Chapter 19: The Forbidden Mountains

(Penny’s POV)

The wild wolves left us at dawn.

They rose as one, silent, coordinated, and melted back into the trees like mist. The silver-furred pup lingered longest, giving my hand one last nudge with its wet nose before trotting after its mother. I watched them go until the last tail-tip vanished, feeling strangely hollow.

“They’ll remember you,” Genesis said quietly, kicking dirt over the fire’s remains.

I managed a small smile. “Hope it’s a good memory.”

He looked at me, long, steady, then shouldered the packs.

“Mountains today. Harder ground. Fewer places to hide.”

I nodded. “Lead on.”

The terrain changed fast.

The gentle hills gave way to sharp rises, then real climbs. Rock replaced soil; wind replaced birdsong. We scrambled up scree slopes where every step sent pebbles rattling downhill like warning shots. My lungs burned. My legs shook. The blisters on my heels had reopened under the bandages, but I kept moving, because stopping meant falling behind, and falling behind meant losing him in the gray dawn light.

By midday we reached the first real pass.

A narrow cut between two peaks, wind howling through like a living thing, carrying ice off the glaciers above. Snow dusted the ground in patches, cold enough to bite through my boots.

Genesis paused at the edge.

“Ancient territory,” he said. “Before the clans split. Before the wars. Wolves carved runes here, warnings, blessings, stories.”

He pointed to the rock walls on either side.

Etchings, faded but clear: wolves under full moons, human figures with glowing hands, lines connecting them like threads of fate. One scene showed a woman standing between two alphas, hands raised, light pouring from her palms. The alphas knelt.

I traced the lines with numb fingers.

“Luna,” I whispered.

Genesis nodded. “The first one. Or one of them. The stories say she ended the first great war. Bound the packs. Gave them strength.”

I looked at him. “You believe it?”

“I believe what I’ve seen.” His eyes met mine. “I believe what I feel when you’re near.”

The wind stole my breath, or maybe it was him.

We kept climbing.

The pass opened onto a high plateau, windswept, barren except for a few stubborn pines clinging to cracks in the stone. In the center stood a circle of standing stones—tall, weathered, arranged like silent sentinels. Moss clung to their bases; runes spiraled up their sides.

Genesis slowed. “This is sacred ground. No blood has been spilled here in centuries.”

I stepped forward, drawn, almost against my will.

The stones hummed.

Not sound—vibration. Deep in my chest, like a second heartbeat syncing with mine.

I reached out. Touched the nearest stone.

Images flashed, quick, searing:

A woman like me, chestnut hair, hazel eyes, standing in this same circle. Two wolves circling her, one silver, one crimson. She raised her hands. Light bloomed. The wolves shifted, became men. Knelt. One took her hand. The other bowed his head.

Peace.

Then darkness. War again. The light fading.

A voice, not mine, not Genesis’s, whispered through the stone:

The last carries the first’s echo. Choose, or be chosen.

I jerked back.

Genesis caught me before I fell.

“What did you see?”

I shook my head. “Everything. Nothing. I don’t know.”

He pulled me close, arms strong around me, chin resting on my hair.

“You don’t have to understand it yet.”

I buried my face in his chest. “I’m scared, Genesis. Not of dying. Of… staying. Of wanting to stay.”

He held me tighter.

“Then want it,” he murmured. “And we’ll figure out the rest.”

We stayed in the circle until the wind died.

Then we moved on, down the far side of the pass, into shadowed valleys where the air smelled of pine and old stone.

That night we camped in a shallow cave, protected from wind, small enough to warm quickly with a fire. Genesis hunted while I gathered what dry wood I could find. He returned with a hare, skinned, ready to roast.

We ate in silence at first. Then I asked:

“Do you dream of your old life? The one before the throne?”

He stared into the flames.

“I dream of running. No crown. No father’s voice in my head. Just the moon and the hunt and… someone beside me.”

I swallowed. “Someone.”

He looked at me, direct, unguarded.

“You.”

My heart stuttered.

He set the hare aside. Moved closer.

“I don’t want you to leave, Penny.”

“I know.”

“But I won’t stop you if that’s what you choose.”

I reached for him, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him down.

The kiss was slow this time. Deliberate. Like we were memorizing each other against whatever came next.

When we broke apart, I rested my forehead against his.

“I’m not choosing tonight,” I whispered.

He smiled, small, real, heartbreakingly tender.

“Then we have tonight.”

We curled together under the shared cloak, his arm around my waist, my head on his chest, listening to the steady thunder of his heart.

Outside, the mountains stood silent.

Inside, something shifted.

Not fate.

Not prophecy.

Just two people, human and wolf, holding on in the dark.

And for the first time, the witch’s marshes didn’t feel like the end of the road.

They felt like the last fork before a decision neither of us wanted to make.