Chapter 11: Reunion with the Prince

(Penny’s POV)

I came back to consciousness slowly, like surfacing from deep water.

First sensation: warmth. Not the clammy chill of the wagon or the damp cold of the cave. Real warmth, skin against skin, steady heat radiating from someone’s chest.

Second: movement. Gentle rocking. Not the jolting wagon wheels. Smoother. Like being carried.

Third: heartbeat. Strong, even, right under my ear. Not mine.

I opened my eyes.

Darkness at first, then moonlight filtering through branches overhead, painting everything in silver and shadow. Trees rushing past, and no, not rushing. We were moving fast, but I wasn’t running. I was being carried.

Arms under my knees and back. Cradled like I weighed nothing.

I tilted my head up.

Genesis.

His face was set in hard lines, jaw clenched, eyes scanning the forest ahead. Hair falling into his face, damp with sweat or blood or both. The bandages on his ribs were still there, but torn in places, fresh red seeping through. He shouldn’t have been running, let alone carrying anyone.

Yet here we were.

He glanced down. Caught me staring.

“You’re awake.”

His voice was rough. Tired. But steady.

I swallowed. My throat felt raw. “You knocked me out.”

“Gently,” he said. Almost defensive.

I huffed a weak laugh. “Still knocked out.”

“Had to. You were about to argue. We didn’t have time.”

He slowed, then stopped. Lowered me carefully to the ground, soft moss underfoot, a small clearing ringed by thick evergreens. Moonlight pooled in the center like spilled mercury.

I stood on shaky legs. The ridiculous crimson dress was torn at the hem, dirt-streaked, one sleeve ripped from shoulder to elbow. My braid had half-unraveled; strands stuck to my neck with sweat.

Genesis released me but stayed close, close enough that I could feel the heat rolling off him, smell pine and blood and that wild, unmistakable scent that was purely him.

He looked me over, quick inventory: face, arms, wrists where the cord had left red marks, the dress.

His eyes darkened when they landed on the embroidery, the royal silver thread.

“They dressed you like a sacrifice,” he said quietly.

“More like a gift,” I corrected. “For the king.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

He reached out, slow, careful, and brushed a loose strand of hair from my cheek. His fingers lingered a second too long.

“You’re safe now,” he said.

I laughed again, shorter this time, more bitter. “Am I?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just studied me like he was trying to read something written in invisible ink across my skin.

Then: “Come.”

He turned and started walking deeper into the trees. Not fast. Not like he was fleeing. More like he knew exactly where he was going.

I hesitated.

Then followed.

We walked in silence for maybe ten minutes. The forest changed, trees older, trunks thicker, ground softer with moss and fallen needles. No path, but he moved like he’d walked it a thousand times.

Eventually, the trees opened into a hidden glade.

A small stone structure, half ruin, half shelter, rose from the earth. Ivy climbed the walls. A low roof of slate. A single arched doorway. Moonlight poured through gaps in the roof, illuminating a stone floor scattered with furs and a low fire already burning in a pit at the center. Someone had been here recently. Or prepared it.

Genesis stepped inside. I followed.

The warmth hit me like a blanket. The fire crackled softly. Furs, thick wolf pelts, were piled in one corner, forming a rough bed. A waterskin and a few wrapped bundles sat nearby. Supplies.

He gestured to the furs. “Sit. Rest.”

I didn’t argue. My legs gave out the second I reached them. I sank, knees tucked, dress pooling around me like spilled blood.

Genesis crouched by the fire and added a few sticks. Sparks danced up.

Then he turned to me.

“How did they get you?”

I told him, halting at first, then faster. The village. Eldric and Torin. The scouts. Kael. The cage. The bath. The dress. The wagon. The ambush.

He listened without interrupting. Face unreadable.

When I finished, silence stretched.

Then he exhaled, long, slow.

“I woke up in the cave,” he said quietly. “You were gone. Scent trail led to the village. Then to the Crimson path. I tracked you.”

“You shouldn’t have,” I said. “You were hurt.”

“I heal.”

“Not that fast.”

He shrugged, one shoulder. Winced slightly as it pulled the bandage.

I reached out without thinking, fingers brushing the edge of the dressing. “Let me check it.”

He didn’t pull away.

I peeled back the edge carefully. The claw marks were mostly closed now, pink scars, still angry but knitting. No fresh bleeding.

“Impressive,” I murmured.

“You sound surprised.”

“I’m not. Just… glad.”

Our eyes met.

Something shifted in the air between us, thicker, warmer.

He caught my wrist gently. Not restraining. Just holding.

“You saved me,” he said. “

“You saved me tonight.”

“We’re even.”

I shook my head. “Not even close.”

He let go of my wrist but didn’t move back. Stayed crouched in front of me, close enough that I could see the faint scars on his cheek, the way his pupils had dilated in the firelight.

“You’re not from this world,” he said, not a question.

I swallowed. “No.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. One minute I was asleep in my apartment. The next… here. In the middle of my own story.”

He frowned. “Your story?”

“I write them. Werewolf romances. This world. The packs. You.” I gestured at him. “I wrote you.”

He stared.

Then, slowly, a low, rough sound escaped him.

Laughter.

Quiet. Disbelieving.

“You wrote me.”

“Yeah. Prince Genesis. Alpha heir. Brooding. Scarred. Growly.”

He raised one brow. “Growly?”

“Very.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile.

“And what happens to me in your story?”

I hesitated.

He waited.

“You… find a Luna. The last one. The one who can save the clans. You claim her. End the wars. Rule.”

His expression sobered.

“And this Luna,” he said slowly. “She’s you.”

I looked down at my hands. The red marks from the cord were fading.

“I don’t know,” I whispered. “Maybe. Maybe not. All I know is I want to go home.”

Silence again.

Then he stood. Walked to the doorway. Looked out at the moon.

“You can’t stay here,” he said. “Not like this. Not dressed for a king who isn’t me.”

He turned back.

“I’m taking you to my territory. My lands. My people.”

I stared at him.

“Why?”

“Because Kael will hunt you. The king will want you. And because…” He paused. Jaw worked. “Because you saved my life. And I don’t leave debts unpaid.”

I searched his face.

No lie there.

Just resolve. And something softer underneath.

I nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

He crossed back to me. Offered his hand.

I took it.

He pulled me up, gently this time. Steady.

Then he reached for one of the furs, a thick gray one, and draped it over my shoulders like a cloak. Covered the crimson dress. Hid the royal embroidery.

“Better,” he murmured.

I pulled it tighter around me.

His scent clung to the fur, pine, smoke, and him.

We stepped out into the night together.

The forest waited.

And somewhere in the distance, howls rose, not hunting this time.

Welcoming.

His pack.

His home.