Mounting Tensions
The tension in Crimson Fang’s air was suffocating, and Isla couldn’t escape the weight pressing down on her chest. Every glance from Eira, every shared look between her father and Eira, felt heavy with secrets. Isla’s mind churned endlessly, trying to piece together a puzzle that seemed just out of reach.
Late one evening, the pack’s library became her refuge. The grand room was dimly lit, the flickering lanterns casting long shadows on the walls lined with ancient texts. Isla sat at a wooden table, her fingers tracing the spines of worn tomes. Each one promised knowledge, but none provided the answers she desperately sought.
Her silver eyes scanned the pages of a thick book, one detailing the manipulation of realms and teleportation magic. The words blurred as frustration tightened her chest. “A mark must anchor the magic,” she read aloud, slamming the book shut with a growl of exasperation.
The sound echoed through the quiet library. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling. “They did this,” she muttered, her voice breaking. “I know it.”
The creak of the library door startled her, and she looked up to see Draven entering. His amber eyes softened at the sight of her, weary and surrounded by open books. He crossed the room silently, his presence steady and grounding.
“You’re running yourself into the ground,” he said gently, his voice low as he pulled a chair beside her.
Isla’s hands fell to the table, her silver eyes meeting his. Tears brimmed in her gaze, but anger and grief kept them from falling. “I can’t stop,” she whispered. “They took my children, Draven. They stole them from me. How can I stop until I know where they are?”
Draven reached out, his large hand covering hers. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he said softly. “We’ll find them. Together. But if you push yourself too hard, you’ll have nothing left to fight with.”
Isla shook her head, her voice trembling. “What if I can’t find them? What if… what if I fail?”
Draven’s grip on her hand tightened as he moved closer. “You won’t fail,” he said firmly. “Not while I’m by your side.”
The words broke something in Isla, and tears spilled down her cheeks. Draven shifted, cupping her face in his hands. His thumb brushed her tears away, and his voice softened. “You’ve carried this burden long enough, Isla. Let me help you carry it.”
Her chest heaved as she tried to steady her breathing. She leaned into his touch, finding a rare moment of solace in the warmth of his hands. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“You’ll never have to find out,” Draven replied.
He leaned forward, his forehead resting against hers, his amber eyes locked onto her silver ones. Slowly, he tilted his head and kissed her, his lips gentle and reassuring. The kiss wasn’t fiery or rushed—it was steady and grounding, a promise that no matter what came, they would face it together.
When they parted, Isla exhaled shakily, her body trembling. Draven placed his hands on her shoulders, his voice steady. “Rest now, Isla. I’ll be here when you wake. Always.”
She nodded, her exhaustion finally catching up to her. Draven guided her to her feet, holding her steady as they left the library. The books remained scattered across the table, but for the first time in days, Isla let herself lean into Draven’s strength.
