Chapter 4

Elara’s POV

Dawn broke gray and merciless.

The guards did not speak as they marched me to the border. Rope bit into my wrists until they cut it at the line, shoved me forward, and turned away without a word. One of them muttered something about Liora’s “regards,” but the wind swallowed it.

I crossed alone. 

I looked wretched and dirty. 

The pack link severed with a cold snap. No more distant hum of pack minds. Just silence and the Shadow Wilds pressing in.

Trees thickened fast, branches low and tangled. Mist clung to my bare legs, soaking the hem of my dress. Every step hurt, calf muscles cramping, chest still bruised from the rejected bond, stomach empty and twisting. I kept moving because stopping felt like surrender.

Liora’s whisper looped in my head.

Run fast, handmaid. My friends will be waiting.

I told myself it was empty cruelty. A last twist of the knife. I tried to think of something else. The new pack I was going to have, my new life. 

Then the growls started.

Low. Multiple. Encircling.

I stopped breathing. Fear crippled me. 

Yellow eyes appeared between the trunks, six sets, maybe seven. Rogues. Filthy fur, scarred muzzles, ribs showing under patchy pelts. They moved like a pack that had forgotten mercy.

The biggest one, scarred gray with one torn ear stepped into the open and shifted just enough to speak.

“Liora sends her love,” he rasped, lips pulling back over yellowed fangs. “Said to make it slow. Said you’d scream pretty.”

Terror locked my knees.

I backed up until bark dug into my spine. No claws. No fangs. No wolf. Just me—wolfless, weaponless, bleeding from yesterday’s humiliation.

They lunged.

“Stay back!” I yelled suddenly finding my voice. 

I picked up a rock and threw it at them. 

They laughed. The sound of their laughter echoing into the forest. 

I remembered the soldiers, maybe they had not gone so far. Maybe they'd hear me. Deep down I knew it wasn't possible. I had already crossed the border and the sound would not travel that far. I still tried anyway. I couldn't get myself to give up hope just yet. 

“Help!”

“Help!”

I yelled at the top of my voice. But this seemed to excite them even more. 

“Scream louder, maybe someone will come to save you.” One of them said mockingly. 

I stopped then. I knew it was pointless. 

I twisted away from the first claws, but teeth caught my calf. Pain seared white-hot. I screamed, fell, tasted dirt and blood. They circled tighter, laughing—low, wet, animal sounds.

The scarred leader crouched over me, claws flexing. 

I closed my eyes waiting for the worst to happen. 

“Time to—”

The sound came then, loud, scary. 

A roar shattered the air.

It wasn’t a wolf sound. It was deeper, older, thunder made flesh.

Something enormous exploded from the undergrowth.

Black fur shot through with silver. Crimson eyes blazing. Taller than any shifter I’d ever seen, broader, more monstrous. Dark chains coiled around thick wrists and ankles, pulsing with red-black light like living veins.

The rogues froze for half a heartbeat.

Then they screamed.

“It’s the Beast!”

“Run—!”

He didn’t let them.

One swipe tore the scarred leader open from throat to groin. Blood sprayed in an arc. Another rogue lunged—claws met air as massive jaws closed around his neck and ripped. A third tried to flee; the Beast caught him mid-leap, slammed him into a tree trunk hard enough to crack wood, then drove claws through his chest.

Screams turned to gurgles. Bodies hit the ground in wet thuds. Limbs scattered. The forest floor darkened with red.

It was over in seconds. There was blood, body parts 

Silence returned, broken only by dripping blood and my own shallow gasps.

The Beast turned.

Crimson eyes locked on me.

I couldn’t move.

He took one slow step forward. Then another. Chains rattled softly with each movement.

Fear should have choked me. Should have sent me scrambling backward.

But when those eyes met mine, those deep red eyes, ancient, burning, something strange happened. 

All the terror… slipped away.

Like warm water washing over ice. My heart still hammered, but not from panic. From awe. From a pull I didn’t understand.

He crouched, still towering over me on one knee. Fur began to recede in slow waves, silver-streaked black hair falling forward to frame a face that shouldn’t have belonged to a monster.

Sharp cheekbones. Strong jaw shadowed with stubble. Full lips parted slightly. Eyes fading from crimson to molten gold as the transformation finished.

The chains dimmed, hanging loose now around wrists that were suddenly human—strong, scarred, beautiful.

And he was gloriously, completely naked.

Broad shoulders. Carved chest rising and falling. Ridged abdomen leading down to narrow hips and powerful thighs. Every inch of him sculpted like he’d been forged in fire and moonlight.

I stared. I couldn’t get myself to look away.

His voice came out low, rough from disuse, but velvet-soft.

“You’re hurt.”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out at first.

Then, barely a whisper: “What… what are you?”

He tilted his head, studying me with those golden eyes. A faint, almost sad smile touched his lips.

“Something forgotten,” he murmured. “Something cursed.”

He reached out—slow, careful—brushing blood-matted hair from my cheek with the back of one knuckle. His touch was warm. Steady. Safe.

The world tilted. Everything became blurry. 

Blood loss. Shock. The impossible shift from terror to this strange, aching calm. The sight of him—feral one moment, heartbreakingly beautiful the next.

My vision blurred at the edges.

His arms caught me as I swayed forward—strong, gentle, cradling me against a chest that smelled of pine, smoke, and something ancient.

Darkness rushed in.

The last thing I felt was his heartbeat against my cheek—steady, powerful, impossibly alive.

Then nothing.