Magic Undaunted (The Grimm Files #6)

Chapter 4

Chapter

Four

ELYRIA

E lyria, draped in a glamour—a kind of magic that hid her true identity from others—slipped through the grand halls of Celestia, her heart racing as she navigated the familiar corridors. Every step felt both familiar and foreign, a painful reminder of what she had once called home. The shimmering walls, the soft glow of the twilight sky above the crystal domes—everything was the same. But nothing was as it had been before.

The fae that glided past her, laughing, drinking, utterly unaware of the danger lurking beyond their perfect world, never even felt her presence. That was the point of the glamour she wore, masking her true self in the eyes of those who would recognize her instantly, banished as she was.

But despite her cover, Elyria felt exposed. Her pulse thudded in her ears as she moved deeper into the heart of the High Council’s celebration. She had no business being here—not anymore. The banishment and the stain of the wolf-shifter’s forced bond still clung to her like a scar that would never heal, never fade. Yet here she was, weaving her way through the upper ranks of the fae, the very people who had cast her out, all to gather the one thing she needed most: information.

She brushed past groups of fae, their conversations filled with careless gossip and idle flattery, the sound of their laughter grating against her nerves. They were oblivious to the growing darkness outside Celestia’s borders, the disappearances of the lesser fae, the dark magic creeping ever closer. Elyria gritted her teeth, pushing down the anger that simmered inside her. Focus.

She needed to find answers. The rebels had their suspicions, but rumors and speculation weren’t enough. The disappearances, the whispers of dark magic—they had to be connected to something bigger—something she was sure the High Council was hiding.

As she neared the edge of the hall, her heart pounded harder, her senses sharpening. She caught a quiet exchange between two fae lords, their words hushed but clear enough to make her blood run cold.

“The human mage… they say his power rivals even the highest fae.”

A human? Elyria’s pulse quickened, and she edged closer, pressing herself against a pillar, careful to keep her head down as she listened.

“I heard he’s already made alliances with the lower courts,” the second lord said. “If the rumors about the weapon are true, Oberon will have complete control of Celestia. The lesser fae won’t stand a chance.”

The mention of a weapon hit her like a physical blow. A human mage? A weapon that could shift the balance of power? Elyria’s stomach tightened as the gravity of the situation sank in. This wasn’t just about the disappearances. This was about control—domination. And if the High Council got their hands on this weapon, whatever it was, it could mean the end of any resistance. Anyone who dared to defy Oberon—the rebels, the lesser fae, anyone—would be crushed.

Elyria’s heart beat loudly and the urgency to act—to do something—was almost overwhelming. She needed to get this information back to the rebels—needed to warn them about the looming threat and to develop a plan to counteract it. The thought that she could stop whatever was being planned and bring Oberon and his corrupt council down at the same time made her grimly determined and was oddly gratifying. Before she could move, a familiar presence brushed against her senses like a gust of wind.

Stryker.

A sharp jolt ran through her, and she froze, every instinct screaming for her to flee. She didn’t need to turn around to know it was him. She could feel him, just as she always had. There was something unique about his power, his presence that was unique and undeniable, like a storm ready to break. Her throat tightened, her pulse hammering wildly. Of all of those who resided in Celestia, why did it have to be him? The one person who knew her so well that he might be able to see past her glamour.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

His voice was low, commanding and sent a shiver down her spine. Slowly, Elyria turned to face him, her breath catching in her throat when their eyes met. Stryker stood before her, tall and imposing, his dark gaze burning into hers with an intensity that made her catch her breath. Had she always felt like this in his presence? He looked the same—formidable, handsome, with a dangerous edge of his power barely restrained beneath the surface.

But it was the look in his eyes that unnerved her. He wasn’t angry or accusing. He was just watching her, like he was trying to figure out what to do next, as if he didn’t know how to feel seeing her again.

“Stryker,” she said softly, her voice betraying none of the chaos that was swirling inside her.

His gaze flickered over her, lingering for a moment before he spoke again. “This is a dangerous place for you, Elyria.”

Dangerous. As if she didn’t know that already. She fought back the urge to snap at him, to remind him that her entire life had always been dangerous, especially so from the moment she had been banished. “I could say the same for you,” she shot back.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t react. Just stepped closer, his presence devastating her senses. Elyria’s heart raced as his voice dropped lower. “I know what you’re doing.”

Her stomach clenched. Did he know? Was he going to expose her right here, right now? “You don’t know anything,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt.

Stryker’s jaw tightened. He glanced around the hall briefly before leaning in, his voice barely a whisper. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Elyria. If anyone else recognizes you?—”

“They won’t.” She cut him off, her heart pounding as she took a step back, putting distance between them before the pull between them could intensify. “The High Council is too busy congratulating themselves to notice anything real.”

His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The truth that she was now working with the rebels, gathering intel that could change the course of everything was too dangerous to admit. Even to him, especially to him.

When he didn’t speak, Elyria’s expression darkened, frustration tightening her features. “You’re still loyal to them, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice sharp, unable to hide the bitterness that bubbled up inside her. “After everything they did, you still believe their lies.”

“That’s not what this is about,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“Then what do you think this is about?” She stepped closer, her anger rising. She hated that he still had this effect on her, that the man she had once loved could still make her feel so raw, so vulnerable. “You can’t see it, can you? There’s something bigger happening, and you’re too blind to see it.”

Stryker’s gaze bore into hers, the tension between them coiling tighter, like a venomous snake ready to strike. His nearness with his familiar scent and the pull of his personality sent a wave of heat crashing over her. She closed her eyes for just a moment, forcing herself to focus. This wasn’t about him. This wasn’t even about her. This was about the rebels, about the dark magic threatening Celestia. She couldn’t afford to get distracted. Not now.

Elyria was on the brink of walking away, but Stryker’s next words made her pause. “Then explain it to me,” he said, his voice softer but no less intense. “Tell me what you believe is really going on.”

Her breath caught, her resolve wavering for a split second as she stared into his eyes. She could feel it—the old connection between them, the pull that had always existed, drawing her closer, even now when they were at odds. It was still there, simmering beneath the surface, dangerous and irresistible, but she couldn’t give in.

“I can’t,” she whispered, her voice breaking the tension.

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?

E lyria 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. The whispers 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 through the 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 terror told 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.