Chapter 4 The Hunt

(Hilda)

The forest is alive with the sound of celebration.

Wolves dart between trees, their yipping laughter echoing through the night like music.

I want to run. Want to feel the freedom Arlo assured me I’d feel soon. But my body disagrees.

Each step sends a warning through my ribs. My muscles ache with the dull throb of weakness. I’ve been idle for too long and my body is letting me know I’m not ready for this.

I used to be the quickest wolf in this pack, now I can barely maintain a trot. And beneath it all, the bond still sings, low and relentless, like a wire pulled too tight.

Arlo’s wolf disappeared into the trees ahead of the pack, his massive form cutting through the underbrush like shadow incarnate. I haven’t seen him since. But I feel him. Somewhere nearby.

It should be comforting. It isn’t.

I shift late. The pain of it nearly buckles my legs, but I grit my teeth and push through. My wolf is lighter now, lean from the period of recovery, but she’s still here. Sharp-eyed and stubborn as ever.

The run starts slow. Cerelia’s white wolf leads the way, graceful and elegant, with Soren’s silver beast flanking her. The rest of the pack follows, peeling off into smaller groups as we cross into denser woods.

I take the high ridge. Alone.

There’s nobody I particularly feel like running with and I’d hate to hold anyone back.

It’s not until I pass the old stone outcrop that I realize I’m being followed.

Three wolves. I recognize them instantly as some of Damon’s warriors. Big. Brutish. All muscle, no mind. They keep their distance at first, trailing like vultures waiting for me to stumble.

And then they close in.

Not playful. Not teasing. Predatory.

I dart left, cutting through a narrow ravine, but they flank me effortlessly. One growls, low and guttural, and lunges. His teeth graze my flank and I veer, nearly slamming into a fallen tree.

They’re not trying to tag me. They’re trying to bleed me.

I run harder, breath coming in ragged bursts. My paws slide over slick roots, and every turn takes me deeper into the woods. My side screams. The trees blur.

This isn’t a hunt. It’s an execution. And I stand no chance of outrunning them in my current state.

I twist toward a thicket, hoping the narrow passage will slow them. One crashes through instead, jaws snapping inches from my tail.

The second gets ahead of me. I skid, try to turn, and he slams into my side.

Pain explodes through my ribs as I hit the forest floor hard, the air knocked from my lungs. My wolf whimpers. She tries to rise. One of them sinks his teeth into my shoulder.

And then the world explodes.

A black wolf slams into the attacker, ripping him away from me with terrifying force. The air thickens with growls and blood. One moment, I’m pinned. The next, I’m forgotten.

Arlo.

His wolf is a demon made flesh. He tears through them with brutal efficiency. One down with a single snap of his jaw, another flung into a tree hard enough to crack bone. The third bolts.

Arlo doesn’t follow.

He turns to me instead.

I try to stand, but my leg won’t hold. Pain lances down to my paw and my vision blurs at the edges.

He shifts mid-stride, his massive frame transforming into the man I recognize, barely out of breath, chest slick with blood that isn’t his.

“You’re hurt,” he says, moving toward me.

I shift with excruciating difficulty. “No,” I rasp, though it’s clear I am.

He drops to his knees, hands already moving over my body, gentle where I expect pressure. His expression shifts from fury to something colder. Focused.

“Damon’s?” he asks, voice low.

I nod.

He exhales through his nose, then lifts me with a tenderness that makes my throat tighten. I should protest. Bite him. Do something to prove I’m not some weak victim. But all I do is turn my head into his chest and inhale deeply.

I hate how good his warmth feels. I hate how steady he is.

Back at the edge of the clearing, wolves are just beginning to circle back, laughing and panting, unaware.

Arlo doesn’t announce what happened.

He carries me straight to the medic’s quarters and doesn’t leave my side until my shoulder is wrapped and my breathing steadies.

Only then does he speak again.

“You could’ve died.”

I glare at him. “That’s not new. It’s a Tuesday.”

He crouches beside me. His hands are fists. His voice, a razor.

“They won’t get another chance.”

The bond hums, electric between us. Not seductive, feral. Protective.

I should pull away.

Instead, I whisper, “Why do you care so much?”

He looks at me like the answer should be obvious.

“Because you’re mine.”

My heart stutters. My wolf howls inside me.

“I didn’t agree to that,” I snap.

“You don’t have to,” he says. “It’s still true.”

I turn my face away. I’m too tired to fight him, but gods help me, I still want to.

He doesn’t push. Just stands and strokes my hair out of my eyes. “Sleep. You’re safe now.”

I hate that I believe him.

But I do.