Magic Undaunted (The Grimm Files #6)

Chapter 6

Chapter

Six

ELYRIA

E lyria 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 mage was 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.”

“He’s one of them ,” Finnian said, his voice low and dangerous. “We’re here to save our own and other innocents, not?—”

“He’s coming with us,” Elyria interrupted, her tone sharp and final.

Finnian’s jaw tightened. “You’re letting your feelings cloud your judgment.”

A heated silence settled between them, the tension thick as the rest of the rebels watched warily. She knew what Finnian was implying. He wasn’t blind to the history she shared with Stryker, and neither were the rest of those with her. They knew there was something unresolved between them. But this wasn’t about that.

“I’m not,” Elyria said, her voice low, controlled. “He could have information. What he knows could be valuable. We’re not leaving him behind.”

Finnian’s eyes flicked to Stryker, then back to Elyria, before he let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. But if this comes back to bite us, it’s on you.”

Elyria swallowed the knot in her throat as Finnian turned away, quietly snarling orders to the others. She knelt beside Stryker’s cell, her heart and mind racing as she unlocked the door.

“Elyria,” Stryker rasped, his voice rough but laced with the same intensity that had always drawn her in. Even now, broken and bruised, he still exuded power, still had that magnetic pull she couldn’t ignore.

“We need to get you out of here,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady as she helped him to his feet.

“Too weak to shift,” he murmured. “I couldn’t hold them off.”

His body was warm against hers, sending a jolt of awareness through her that made it hard to breathe. Focus, Elyria. Focus.

He leaned against her for support, his breath hot against her neck as he struggled to stand. “Why are you doing this?”

She glanced up at him, her heart pounding as their eyes met. For a moment, the world around them seemed to fade, the danger, the rebels, the rescue operation—all of it swallowed by the electric pull between them. She wanted to tell him the truth. Wanted to admit that she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him, that seeing him here had brought everything rushing back.

But instead, she steeled herself. “Because I’m not like the Council,” she said, her voice hard. “I don’t abandon people, even when they disappoint me… even when they are overwhelmed by a force greater than their own.”

Stryker’s gaze darkened, something unspoken passing between them, heavy with both tension and regret.

Before either of them could say anything more, Finnian’s sharp whisper cut through the air. “We need to move. Now.”

Elyria nodded, tearing her gaze away from Stryker as they began their escape. But even as they slipped back out of the fortress and through the Phantom Bayou, she was convinced that Stryker being there might have changed everything. He was with them, and nothing would ever be the same again.

T he night descended like a hangman’s rope threatening to end all of them as Elyria led her group through the twisted paths of the Phantom Bayou. The rescued fae stumbled behind them, weakened but alive, supported by her team as they made their retreat. Beside her, Stryker moved in silence, his steps steady despite his injuries, his presence a constant, electrifying pulse that she couldn’t ignore.

The decision to bring him back to their base had been the only one she could make, but it hadn’t been an easy one. Finnian’s distrust was palpable, and she could feel the tension among her rebels. Stryker wasn’t just any prisoner—they all knew his ties to the High Council. He had hunted some of the rebels, destroyed several of their hiding places, and they knew her history with him.

Now wasn’t the time to dwell on the past or any lingering feelings she had fought to suppress. They were in dangerous territory, and the threat of pursuit was very real. Every step they took, every whisper of wind through the warped trees, felt like a warning.

“Keep moving,” she ordered, her voice low but firm as she glanced over her shoulder at the group. “We need to be out of the Phantom Bayou before the mage’s forces realize we’ve taken their prisoners.”

The rebels obeyed, their movements silent and practiced. Finnian caught her eye, his face hard with disapproval, but he said nothing. Not yet.

Stryker hadn’t spoken since they left the fortress, but his presence weighed on her. She could feel his gaze on her, burning like a flame against her skin. He had questions, she could see it in the way his mouth formed a thin line and tightened as if he was holding back. But he knew now wasn’t the time for those questions. Not with danger nipping at their heels.

The silence between them grew heavier as they neared the edge of the Phantom Bayou. As they approached the rebel camp, Elyria ripped a piece of her shirt off, fashioning a blindfold and placing it over Stryker’s eyes before binding his hands with a piece of kudzu vine. He started to protest, seemed to think better of it, and accepted both without complaint. She had no illusion about whether she’d actually incapacitated him; she hadn’t, but she knew it would make her people feel safer. Elyria could feel her heart racing, though whether it was from the looming threat behind them or Stryker’s proximity so close to her side, she couldn’t say. The air between them all but crackled with unspoken emotions, the betrayal and unresolved feelings swirling like a tempest on the horizon waiting to break.

She glanced at him, her breath catching for a moment. He looked worn, his once regal presence now faded under the weight of his injuries, but the fire in his dark eyes had still been there, burning as fiercely as ever.

“Elyria,” Stryker said finally, his voice low, rough from the pain but steady. “Why are you doing this? Why save me?”

Forcing herself to stay focused, she shrugged. “I told you,” she said, her voice cool and controlled even though inside, everything felt like it was unraveling. “I don’t abandon people.”

He shook his head. “This isn’t about that. Not entirely. You could have left me there. You should have. You have no reason to trust me.”

Elyria turned away, even though he couldn’t see her. He was right. She had no reason to trust him—not really. But something deeper, something she couldn’t quite name or suppress, had compelled her to make this choice. And now, she was trapped between the past they shared and the uncertain future that lay ahead.

“We’ll talk when we get to base,” she said, her tone final, shutting down any further conversation.

Elyria was glad of the blindfold; she couldn’t let him see the turmoil raging inside her.

T he rebel camp was nestled deep in the Whispering Woods, hidden beneath the thick canopy of trees and shrouded by magic that kept it off the radar of the High Council and the mage’s forces. The moment they arrived, Elyria’s team sprang into action, tending to the rescued fae and securing the perimeter.

Elowen, the camp’s healer, rushed to the injured with a practiced calm, her hands glowing with soft magic as she began to work. Elyria watched as Elowen carefully examined the prisoners, her brow furrowing as she uncovered more than just physical wounds.

“These fae…” Elowen whispered, her voice barely audible as she tended to a young fae who had been caught in the mage’s grip. “The magic that’s been used on them—it’s unnatural, evilly twisted. Their energy has been drained in ways I’ve never seen. Whatever experiments the mage is conducting, it’s far more dangerous than we realized.”

Elyria’s stomach twisted as she watched Elowen’s magic flow over the injured fae. “Can you heal them?”

“I can try,” Elowen said, her voice grim. “But this isn’t just about physical wounds. It’s like their very essence has been tampered with. The mage is using their magic, but for what, I can’t say.”

Elyria’s chest tightened. This was worse than she had feared. The rogue mage wasn’t just capturing fae—he was using them, manipulating their magic in ways that went beyond anything they had encountered before. And if what she’d overheard was correct, he was building a weapon. A weapon that could shift the balance of power in Celestia and beyond.

Her thoughts turned back to Stryker. He had been caught in the middle of this, and that meant he knew something. Something important.

Elyria turned away from the injured fae, her mind spinning as she made her way to the secluded corner of the camp where Stryker had been taken after he’d dismissed the healer, saying his injuries could wait. Finnian was already there, standing guard outside the tent, his arms crossed over his chest.

“This is a mistake,” Finnian said, his voice low and angry as she approached.

“So you’ve said.”

“He’s dangerous, Elyria. You can’t trust him. The others are already talking. They think you’re protecting him.”

Elyria stopped in front of Finnian, her gaze hard. “What if I am? Last time I checked, I was still leader here. Besides, I’m not protecting him. I’m getting answers.”

Finnian’s eyes narrowed. “And you think you can do that without letting your feelings get in the way?”

She snorted disdainfully. “This isn’t about my feelings, Finnian. This is about finding out what we need to know. I’ll do what needs to be done.”

Finnian studied her for a long moment, his jaw clenched, before finally stepping aside. “I hope you’re right.”

Elyria pushed past him, ignoring the pang of guilt that twisted in her chest as she entered the tent. Inside, Stryker was seated on a small bench, his blindfold and restraints removed. His face was pale but alert. The sight of him, even now, sent a jolt of something hot and dangerous through her, a reminder of all the things she had tried so hard to bury.

He looked up as she entered, his dark eyes locking onto hers, and the tension between them coiled tight. “I don’t think your second-in-command likes me.”

“Finn? He hates your guts.”

Stryker chuckled. “Well, just so long as we’re clear on that. What’s not so readily apparent is whether you are going to interrogate me, Elyria?” Stryker asked, his voice laced with something she couldn’t quite place. Amusement? Challenge? Desire?

She forced herself to remain calm—something she seemed to be doing quite a lot of lately. “I’m going to find out what you know,” she said, stepping closer, her pulse thrumming with a mixture of frustration and something far more dangerous. “The mage has been experimenting on fae—using their magic for something bigger. I need to know what you know.”

Stryker’s gaze never wavered, and for a moment, the silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

“You think I have answers,” he said quietly, his eyes darkening as they roamed over her face. “But the truth is, I don’t know anything for certain. I was sent to investigate, just like you.”

Elyria’s frustration flared. “You must know something. You were captured—by his forces.”

Stryker’s jaw tightened, his shoulders shifting slightly. “I know the mage is building a weapon. And I know it’s powerful enough to destroy both the Council and the rebels.”

Her breath caught, her heart pounding in her chest. “And you were going to stop him? By yourself?”

Stryker’s eyes softened, something like regret flickering there. “That was the plan.”

“Your plan was a dismal failure.”

Again, Ryker chuckled. “Well, I wasn’t expecting to become a prisoner myself.”

Elyria stepped closer, her emotions a storm of conflict. The pull between them was unbearable, the heat that simmered between their words incendiary. She had spent so long running from her feelings, from the memories of what they had shared, but now, with him here—so close, so dangerous—everything came rushing back.

“Why did you go alone?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Stryker’s gaze darkened, his breath catching. “Because I thought I could handle it. I was wrong.”

Unspoken desire hung between them. Her heart pounded as the truth settled over her. Neither of them could do this alone. Whether they liked it or not, she needed Stryker… and he needed her.