Chapter 364 Taking the Bait
Elena’s POV
Sleep evades me that night because choosing vulnerability as a weapon feels different than building defenses. It demands intentional exposure, and I remain awake long after the packhouse settles into silence, my eyes fixed on the shadowed ceiling while the bond pulses low and constant beneath my ribs like a quiet alarm that recognizes the danger without trying to drag me away from it.
Benedict never settles for incomplete strikes.
When he spots what he thinks is weakness, he attacks with full force.
Dawn arrives and I follow my usual patterns without change, letting hot water cascade over my skin in the shower, moving the toothbrush across my teeth with measured strokes, weaving my hair into a tight braid close to my skull, and selecting basic training gear instead of formal leadership attire because approachable appearance is crucial to this act.
Stepping into the corridor, I keep my security detail to just two warriors, maintaining an unhurried pace that appears neither reckless nor overly careful, simply routine.
Kian appears at the stairwell, his expression controlled but alert.
"Ridge scouts tracked more shadow activity," he reports in low tones.
"How close," I inquire.
"Nearer than yesterday. Still outside the perimeter."
Perfect.
Let his confidence grow.
The morning unfolds with careful normalcy, training sessions active on the main field, Northwood Ridge teams cycling through combined exercises, and I circulate among them without obvious protection, providing guidance and adjustments as though nothing fundamental has changed beneath the surface.
Zora positions herself at the field’s distant border, appearing relaxed while her gaze tracks every motion.
This represents measured exposure.
The bond maintains its steady rhythm, neither frantic nor drawing me toward Kian when he moves away to check the eastern watch positions, because proximity between us is not the point here. Leadership visibility under threat is what matters.
When midday arrives, the sky grows heavy with thick cloud coverage, dampening both sound and light, and such conditions favor surprise attacks because shadows merge and scent disperses unpredictably.
"He will not wait for better visibility," Malcom states quietly from his protected spot near the command hallway.
"No," I agree.
"He prefers chaos when sight lines are compromised."
"I understand."
You taught me to recognize his methods.
The thought carries sharp bitterness.
We maintain our facade completely.
The afternoon meal takes place in the central hall with open seating arrangements, and I choose a spot near the southern windows where exterior trees partially block clear views, and I smile at a joke from one of the younger warriors despite tension coiling tight beneath my skin.
The bond stays level and composed, refusing to surge into panic.
Later in the afternoon, I head toward the training area’s edge again, accompanied by only one visible guard this time, and I sense subtle shifts in the air near the western forest line, not actual sound or obvious movement, but a change in atmosphere that signals watching eyes.
He has moved closer.
Good.
Let him assess the situation.
I pause beside the weapon storage and lift a training sword, adjusting my grip as though preparing for standard practice, and I keep my stance open rather than guarded.
Then everything shifts.
A sharp crack splits the quiet from the western boundary, not a howl or signal flare, but the sound of a triggered diversion, and three wolves burst from the trees in precise formation aimed straight at my position.
Not random.
Not testing.
Targeted.
"Defend," I command sharply.
My guard intercepts the lead attacker with ruthless efficiency, but the second slides past, coming in low at my flank in a measured sweep designed to destabilize rather than eliminate.
I turn and strike with the training blade, connecting solidly with his shoulder and forcing him off balance, and before he can recover, Zora’s team crashes into the clearing from the eastern side exactly as we planned.
But the third attacker ignores me completely.
He heads for the corridor entrance behind me.
Capture attempt.
They want me mobile.
Not dead.
Benedict seeks visible chaos, not silent assassination.
The bond tightens slightly as Kian’s presence shifts rapidly from the southern position toward the field, but it does not break my concentration.
"Block the corridor," I shout.
Combined units emerge from hidden positions, closing the apparent weakness like a snapping trap, and the three attackers find themselves trapped in a tight formation with no exit route.
From the forest edge, a figure emerges slowly, unhurried and unalarmed.
Benedict Graves.
He does not attack.
He watches.
"You miscalculated your advantage," I call across the distance.
His lips curve slightly upward.
"I calculated precisely," he responds.
His voice carries clearly despite the space between us.
"You left yourself open," he continues.
"Deliberately," I answer steadily.
"And you thought I would ignore the opportunity."
"I thought you would take the bait."
The bond pulses cold and controlled.
He studies the combined formations, noting the concealed flanks that closed exactly on schedule.
"You have developed better tactics," he observes.
"And you became too predictable," I counter.
His focus sharpens noticeably.
"You believe I brought my full strength," he says calmly.
A second assault wave erupts from the northern edge of the training area before his words fully register, not massive or overwhelming, but sufficient to strain our response if we handle it poorly.