CHAPTER NINE

The forest had grown meaner with the descent of dusk. Shadows spilled from the trees like ink, and every rustling branch sounded like a footfall. Rhea pressed deeper into the underbrush, her breath shallow, her heart a metronome of fear in her chest.

She hadn’t slept in nearly two days, just short stretches of uneasy dozing beneath roots and canopies, always with one ear turned to the wind. Her clothes were torn in places, her boots caked with mud and blood from scraped knees, and the forged letter to the Academy was damp against her chest.

Her wolf—the she-wolf inside her—paced restlessly under her skin. The longer Rhea denied her the freedom to shift, to be, the more difficult it became to silence her. The wolf didn’t understand secrecy or fear. She only wanted to run, to howl, to fight.

But they couldn’t afford that. Not now. Not yet.

Not when we’re being hunted.

She ducked low beneath a thicket and paused, tilting her head toward the wind.

Voices.

Male. Several.

Too close.

She didn’t recognize the language—Wolven dialect, not human—and it wasn’t the clipped commands of border guards. These voices moved with purpose, too quiet to be human. They were trained. Her father’s hunters.

No. No, not this soon.

She slid backward on her stomach, ignoring the sting of thorns as they tore at her elbows. A distant crack echoed through the trees—someone stepping on a branch. Too heavy to be an animal.

Panic closed around her throat like a clawed hand. She turned sharply and ran, low to the ground, weaving between gnarled trunks and moss-coated roots.

Then—

“Got you!”

A hand grabbed her from the side, wrenching her sideways. A dark figure emerged from the trees, dressed in Bloodmoon black. His golden eyes narrowed.

“Rhea Stormclaw,” he hissed. “You’ll come with me now.”

Her instincts flared. She kicked at his shin, twisting free, but he was fast—too fast.

He tackled her to the ground. She growled, her suppressed wolf howling to be released, her body trembling from the effort of holding back the shift.

The hunter pressed her into the dirt. “You think you can run from your father? From your duty?”

“Let me go!” she screamed, trying to buck him off.

He snarled and raised a clawed hand—

And then his body jerked violently.

A sharp crack split the air. Blood sprayed across her cheek, warm and shocking.

The man collapsed off her with a grunt. An arrow lodged in his side—deep, brutal.

Rhea stared, breath heaving.

From the trees stepped a figure cloaked in ash-colored leather, face obscured by a hood. The rogue nocked another arrow but didn’t fire.

They stared at each other.

The hunter groaned, trying to rise, and the rogue stepped forward with eerie grace. A dagger flashed, and the man went still.

Silence. Only the echo of her heartbeat remained.

The rogue turned to her again.

“You okay?”

His voice was gravel and shadow, quiet but not unkind.

Rhea swallowed hard, chest still heaving. “Who… who are you?”

The hood shifted slightly. “Someone who doesn’t like hunters.”

“You killed him.”

“He would’ve killed you.”

She pressed her hand to her chest, feeling the wet blood—not hers. Still, her body trembled, unable to separate instinct from logic.

“Why help me?” she asked.

“Don’t care who you are. Just saw someone in trouble.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Nope. Don’t want to.”

Rhea’s mouth parted. She couldn’t decide whether to be afraid of him or grateful. Her wolf remained silent but alert, as if equally unsure.

He turned to go, fading into the trees as quickly as he’d appeared.

“Wait!” she called, standing despite her aching limbs. “Where are you going?”

He paused, his back to her. “Away. You should, too.”

And then he was gone—nothing but shadow and the faintest whisper of footsteps.

Her wolf remained silent but alert, as if equally unsure.

Rhea stood frozen in the aftershock—her hands trembling, the metallic scent of blood thick in her nose. The rogue had disappeared so quickly, like smoke on the wind. For a moment, she wondered if he had ever really been there.

But her pounding heart, the dead hunter lying just feet away, and the blood splattered on her sleeve said otherwise.

She turned toward the spot he’d vanished into, squinting through the trees.

“Wait!” she called again, her voice raw.

A pause.

Then, like mist materializing from the underbrush, he stepped back into view—hood up, face still hidden.

“You’re still here,” she breathed.

“I didn’t go far,” he replied, tone neutral.

Rhea didn’t know what to say at first. Her throat tightened with everything unspoken—fear, relief, exhaustion, gratitude. The emotions tangled inside her until all she could manage was a soft, “Thank you.”

The rogue nodded. “Wasn’t going to let them take you.”

Her brows furrowed. “You don’t even know me. Why would you risk yourself for a stranger?”

“I don’t like seeing people hunted like animals. Doesn’t sit right with me,” he said simply. “Especially not ones that fight back.”

She looked down, cheeks flushing slightly. “I didn’t fight back well.”

“You didn’t give up,” he countered. “That’s more than most.”

She met his gaze—or tried to, through the shadow of his hood. His voice was young, but worn. Like someone who had seen too much, too soon.

“I still have a long way to go,” she said after a pause. “The Academy’s north of here, but I’ve been avoiding main trails. I’m not sure how far I’ve wandered off.”

His head tilted, considering her. “You’re about four days’ walk out if you stick to the forests. Two, if you cut through human land.”

She hesitated. “I tried staying in the city once. It’s... not easy. But it was safer than this.”

“It’s not just the woods that are dangerous,” he agreed. “But if you go through the old trade road past Hollowpine, you’ll make good time. There’s a forgotten path that curves behind the ridge—doesn’t see much foot traffic anymore.”

Rhea frowned, committing the name to memory. “Hollowpine. Old trade road. Got it.”

He reached into his cloak and pulled out a battered piece of parchment. “Here,” he added, passing it to her. “It’s rough, but it’s a map.”

She took it, surprised. “You’re just giving this to me?”

“Maps don’t do much good gathering dust in a pocket,” he said with a shrug. “Better you use it to get where you need to go.”

She unfolded it and traced the faded ink with a trembling finger. “Thank you,” she said again, softly this time.

He nodded. “What’s your name?”

Her breath caught for just a second.

“Rian,” she said, the name tasting foreign but firm on her tongue. “My name is Rian.”

The rogue gave a small smile, just enough to glimpse the curve of it beneath the edge of his hood. “Well, Rian—good luck.”

“I don’t know if luck will be enough,” she admitted, tucking the map into her satchel.

“Then be clever. Be fast. Don’t stop moving.”

She nodded slowly.

A breeze stirred the trees between them, cool and sharp like a blade. The wolf inside her stirred again, not in warning this time—but in acknowledgement. As if the stranger before her was someone her instincts had quietly accepted.

She opened her mouth to say something more, but he had already turned. One step, two, and he was gone again—melted into the trees like shadow at dusk.

Alone again, she stared in the direction he had gone.

She shouldered her satchel, tucking her cloak tighter around her.

“Thank you,” she whispered one last time, to the forest, to the wind.

And then she turned north, toward the place that could either be her sanctuary—or the stage of her greatest deception.

Either way, she wouldn’t stop now.