgive his hesitation.

  “They will still bleed, Zagan. You’re trained not to accept defeat, and I’m trained to survive the worst.”

  Zagan nodded, understanding.

  “We choose to survive this, Zagan.”

  “We do, Your Highness.”

  And this time, he meant it not as a soldier - but as the one who would rather die than let her fall again.

  Beta Kaden leaned against a wooden post, arms crossed, staring at the tent flap with furrowed brows. He didn’t pace—wolves didn’t pace when they were worried—but his thumb tapped rhythmically against the hilt of his dagger.

  Inside that tent lay a girl with no pack, no scent, no aura… and yet everything about her screamed danger. And beside her—a shadow-wielding merchant with blood-crusted boots and a sword capable of slicing spirit and flesh alike.

  “She’s healing fast,” Beta Kaden muttered, mostly to himself.

  Gamma Rudy, still nursing cracked ribs, limped over with a scoff.

  “Not fast enough to walk away. Which is good. Give us time to figure out what they are.”

  Kaden glanced at him sideways.

  “We’ve said enough. First recovery. Don’t forget—they helped us when we were outnumbered.”

  Rudy held back his reply.

  Zagan stood across the tent, dark eyes watching every movement like a hawk circling uncertain prey. The shadows near his boots lingered too long, and his presence made the firelight stutter for half a second.

  Kaden didn’t flinch.

  But he didn’t move either.

  He spoke to the so-called merchant.

  “That girl—your… slave, queen, sister, lover, whatever—she will recover. If you need assistance, let us know.”

  Zagan’s expression remained unreadable. No anger. No warmth. Just calculated silence. His gaze pinned Evanora like a tether. Like a vow.

  Beta Kaden knew that looked well. He’d worn it himself more times than he cared to count while protecting his territory. He had always been cautious of these two—but he was unaware of Zagan’s true potential.

  The air outside the tent had cooled, but inside, tension still simmered.

  Beta Kaden knelt beside the cot, his werewolf healing already accelerating his recovery. A damp cloth rested in one hand, fresh salve-soaked gauze in the other. Evanora—Faith, as they knew her—sat upright with effort, her body trembling with each breath. The half-human heart inside her beat unevenly, unfit for the shell it inhabited.

  “You should be sleeping,” Kaden said quietly, dipping the cloth into warm herbal water. “But I know how well people sleep when they’re surrounded by strangers and stitched skin.”

  Evanora didn’t respond, but she didn’t pull away either. Her gaze lingered on the edge of the tent flap, memorizing the outside world.

  Kaden cleaned the cut along her leg, his hands gentle—surprising for someone who once tore a Thorn Hunter’s spine from its body.

  “We’re out of healers,” he murmured apologetically. “And workers. The last skirmish drained more than blood.”

  Regret edged his voice.

  “I’m sorry you were dragged into this mess. You and your… merchant.” His tone made it clear he didn’t believe the story for a second.

  “This wasn’t supposed to happen. We were hunting monsters, not dragging two strangers through hell.”

  Evanora’s lips parted as if to speak, then closed again. Kaden noticed and offered her a small, exhausted smile.

  “You don’t have to talk. I’ve spent enough time around the quiet kind to know words don’t always come easy. Or safe.”

  He finished redressing her wound, hands steady, then looked up.

  “You’re safe here,” he said, his voice soft but cautious. “For now.”

  She met his gaze—not grateful, but not distrustful either.

  Kaden rose slowly. His eyes flicked once more to Zagan, who had just entered the tent, his injuries mostly healed by Devourix power. The tension in the man’s shoulders, the stillness that screamed louder than rage, did not go unnoticed.

  Something passed between them—wordless. Wary.

  Kaden inclined his head slightly.

  A gesture of acknowledgment. Of respect. And of warning.

  I see you.

  Then he stepped out into the cooling night, leaving the shadows behind.

  ****