Magic Undaunted (The Grimm Files #6)

Chapter 2

Chapter

Two

STRYKER

S tryker Landry moved silently along the shimmering borders of Celestia, his keen senses attuned to the delicate hum of the fae realm’s magic. The ethereal glow of the twilight sky bathed everything in soft purples and blues, but something felt off tonight. The air itself seemed wrong—thicker, weighted. His griffon senses were on high alert, a subtle vibration thrumming in the ground beneath his feet.

He paused at the edge of the forest, the ancient trees standing like sentinels against the encroaching shadows. His gaze swept the horizon, sharp and focused. Nothing moved, but he could feel it—the pulse of danger, like a beast crouching just out of sight.

Then, a sound cut through the stillness. Ragged breathing. Feet scrambling over the mossy ground.

Stryker tensed, instinctively placing a hand on the hilt of his blade. Emerging from the shadows, a group of lesser fae burst into view, their faces pale with terror. Their wings fluttered erratically, some bent and torn as they stumbled toward him.

"Stryker!" one of them, a young fae with tear-streaked cheeks, called out, her voice unsteady. "Please—help us!"

His eyes narrowed. "What happened?" he demanded, his voice low, commanding.

The fae clustered around him, trembling, their eyes wide with fear. "Something... something is out there," one of them gasped, clutching a wound on his arm. "It attacked without warning. Dark magic—strong. None of us have ever felt anything like it."

Stryker’s jaw tightened. He glanced past them into the forest, where the air seemed to shimmer with an unnatural stillness. "Did you see who or what it was?"

They shook their heads. "No," another fae whispered. "But it was powerful... it felt like death."

Stryker’s gut twisted. Dark magic. Forbidden arts. His mind flashed to the ancient texts locked away in the High Council’s sealed archives—dark rituals, curses, and shadows that fed on life. Things no one in Celestia was supposed to know about, much less use, but there were whispered rumors that might no longer be true.

He shook his head. Fae were odd creatures. They all believed themselves to be above all others, and yet there was a distinctive caste system within the fae themselves. Very few non-fae were allowed to even know the precise location of Celestia, and fewer still to live among them. Stryker was one of the very few. He had skills that the fae, especially the High Council, found useful.

"Get to safety," he ordered nodding in the direction of the capitol, his tone brooking no argument. "Go to the nearest sanctuary and warn them. I’ll deal with whatever it is."

They hesitated, glancing at the dark woods, then back at Stryker. But they knew better than to question him. With murmurs of thanks, they hurried away, their wings barely lifting them as they fled into the gathering night.

Stryker drew his blade, the cool metal humming with the familiar power he commanded. His was not like the magic of the fae, but more the experience and strength gathered over a lifetime. He stalked into the woods, his senses sharp, and the tension in his body coiling tighter with every step. The further into the bayou he ventured, the more palpable the darkness became. It clung to the air like a suffocating fog, thick with malice.

And then he felt it—just beyond the tree line. The faint pulse of dark magic. He knelt, running his fingers across the earth. Cold. Dead. Whatever had touched this place had drained the life from it, leaving only decay behind.

A faint movement caught his eye. He straightened, body taut, ready for a fight. But it wasn’t an enemy that emerged from the shadows.

It was Elyria.

Her silver-pink hair caught the faintest glimmer of the moonlight as she stepped into the clearing, her eyes locking onto his with a spark of recognition—and something else. A tension that vibrated between them, electric and undeniable. She wore her battle leathers, the dark material hugging every curve of her voluptuous body, her wings folded tightly behind her. Her grip on her own sword was firm, but her gaze flickered with that same intensity from years ago.

"Stryker," she said, her voice a low, sultry rasp that sent a shiver down his spine.

He hadn’t seen her since she had been banished, but here she was, standing in the heart of the bayou, just outside of the fae realm as if she still belonged and had never left.

"What are you doing here?" he growled, stepping closer, his pulse quickening as her scent—wild and dangerous—washed over him. "You know you’re not supposed to be anywhere near Celestia."

Elyria raised an eyebrow, her lips curving in that half-smile that always got under his skin. "When they banished me, they lost the right to command me to do anything. I no longer answer to the High Council. I suppose I could ask you the same thing—what are you doing here?"

"I’m patrolling the borders," he shot back, but his words felt hollow, because the real question— why was she here? —burned between them. "You’re risking everything."

She shrugged, her movements fluid, almost feline. "I’m risking nothing. The fae have washed their hands of me and my tainted blood. Why would any of you care where I go?" Her voice was casual, but he could hear the undercurrent of bitterness.

He chose to ignore the jab and clenched his jaw, resisting the pull she had always had on him. "This isn’t a game, Elyria.”

“I never thought it was. In case you missed it, there’s dark magic out here, just beyond Celestia’s borders.”

“Agreed—something I haven’t seen before." His gaze dropped to the ground where the traces of death still lingered. "Something dangerous."

Her eyes flicked to the same spot, her expression hardening. "I know. That’s why I’m here."

His fist tightened around his blade. The air between them thrummed with more than just danger. The years apart hadn’t dulled the tension—they’d only sharpened it. He wanted to grab her, pull her against him, and demand to know why she was risking her life, why she was still in his head after all this time.

Elyria stepped closer, the space between them becoming impossibly small. Her breath brushed against his cheek, her scent wrapping around him like a fog, clinging to him and invading his senses.

"Still playing the hero, Stryker?" she murmured, her voice dripping with something dangerously passionate—a mixture of desire and rage.

His eyes locked onto hers, arousal surging through his system. "You’re one to talk. You always had a knack for getting into trouble."

Her lips curved again, this time into a seductive smile he remembered all too well. "Me? Trouble?” she snorted.

Stryker swallowed hard. The proximity of her body, the way her eyes burned into him—everything was too much, too fast. They were standing on the edge of something dark and dangerous, yet the pull between them was stronger than the storm brewing around them. He could see it in her eyes too, that unspoken heat simmering just beneath the surface.

But there was no time for it.

Not here. Not now.

Stryker tore his gaze away from her, forcing himself to focus. "We need to move. Whatever left this magic is still out there, and I don’t intend to let it get any closer to the heart of Celestia."

Elyria’s smirk faded, replaced by a cool, professional mask. "That’s your agenda, not mine. I couldn’t care less what happens to those corrupt bastards."

She stepped aside, indicating he should go. The heat between them simmered, unspoken but impossible to ignore. As he pushed past her, he could feel the pull of the past sucking at him like swamp mud to boots, and for the first time in years, Stryker wasn’t sure if he wanted to turn his back on it.

A fter a search that had yielded nothing, Stryker returned to the capitol, stalking through the grand halls of the council chambers—the crystalline walls shimmering with ethereal light. Every step felt heavy, not just from the weight of his report but the tension that still coiled tight in his gut after encountering Elyria. His body hummed with the memory of her—her scent, her voice, the fire in her eyes that had never dimmed, even after all these years. She was still the same: fierce, unpredictable, and utterly irresistible. And it seemed she had returned and didn’t much care who knew about it.

He didn’t have time to dwell on the pull she had on him. Lord Oberon awaited his report, and the situation at the borders couldn’t be ignored.

As he entered the grand chamber, Stryker straightened his shoulders, pushing thoughts of Elyria aside. Lord Oberon sat upon his silver throne, regal and untouchable, his crown of glowing flames casting a flickering light across his cold, golden eyes. The other council members were absent—this was a private audience, though the weight of the Council's authority could be felt pressing in from every shimmering wall.

“Stryker,” Oberon greeted coolly, his voice like ice on the wind. “What news do you bring from the border?”

Stryker gave a sharp nod of acknowledgment before stepping forward. “There’s dark magic spreading along the edges of Celestia. I encountered a group of lesser fae fleeing in terror. They described something... unnatural, something powerful. I investigated, and found the land itself is corrupted. This magic isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen. It feels older, more dangerous.”

Oberon’s expression remained impassive, though a slight narrowing of his eyes betrayed his interest. “Lesser fae,” he said dismissively, waving a hand as if brushing aside an annoying fly. “Their fear is often exaggerated. You know how they are—skittish, weak. I find it hard to believe they could distinguish between mere shadows and true danger.”

Stryker’s blood simmered. He fought to keep his temper in check, but Oberon’s words stung. “This isn’t just a case of jumpy lesser fae. I saw it myself, Lord Oberon. The land was drained of life. The magic was... wrong. It felt like a curse. It’s only a matter of time before it reaches deeper into the fae realm.”

Oberon’s icy eyes flickered with something close to annoyance, but he still didn’t rise from his throne. “You’re overreacting, Stryker. We have measures in place to protect the realm. Lesser fae are expendable. They serve their purpose, but we cannot allow ourselves to be swayed by their panic.”

Expendable. The word grated on Stryker’s nerves. He knew how many of the fae council felt, but Oberon was blatant in his disdain for those he didn’t consider his equal. Biting his tongue, Stryker fought back the urge to shout. “This isn’t just about them,” he said, his voice hard. “If this dark magic grows stronger, it could threaten all of those in the fae realm, not just the lesser fae. We should be investigating it, not ignoring it.”

Oberon’s eyes gleamed, and a cold smile tugged at his lips. “Investigating, you say? Elyria Knightshade was spotted just outside our borders. Were you planning to take her back to your bed while you investigated?”

Stryker’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his face carefully neutral. “If you have people spying on me, why not ask them to either help me or do the work themselves? I did spot Elyria, but we didn’t speak long. I handled it.”

“Handled it?” Oberon’s voice was sharp now, his smile fading. “She is banished, Stryker. Her presence in Celestia is a violation of our laws, and yet you let her walk freely?”

“She was in the bayou; she did not violate your laws.”

“You’re allowing your... history with her to cloud your judgment.”

Stryker felt his simmering anger begin to burn. “My history with Elyria has nothing to do with the threat I found. Whatever this magic is, it’s a danger to all of us. We can’t afford to ignore it.”

Oberon stood then, his tall frame casting a long shadow over the chamber. His eyes bored into Stryker, cold and calculating. “Be careful, Stryker,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You tread a fine line. Your loyalty to the fae has never been in question—until now.”

Stryker bristled. “My loyalty is to this realm. It always has been.”

“Is it?” Oberon stepped closer, his expression darkening. “Or is it to Elyria? You forget, I know what the two of you once shared. And I also know how dangerous emotions can be, especially when they involve a traitor. Perhaps you’ve grown soft, letting your feelings for her cloud your reason.”

The accusation hung heavy in the air, and Stryker’s fists tightened until his knuckles turned white. The truth was far more complicated than Oberon could ever understand. He had loved Elyria once—deeply, fiercely. And part of him still did, even though they had parted after a bitter argument. But his duty came first. It always had. When he’d been found at the gates of Celestia on the brink of death, the fae had healed him, binding him to their service through a debt of honor and a sense of moral obligation.

“Elyria and I share nothing but a brief past,” Stryker said, the harsh tone denying what he knew to be a half-truth. “But I won’t turn a blind eye to the threat out there just because it’s convenient for the Council.”

Oberon’s expression turned colder, his gaze like a blade poised to strike. “You are dangerously close to insubordination, Stryker.”

“And you’re dangerously close to letting something slip through the cracks that could destroy the fae,” Stryker snapped back before he could stop himself.

The room fell into a tense silence. Oberon stared at him, unblinking, and for a long, terrible moment, Stryker thought the High Lord might call for his arrest then and there. But then Oberon’s lips twisted into a cruel smile.

“I could have you stripped of your rank for your insolence, banish you as we did your tainted lover,” Oberon said, his voice smooth, yet lethal. “But we may have need of your skills. Besides, I think the weight of your own past may well serve us better.”

Stryker’s stomach turned to ice.

Oberon’s eyes gleamed. “You see, should Elyria violate our borders or ignore the conditions of her exile, I would have every right to bring you before the Council to answer for it. Your affinity for her could easily be seen as complicity.”

The threat landed like a blow to his gut. Oberon was ruthless, willing to use his past with Elyria against him, and they both knew it.

“You wouldn’t,” Stryker said, his voice low, dangerous.

Oberon chuckled, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. “Wouldn’t I? Don’t test me, Stryker. You may be the best warrior Celestia has, but even you aren’t untouchable.”

Stryker glared at him, his heart pounding with rage, but he bit back any further retort. He couldn’t afford to lose control now. Not with Oberon watching, waiting for him to slip.

“Dismissed,” Oberon said, turning away as if Stryker were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. “And Stryker... remember your place.”

Without another word, Stryker spun on his heel and stormed out of the chamber, fury and frustration surging through his veins. Oberon’s smug voice echoed in his mind, along with the dark, unshakable reality: the High Council was crumbling from within, and his past with Elyria was now a weapon that could be turned against him.

But worse than that—he couldn’t shake the fear gnawing at him, the certainty that the dark magic at the borders wasn’t just a threat to the realm. It could be a threat to Elyria. The protective lover reared its head. What had happened to her had made his blood boil, but he couldn’t deny the revulsion he’d felt knowing she’d been violated.

No matter what Oberon said, no matter the consequences, he wasn’t sure he could walk away from her.

Not again. Not when the danger was this close. Not when his heart and soul had never truly let her go.