Chapter 10: Ambush in the Night

(Penny’s POV)

The wagon swayed like a drunk on ice. Every rut in the path jolted through my spine, rattling my teeth. The silk cord around my wrists had started to chafe, soft material, cruel knot. I kept my hands in my lap, fingers curled tight to hide the trembling.

Kael sat opposite me under the canopy, one leg stretched out, the other bent, like this was a casual carriage ride instead of a prisoner transport. He hadn’t spoken since we left the village. Just watched. Every time I shifted, his eyes tracked the movement. Every time I looked away, I felt him still staring.

The escort wolves ran alongside, dark shapes flashing between trees, red eyes catching moonlight. Their howls rose and fell in rhythm with the wheels, a grim lullaby.

I tried counting trees to stay calm. Then stars. Then heartbeats.

Nothing worked.

The moon was higher now, fuller, brighter, bathing everything in cold silver. The air smelled sharper: frost, pine resin, horse lather, and underneath it all, the musky edge of wolf.

Kael finally spoke.

“You’re quiet.”

I didn’t answer.

“Scared?” he asked, almost gentle.

I met his gaze. “Should I be?”

He smiled, slow, satisfied. “Very.”

I looked out through the gap in the canopy. Trees rushed past. No landmarks. No road signs. Just endless dark.

Then, a sound.

Not a howl.

A sharp crack, like wood splitting.

The lead horse screamed.

The wagon lurched violently. I slammed into the side, shoulder first. Kael cursed, grabbed the frame to steady himself.

Outside, chaos exploded.

Snarls. Shouts. The wet rip of flesh. Metal clashing.

Another crack, crossbow bolt, maybe, and one of the escort wolves yelped, high and pained.

Kael was on his feet in an instant, cloak swirling. “Ambush!”

He ripped aside the canopy flap.

Silver-gray fur flashed in the moonlight. Massive wolves, bigger than Kael’s, barreled out of the trees from both sides. Silverfang. I recognized the markings from my manuscript: pale gray with black streaks, eyes like winter storms.

They hit the Crimson Claw line like a tidal wave.

Claws raked. Jaws snapped. Blood sprayed dark across the snow-dusted ground.

Kael shifted mid-leap—bones cracking, fur erupting red-brown, cloak shredding as he became wolf. He landed on the lead attacker, jaws closing around its throat.

I didn’t wait.

The wagon had tilted sideways, one wheel off the path. The driver was gone—probably dead or running. The horses were panicking, rearing, tangling in harnesses.

I scrambled to the back, found the latch on the tailgate. It was bolted, but the wood was old. I kicked, once, twice. The third time it splintered.

I tumbled out, hit the ground hard, rolled. Pain flared in my elbow, but adrenaline drowned it.

The fight raged around me, wolves tearing into wolves, men shouting orders that dissolved into screams.

I crawled under the wagon, pressed flat to the dirt, heart slamming so loud I was sure they could hear it.

A pair of legs, human, stumbled past, then went down with a gurgle as a silver wolf pinned him.

I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

Then I saw my chance.

The far side of the path was clear for a heartbeat, trees thick, shadows deep.

I bolted.

Legs pumping, dress tangling around my ankles. I hiked the hem up to my thighs, silk cord still binding my wrists but loose enough to move.

Branches whipped my face. Roots snagged my slippers. I didn’t stop.

Behind me the sounds of battle swelled, snarls turning to yelps, bodies hitting dirt.

I ran until my lungs burned and my vision tunneled.

Then I tripped.

Face-first into pine needles.

I lay there gasping, tasting blood from a split lip.

Freedom.

Almost.

I pushed up on bound hands.

A shadow fell over me.

I froze.

Boots, black, worn, crusted with mud and blood.

Slowly, I lifted my head.

Genesis.

Human again. Shirtless, bandages still clinging to his ribs, stained fresh red. Hair wild. Eyes blazing silver in the moonlight.

He looked down at me like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“You,” I breathed.

“Yes,” he said. Voice rough. “Me.”

He crouched. Reached for the cord at my wrists. One tug, claws extended just enough, and the silk parted like thread.

His fingers brushed my skin, warm, callused, careful.

I stared at him.

“You’re supposed to be in the cave,” I said stupidly.

“You’re supposed to be gone,” he countered.

I laughed, short, shaky, half sob. “I tried.”

He studied my face, bruised cheek, split lip, wild braid coming undone.

Then his gaze flicked to the dress. The Crimson red. The royal embroidery.

His jaw tightened.

“They dressed you for him.”

“The king,” I whispered. “They were taking me to—”

“I know.”

He stood. Offered his hand.

I took it.

His grip was firm. Steady. He pulled me up like I weighed nothing.

Around us the sounds of fighting were fading—Silverfang winning, Crimson Claw retreating or dying.

Genesis didn’t look back.

He looked at me.

“You’re coming with me.”

I opened my mouth, to argue, to ask, to say anything.

He didn’t give me time.

One swift movement, arm around my waist, other hand at the back of my head.

Gentle.

But firm.

He pressed my face to his shoulder, warm skin, scent of pine and blood and something deeper, wilder.

Then the world tilted.

A soft tap at the base of my skull, not hard, just enough.

Darkness rushed in.

The last thing I felt was his heartbeat against my cheek.

Strong.

Steady.

Real.

And the forest swallowing us whole.