The Lost Elixir

Chapter Twenty-Three

The winding tunnel before Rayne and Jarrah was dark, even for a wolf's eyes. Too dark.

There weren't any candles or torches to light their way, so they had to rely on their senses to keep them from tumbling further down the stairs into the black abyss below. The cool, stagnant stench of wet walls flooded Rayne's sensitive nose and she had to swallow back to intense urge to gag. She didn't know how Jarrah was doing it, but she guessed the Fae didn't have it as bad as the wolves with a sense of smell.

"I don't like this," Rayne whispered, her grip still tight around Jarrah's hand as he continued to lead them down the stairway. She didn't know why she was whispering, but it seemed fitting at the moment. "Maybe I should be in front. You still need to get your strength back."

"I'm fine," Jarrah dismissed. "We don't know what's down there."

"Exactly," she hissed. She nearly screamed at the brush of a cobweb at her ankle. "I can protect us, Jarrah."

He squeezed her hand and drew her closer to his back. "I know you can," he reassured her. There was a warm smile in his voice when he spoke again, and though she couldn't see it, the thought brought her comfort. "Probably much better than I can. But I don't want you walking straight into danger, Rayne. I can't have anything happening to you."

Rayne breathed out a shaky breath. "My dad wouldn't—"

"I don't say that for your dad," he interrupted, his voice tight at the reminder of the alpha. "I don't give a shit what he thinks, quite frankly. I'm saying that for me and my own peace of mind."

The fingers of her free hand bunched up the back of his shirt again. The protective oaf. "And what of my peace of mind? I don't want to see you hurt, either."

"I won't be. As long as you're safe, I'm okay."

Rayne grumbled under her breath, despite the flutter in the pit of her stomach. Though she was still worried about him leading the way, she couldn't deny the breathlessness his words caused. There weren't many times Rayne felt . . . soft, per se. She was raised to be an alpha and always associated that with dominance and seriousness. Instead of doing her nails or focusing on her make-up, she was putting in endless hours of training. She didn't need to feel dainty. She couldn't afford delicacy; not when her pack's future depended on her fierceness.

So when Jarrah said things like that, and grabbed her hand the way he did, Rayne didn't know how to react. She'd never been one to have heart flutters and believed in the butterflies crap. But now here she was, feeling all the things she missed out on with other guys from her pack who showed an interest. She'd turn down more guys than she could count, having never been interested enough. Training with Ronan was all she allowed herself to focus on when not training with her dad. Feelings were a distraction, and she couldn't afford to be distracted.

But when it came to Jarrah, she went back on it all. Jarrah made her feel like a girl with her first crush. He made her feel beautiful and protected and fuck . . . did she love it.

Jarrah drew her closer to him after they both caught a glimpse of a light flickering down below. It could have been the fires of hell for all they knew and she would have believed it. She was practically glued to his back now, and his arm twisted backwards so his hand could go around her back, holding her close to him.

The sound of people talking and drinks clattering met Rayne's ears after catching onto the light. Her panic fluctuated.

"Please tell me you saw a photograph of her somewhere," she begged. If they asked for her, the witches would know for sure they were outsiders and they'd get nowhere.

"Roughly," he admitted. "The photograph was almost fifty years old, so who knows what she looks like now?"

Her mood soured. "Lovely."