THE UNBROKEN

By the time Elena and Niegal arrived at Port Clairy on the Veracchian coast, she could sense something was wrong.

There was a sharpness in the air, like metal scraping stone. Niegal had grown quieter, more agitated, his shoulders tense beneath the weight of something unspoken. The closer they drew to this strange, foreign land, the more his energy shifted.

He didn't speak of it.

And though she longed to ease whatever troubled him, no charm, salve, or sacred word in her arsenal could soothe the ache that twisted behind his silver eyes.

They found a tavern nestled near the harbor, a crooked little place tucked between fog-drenched alleys, with mismatched chairs and a cracked mana lamp flickering behind the bar. The menu was unimpressive: stale bread, chewy cheese, and a cut of tough meat drowned in a watery brown sauce.

Still, they laughed, really laughed- for the first time in days. Elena's head tilted back, her curls catching the candlelight. Niegal's eyes softened as he watched her. It felt like breathing again.

"It's good to see you smile, mi corazón," she whispered into his ear as they walked down the stairs to their rented room.

Niegal didn't answer. He only smiled, wider this time, like her voice reached into the deep parts of him that the war hadn't yet hollowed out.

But his body was exhausted. Bone-deep tired. His hands trembled as he reached for the doorknob.

Elena closed the door behind them and pulled him in for a kiss. Her lips were warm, familiar, grounding. He melted into her, hands cradling her hips as if she were the only real thing in the world.

And then-

Her nails dragged lightly down his back through the fabric of his shirt.

He gasped.

His whole body went taut, breath hitching in his throat.

Elena blinked, confused. "Niegal?"

Something shifted. Something deep and ancient.

He suddenly felt ravenous—but not for food. No, this hunger was primal. Unrelenting. His silver eyes flared with unnatural light, a low growl rising from his chest as his fingers curled, trembling, like claws preparing to strike.

Elena froze.

She had read about this, long ago, in forbidden texts buried beneath the old estate library. The Cursed Bloodlines of the Outer Saints. She never thought she'd see it. Never in someone like Niegal.

But there it was.

The mana lamp flickered as moonlight spilled through the window, full and sharp. It struck his face—and the transformation began.

Niegal's jaw lengthened with a sickening crack. His back arched, twisted, and then straightened again with no signs of pain—only power.

Muscles swelled. Hair grew, thick and dark with streaks of auburn and silver. His hands shifted into paws—no, not paws, not quite. Massive, clawed hands capable of rending flesh and steel. His face took the shape of a lion, mane wild and knotted like war banners fluttering in a storm.

Elena backed away slowly, pulse pounding in her ears.

Not an animal.

Not fully.

A werelion.

A beast out of legend. Towering. Ten feet tall. His skin dark beneath the thick coat of fur. His tail lashed the air like a whip. His breath fogged the glass. Mana surged around him in violent pulses.

The Blade of Boinayel unsheathed itself in her grip without thought. Rain poured in sheets across the wooden floorboards, leaking from the blade's obsidian edge as if the heavens themselves cried at the sight of what had become of her husband.

She stood her ground. Didn't dare move.

The beast turned, his silver eyes locked with hers.

Time slowed.

And there it was.

Still there.

Softness. Humanity. The eyes she fell in love with.

Elena swallowed hard and lowered the blade. "Niegal…?"

The beast growled, but didn't move. His breaths were harsh, animalistic. His chest rose and fell like thunder.

"I'm here," she whispered, extending a trembling hand. "I'm here, love."

It happened all at once.

He lunged.

In a blur, she was pinned beneath him. Clawed hands pressed against her shoulders, fangs hovering just above her neck, saliva dripping as he snarled.

Still, Elena didn't flinch.

"Mi León Negro," she whispered, eyes wide, unblinking. "You're finally here."

The beast shuddered above her.

And then he tore through her blouse with a guttural growl, claws shredding the fabric like paper. Her eyes widened.

"Niegal, wait-!"

But he was already upon her. She couldn't hurt him… not when he was still inside that form. Not when she wasn't sure where man ended and beast began.

So she let go.

She let it happen.

Soon she was bare beneath him, spiral scars glowing like soft brands across her skin in the mana-charged room. She whispered over and over: "You won't hurt me… I know you won't…"

His claws dug into her sides, deep enough to leave bloody trails along her hips. She cried out, her breath catching in her throat.

And then… an aggressive thrust.

She gasped. Pain, fullness, too much. Her body trembled under him as tears streamed down her cheeks. She couldn't see straight. Could barely speak.

He claimed her there, on the wooden floor. Then again on the bed.

When the beast flipped her onto her stomach and lifted her hips, the bed frame shattered under the force. The sound echoed like gunfire.

And then came the bite.

His fangs sank into the scar tissue on her shoulder. Mana exploded through her body like lightning. Her scream pierced the walls.

"Niegal!"

She craved him, but she feared him. Was he gone? Swallowed by the beast forever?

The night was endless.

He took her again and again. Driven, mindless, consumed by primal need. Her body ached, scratched raw, covered in bruises and blood. Her magic flickered like a broken lantern.

Only in the hours before dawn did it end.