Page 9 of Magic Undaunted

Stryker’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them, but he didn’t stop her as she turned away. She could feel his gaze burning into her back, the weight of his presence heavy on her shoulders as she moved swiftly through the hall.

The High Council was hiding something—something dangerous. And Stryker was caught in the middle of it, whether he realized it or not.

As Elyria slipped into the shadows, her heart still pounding, two questions lingered, gnawing at her:What if I still want him?And worse, what if I never stopped?

Elyria moved through the shadows of the opulent corridors of the High Council, her breath coming in short, controlled bursts. Her mind was a frenzied maelstrom. The encounter with Stryker still burned through her system. The tension between them had been as intense and dangerous as ever—a verbal dance of hidden meanings and unspoken history. Every word exchanged felt like a sharp blade poised to cut deep, and yet, beneath the anger, beneath the betrayal, the pull between them had been undeniable.

Why does he still affect me this way?Her jaw clenched as she tried to push the memory of his dark eyes burning into hers from her mind. Even now, she could still feel the weight of his presence, the magnetic force that seemed to draw her toward him despite everything that had happened.

It was maddening.

The High Council had cast her out, and Stryker had let her go. Until she’d taken her first step into the realm of mortals and lesser supernatural beings, she had believed he would come and stop her, but he hadn’t. Instead, just like the others, he had cast her aside, believing her to be tainted. Tonight, though, had been different. He hadn’t betrayed her to the others, and when he’d spoken to her, there had been something else in his voice. Something that had sounded almost like regret.

No, Elyria reminded herself, forcing her steps to quicken as she made her way through the winding halls. She couldn’t afford to get distracted, not when so much was at stake. Thewhispers she had overheard about the human mage, the weapon—it confirmed what the rebels had feared. The High Council was planning something far worse than they had imagined.

She reached a quieter, less populated wing of the palace, far from the laughter and music of the grand hall. Elyria paused, her hand tightening around the dagger hidden beneath her cloak as she scanned the area for any signs of trouble. It was almost too quiet now, the kind of quiet that set her on edge.

And then, a flicker of movement caught her eye.

A servant, one of the lesser fae, hurried past her, its steps quick and nervous as it carried a tray of empty glasses toward a side door. Nothing about the scene was particularly unusual—there were always servants rushing about during these grand events—but something about the way the fae moved made Elyria frown. Its shoulders were hunched, its head tilted at an odd angle, and a strange shimmer of magic clung to its figure.

She stepped closer, her senses prickling with unease. “Hey,” she called out softly, her voice low but commanding.

The servant froze mid-step, its body stiffening unnaturally. Slowly, almost mechanically, it turned to face her. Elyria’s stomach dropped.

Its face was pale—too pale—and its eyes, once bright and full of life, were now hollowed and dark, as if its very essence had been drained. Its mouth hung slightly agape, the skin around its lips cracked and gray. The faint shimmer of magic she had sensed before was no longer faint—it clung to the fae like a sickness, warping its features as if some dark force was reshaping it into something monstrous.

“By the gods…” Elyria whispered, taking a step back as the fae’s twisted, half-dead eyes locked onto hers.

Before she could react, the fae servant convulsed violently, its body twisting and contorting as a horrific gurgling sound tore from its throat. Magic—dark, corrupted magic—rippled throughthe air, and the fae’s once-delicate wings shattered, falling to the ground in a heap. Its skin stretched, cracking as veins of black magic crawled beneath the surface, its body transforming into something grotesque, barely recognizable.

Elyria barely had time to unsheathe her dagger before the creature lunged at her, its bony hands outstretched, its mouth opening in a silent scream.

She dodged, rolling to the side and slashing upward with her blade, catching the creature across the chest. The cut sizzled with magic, the dark energy recoiling from the blade as the creature screeched, staggering back.

“Dammit,” Elyria muttered, her heart pounding as she assessed the situation. This wasn’t just some random attack—this was something far worse. The creature before her wasn’t a mindless beast. It had been a fae. And now, it was something else entirely.

The creature recovered quickly, its hollow eyes locked onto her with a predatory focus. It lunged again, faster this time, but Elyria was ready. She spun, slicing her blade through the air with practiced precision. The magic-infused steel met its target, cleaving through the creature’s neck. Its head snapped back, and with a final shudder, the twisted body crumpled to the floor in a heap of blackened magic and withered flesh.

For a moment, the only sound in the corridor was Elyria’s ragged breathing.

She wiped her dagger clean, her thoughts racing. The rebels had suspected something dark was at play, but this? This was a nightmare made real. If the High Council was experimenting with magic that could twist and corrupt lesser fae into monsters, then the danger was far greater than they’d feared.

A sharp cry broke the silence. Elyria turned just in time to see a group of supernaturals—guests of the High Council—frozen in horror at the sight of the fallen creature. Their wide-eyed terrortold her everything she needed to know: they had seen enough to realize something was deeply wrong in Celestia.

Damn. She had to move, had to get out before anyone else arrived.

But even as she prepared to make her escape, a cold dread settled over her. This confirmed the rebels’ worst fears—Celestia was no longer safe. Dark magic was seeping into its core, and if the High Council was behind this, then they were far more dangerous than anyone had realized.

And Stryker? Where did he fit into all of this?

Elyria shook her head, trying to shake the unsettling thoughts. She couldn’t afford to think about him now. Not when everything was on the line.

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t rid herself of the nagging feeling that their paths would cross again. And the next time, she wouldn’t be able to ignore the pull between them—no matter how dangerous it was.

Chapter

Five

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