Page 12 of Magic Undaunted

Now, as he stared out at the horizon, watching the sun sink lower, Stryker knew that he couldn’t turn back. The rogue mage was a threat unlike any he had ever faced, and if Elyria was the key to stopping him, then he had no choice. He knew the path he was facing was dangerous, one that could cost him everything—his standing with the Council, his future, his very life.

Yet, the thought of seeing Elyria again stirred something deep inside him—something that had never truly faded, despite the anger, the pain, the betrayal. The memory of their last encounter, the fire in her eyes and the way she had stood defiant in the face of danger haunted him.

Stryker stood back. He’d made his choice. He would find Elyria, and with her help, he would put an end to the rogue mage and whatever he was planning—no matter the cost.

Chapter

Six

ELYRIA

Elyria crouched low, her body tense as she scanned the horizon of the Phantom Bayou. The bleak landscape stretched out before her, a wasteland of twisted trees and thick, poisonous fog. The air here was heavy with magic, dark and suffocating, but she pushed through it, her mind focused on the task ahead. Her team moved in silence behind her, their steps as quiet as shadows, their presence nearly imperceptible as they navigated the treacherous terrain.

They’d been planning this raid for weeks. The intelligence they’d gathered had been clear—a group of captured fae were being held in one of the mage’s strongholds, deep in the heart of the Phantom Bayou. The goal was simple: get in, free the prisoners, and get out before the mage’s forces even noticed their presence.

But in the Phantom Bayou, nothing was ever that simple.

As they neared the compound, Elyria could feel her heart beating in rhythm with her breathing. A fortress of charcoal-singed stone loomed against the blood-red sky. The thick mist swirled around the walls like a living thing, charged with corrupted magic. She could feel it pressing against her skin, prickling her senses with every step.

Beside her, Finnian, her second-in-command, gave her a sharp nod. “Everything’s in place,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the eerie silence. “We’ve got eyes on the guards. We’re ready to move when you are.”

Elyria nodded, gripping the hilt of her dagger tightly. “Remember, no mistakes. We get the fae out quietly, no unnecessary bloodshed. The moment we raise an alarm, we’re dead.”

Finnian flashed her a quick grin. “You know I live for raids like this.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Elyria couldn’t help but grin. Finnian was always so confident, so sure of himself, and he wasn’t alone in how he felt. He was one of the few people she trusted completely, someone who had stood by her side even when it seemed the whole world had turned against her.

As they crept closer to the entrance of the fortress, Elyria’s thoughts drifted to Stryker. As hard as she’d tried, she hadn’t been able to shake the memory of their last encounter. The tension between them had been electric, the old fire still burning beneath the surface despite everything that had happened between them. But she had no time to dwell on that, especially now. She needed to stay focused.

They reached the edge of the stronghold, slipping past the perimeter guards with ease. Elyria’s heart raced as they entered the dimly-lit corridors, the oppressive magic thickening the air around them. She led the way, her senses on high alert, her magic simmering just beneath the surface.

The plan was working flawlessly. Too flawlessly.

With very little resistance, they reached the holding cells. Elyria’s stomach clenched as she saw the fae prisoners huddled in the cramped cages, their bodies weak and drained of magic. The sight sent a surge of anger through her. The rogue magewas cruel, twisting and experimenting on fae for his malevolent purposes. She wouldn’t let him continue.

“Get them out,” she ordered quietly, motioning for her team to move.

The rebels sprang into action, unlocking the cells and helping the fae to their feet. Elyria stood guard, her eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of trouble. Everything was going according to plan. They were almost free.

And then she saw him.

At the far end of the row of cells, half-hidden in the shadows, was Stryker.

Elyria’s breath caught in her throat, her pulse quickening as her eyes locked onto his. He was slumped against the wall, his normally powerful frame weakened, bruises darkening his skin. His clothes were torn, his body limp and ragged. He looked like he had been put through the wringers of hell.

But despite the obvious pain, his smoldering eyes found hers, and the tension between them ignited like a spark to dry kindling.

What the hell is he doing here?

Her heart hammered in her chest as she approached his cell, her mind racing. Stryker was the last person she had expected to find among the prisoners. Sure, he wasn’t fae, but a griffon-shifter was no easy opponent to defeat. How had he gotten caught? What had he been doing in the Phantom Bayou?

Before she could say anything, Finnian appeared at her side, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw Stryker. “What the—?” He glanced at Elyria, his expression growing cold. “What’s he doing here?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted honestly, her voice tight as she tried to push down the emotions swirling inside her. “But we don’t have time to figure that out right now.”

Finnian’s eyes narrowed. “He’s the High Council’s goon. He’s not our responsibility.”

Elyria stiffened, her gaze snapping to Finnian’s. “He’s not their goon. I want to know what he’s doing here and what he knows. We’re not leaving him behind.”

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