1 Butterfly Running From The Wolf.

Night

Damdow Woods

Dam’s Keep, Damoria

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Oh.My.God

The night was thick with the promise of rain, the air heavy and cool.

The moon, veiled by ominous clouds, cast an eerie glow over the dense forest.

Shadows stretched and twisted between the towering trees, swallowing every trace of warmth.

Seraphina ran.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, her chest burning with the effort.

Her once-vibrant dress was tattered and muddied, a ghost of a life she no longer had.

Twigs snapped beneath her bare feet, and branches clawed at her arms and face like skeletal fingers, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

He was close.

She could feel him, sense him the way prey senses the presence of a predator before the killing blow. Adolphus. His name was acid in her mind.

How had it come to this?

Once, she had trusted him. Once, she had craved the warmth of his touch, the whisper of his voice in the dark. She had loved him—or had she simply loved the illusion?

Now, that illusion lay shattered beneath the weight of betrayal, drowned in the blood of everyone she had ever loved.

Her family. Her people.

Her home. All gone.

All slaughtered. And the hands that had once held her so tenderly had been the very hands that ripped them apart.

Monster.

Her foot caught on a root, and she stumbled forward, barely catching herself before crashing to the ground. A strangled cry slipped from her lips before she clamped her hand over her mouth. No. No sounds. No mistakes.

She pressed herself against the trunk of an ancient oak, her pulse hammering against her ribs like a frantic bird in a cage.

Think, Seraphina.

Think.

But thinking felt impossible when terror wrapped itself around her throat like a noose, squeezing tighter with every passing second.

Then—a sound.

Not the rain, though it had started to fall, light at first before turning into a relentless downpour.

Not the wind, which moaned through the branches like the wails of the dead. No, this was different.

This was calculated. Deliberate.

Footsteps.

Slow. Measured. Hunting.

A low, dark chuckle slithered through the trees, curling around her like a noxious fog.

“You can run, but you can’t hide, Butterfly.”

Her blood turned to ice.

That voice. That taunting, velvety voice, laced with cruel amusement. The same voice that had once whispered her name in reverence, in devotion.

Now it was thick with possession, with the thrill of the hunt.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Why him? Why did it have to be him?

Memories clawed their way to the surface. The nights they had spent together, his arms around her, his lips brushing over hers as he promised her the world.

Had it all been a lie? Had she been nothing more than a game to him, a fleeting amusement before he tore her apart like the others?

No. Don’t think. Don’t remember. Just survive.

The rain battered down harder, masking her trembling breath as she peeked around the tree. He was closer than she feared.

Even in the darkness, she could see the gleam of his eyes—red, feral, glowing with a hunger that was not entirely human.

He was in his element.

A predator savoring the chase. Taking his time. Because he knew she had nowhere left to run.

Panic clawed up her throat. There has to be a way out. But the forest was vast and unfamiliar, twisted in ways that made escape feel impossible.

Her eyes darted desperately through the shadows until—there!

A fallen tree, massive and moss-covered, slick with rain. A hiding place.

Without hesitation, she dropped to the ground, squeezing herself beneath the trunk.

Cold, wet earth pressed against her skin. The mud seeped into her clothes, her hair, masking her scent—but would it be enough?

She pressed a shaking hand against her mouth, willing her breath to slow. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.

Then—the footsteps stopped.

Right. Above. Her.

Seraphina’s lungs burned, but she didn’t dare breathe.

The mud clung to her fingers as she gripped the earth, nails breaking against the unyielding ground.

And then—the worst sound of all.

Sniff.

A long, slow inhale.

“I can smell your fear,” Adolphus murmured.

No. No, no, no.

Her heart pounded so violently she swore he could hear it. This is it. He’s found me.

His claws sank into the mud, inches from her face. He was crouching now, lowering himself to her level.

“You always did like playing games,” he said, his voice almost teasing. “But this one is getting old.”

Seraphina’s mind spun. Move, or die.

Her fingers brushed against something hard—a stone.

Sharp. Jagged. A weapon.

Now or never.

With a cry of desperation, she lunged from beneath the trunk, driving the stone deep into his leg.

Adolphus let out a snarl of pain, stumbling back.

Run.

Seraphina scrambled to her feet, her body screaming in protest, and ran. She didn’t look back. Couldn’t.

Behind her, his roar split through the night, filled with fury and something worse—a promise.

“You think that’ll stop me, Butterfly?”

Her chest burned, her legs threatening to give out, but she pushed forward. Faster. Faster.

Don’t stop. Don’t think. Just run.

She wouldn’t last much longer.

And then—she remembered.

The dagger.

Hidden beneath the folds of her dress.

Her only chance.

Her fingers found the hilt.

She turned.

And Adolphus was already there.