Chapter 20: Rival Clan Ambush

(Penny’s POV)

The descent from the mountains felt like falling, physically and otherwise.

The path narrowed into switchbacks that hugged sheer drops, gravel sliding under our boots with every step. The air grew thinner, then thicker with the scent of pine and damp earth as we dropped below the snow line. Genesis stayed ahead, testing each foothold, glancing back every few minutes to make sure I was still upright.

I was.

Barely.

My legs trembled from the climb down, my lungs still raw from altitude, but the marshes were close now, one more day, maybe less. The witch’s domain waited somewhere in the fog-choked lowlands ahead. Home waited beyond that, if the door opened.

If I chose to step through it.

We didn’t speak much during the descent. The silence between us had changed, less tense, more weighted. Every brush of his hand when he helped me over a boulder, every shared look when we paused to drink, carried the unspoken question neither of us wanted to voice yet.

By late afternoon the mountains leveled into foothills. The trees thickened again, dark, ancient firs whose branches blocked most of the light. The path widened into something that might once have been a road.

Genesis slowed. Nostrils flaring.

“Too quiet.”

I froze beside him. “What do you smell?”

“Too many. Crimson. And… something else. Not rogue. Organized.”

My stomach dropped.

He drew his sword, quiet, fluid. “Stay behind me. If it goes bad, run south. Toward the river we crossed yesterday. Don’t look back.”

“I’m not running without—”

“Penny.” His voice cut sharp. “Promise me.”

I met his eyes, storm-gray, fierce, pleading.

“I promise.”

He nodded once.

Then the trees exploded.

Wolves, six, maybe seven, burst from both sides. Crimson red fur, eyes blazing. Not scouts. Warriors. Armored in leather and steel, moving like they’d planned this exact choke point.

Genesis shifted mid-step, silver-gray wolf launching forward, meeting the first attacker with a bone-crunching collision.

I backed up, heart slamming, scanning for an escape.

No time.

Two wolves broke past him, aiming straight for me.

I grabbed the dagger he’d given me that morning, small, sharp, better than nothing, and dropped into the stance he’d taught me during one of our quiet nights: feet wide, weight forward, blade low.

The first wolf lunged.

I sidestepped, barely, and slashed. The blade caught its shoulder. Blood sprayed. It yelped, spun.

The second hit me full-force.

I went down hard, breath knocked out, dagger flying from my hand. Claws raked my arm, not deep, but burning. Hot breath on my throat.

Then Genesis was there, silver blur tearing the wolf off me, jaws closing around its neck. One shake. Gone.

He shifted back, naked, bleeding from a dozen wounds, grabbed my arm, hauled me up.

“Run!”

We ran.

But they were faster.

More poured from the trees, ten now, maybe twelve. Flanking. Herding.

Genesis shoved me toward a narrow gap between boulders. “Through there! Tight squeeze, they can’t follow in wolf form!”

I dove, scraping elbows, knees, tearing the tunic but I made it.

He followed, barely, shoulders scraping stone.

We burst into a small clearing on the other side

Dead end.

A sheer rock wall rose twenty feet ahead. No way out.

The wolves circled the gap, some shifting back to human, drawing swords, others staying furred and snarling.

Genesis pushed me behind him again.

“Stay close.”

A tall figure stepped forward, human now, red hair braided back, eyes the color of old blood.

Kael.

The Crimson alpha.

He smiled, slow, satisfied.

“Prince Genesis. And the little Luna gift that got away.”

Genesis snarled, low, lethal.

Kael spread his hands. “My scouts tracked your scent from Harrowford. The villagers were… helpful. After we persuaded them.”

My stomach turned. “You burned it?”

“Not all of it.” Kael’s smile widened. “Just enough to motivate.”

Genesis’s claws extended. “You’ll die for that.”

“Perhaps.” Kael shrugged. “But not today.”

He gestured.

The circle tightened.

Genesis fought like a storm, claws and fangs and fury, but there were too many. A blade caught his side, deep. He staggered. Another wolf slammed him into the rock wall. He hit hard. Didn’t get up fast enough.

I screamed his name.

Kael laughed.

I lunged for the dagger, still lying where it fell, scooped it up.

One of the wolves turned toward me.

I didn’t hesitate.

I drove the blade into its shoulder, hard. It howled, reared back.

Another grabbed me from behind, arm around my throat.

I stomped. Elbowed. Bit.

The grip loosened, just enough.

I twisted free.

Genesis was on his feet again, bleeding badly now, but moving. He tore into the wolf holding me, ripped it away.

We stood back-to-back, me with the dagger, him with claws and teeth.

They closed in.

Then, a new sound.

Howls, not Crimson.

Silver.

From the ridge above.

Genesis’s pack.

They poured down the slope like an avalanche—silver, gray wolves, dozens, led by a massive black one with scarred flanks.

The Crimson line faltered.

Kael snarled, shifted, red wolf launching at Genesis.

Genesis met him mid-air.

They crashed together, claws raking, jaws snapping.

The clearing became chaos, Silverfang warriors tearing into Crimson, blood and fur flying.

I stayed low, back against the rock, watching, helpless.

Genesis and Kael rolled, snarling, tearing.

Then Genesis pinned him, teeth at Kael’s throat.

Kael shifted back, human, bleeding, laughing through the pain.

“Kill me, prince. But the king already knows. He knows about her. He’s coming.”

Genesis hesitated, one heartbeat.

Kael twisted, claws raking Genesis’s side.

Genesis roared, then snapped.

Kael went still.

The remaining Crimson wolves broke, fleeing into the trees.

The Silverfang pack circled, protective, waiting.

Genesis shifted back, slow, painful, collapsed to his knees.

I ran to him.

He was bleeding everywhere, deep gashes across his chest, his side, his arms. His breathing was shallow.

“Genesis—”

He caught my hand. “I’m… fine.”

“You’re not.”

I dropped beside him, ripped the tunic sleeve, pressed it to the worst wound on his ribs.

“Hold this. Pressure.”

He obeyed, weakly.

A black wolf shifted, became a tall man, scarred face, silver-streaked hair.

“Father sent us,” he said to Genesis. “When you didn’t return from the ambush, he feared betrayal.”

Genesis laughed, weak, bloody. “He fears losing his prize.”

The man looked at me, eyes narrowing.

“The Luna.”

Genesis snarled, weak but real. “She’s mine.”

The man raised a brow. “We’ll see what the king says.”

Genesis’s grip on my hand tightened.

I leaned close, voice low, only for him.

“You’re not dying on me. Not after all this.”

He managed a faint smile. “Bossy.”

“Damn right.”

I looked up at the scarred man. “He needs help. Now.”

The man studied us both, then nodded once.

“Bring them to the hold. The healers are waiting.”

Genesis’s eyes met mine, fading, but still fierce.

“Stay with me,” he whispered.

I squeezed his hand. “Always.”

They lifted him, careful, reverent, onto a makeshift stretcher of cloaks and branches.

I walked beside him, hand never leaving his, the entire way back.

Because whatever came next, the king, the claim, the choice.

I wasn’t facing it without him.