Chapter 2: The Fugitive

Lyra's legs burned as she bolted through the underbrush, branches whipping at her arms and face like angry claws. The storm had unleashed its full fury now, rain pounding down in sheets that turned the forest floor into a slick mire. Mud sucked at her bare feet, but she didn't stop, couldn't stop. The pack's howls echoed behind her, a cacophony of pursuit that sent fresh terror spiking through her veins.

Her chest heaved, each breath ragged and shallow, the severed bond a throbbing wound that made every step agony. But that violet fire inside her pushed her onward, a strange energy surging through her limbs, sharpening her senses. She could hear the snap of twigs under pursuing paws, smell the wet fur and rage of the hunters closing in. Torin's scent lingered strongest among them—dominant, musky, laced with something darker now, like confusion and hunger.

She burst into a narrow ravine, the walls rising steep and jagged on either side, water cascading down in rivulets that fed into a rushing stream. Lyra splashed through it, the cold shock biting at her skin through her sodden dress. The fabric clung to her like a second skin, outlining the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips, but there was no time for modesty. Survival was all that mattered.

A growl rumbled from the shadows ahead, and she skidded to a halt. Two pack enforcers blocked the path, their eyes glowing amber in the dim light, fangs bared. One lunged, massive jaws snapping inches from her thigh. Lyra twisted away, her hand shooting out instinctively. Violet light flared from her palm, slamming into the wolf's chest like an invisible fist. He yelped, tumbling back into the stream, body convulsing as the energy crackled over his fur.

The second enforcer hesitated, whining low in his throat, but Lyra didn't wait. She vaulted over him, claws digging into his shoulder for leverage as she propelled herself forward. Pain lanced through her fingers from the contact, but she ignored it, racing up the ravine toward the roar of falling water she could now hear thundering ahead.

Behind her, the pack's pursuit grew frantic. Torin's voice cut through the storm, a bellow that shook the trees: "Lyra! Stop!" There was command in it, alpha authority that tugged at her wolf, urging submission. But the rejection had frayed that pull, leaving only echoes of desire and hurt.

She crested the ravine's edge and stumbled into a clearing dominated by Devil's Throat—a sheer drop where the river plummeted over a jagged cliff into a misty abyss below. The waterfall churned violently, spray misting the air and blurring the world into grays and greens. Lyra teetered on the lip, heart slamming against her ribs, the violet glow in her eyes reflecting off the churning water.

Footsteps pounded closer. She glanced back, and there he was—Torin, shirtless and drenched, his chest heaving as he shoved through the last of the undergrowth. Rain traced paths down his sculpted torso, over the ridges of his abs, pooling at the waistband of his low-slung pants. His dark hair plastered to his forehead, and his eyes—those piercing eyes—locked onto her with a mix of fury and something raw, almost desperate.

"Lyra," he growled again, slower this time, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply. The scent hit him like a punch: her fear, sharp and acrid, but undercut by the lingering arousal from the clearing, now amplified by the adrenaline. It wrapped around him, stirring his cock despite the chaos, the bond's remnants refusing to fully die. He froze mid-step, muscles locking as confusion warred with his instincts. Why did she smell like that? Like she wanted him even now, running from him?

The pack fanned out behind him, wary after witnessing her power, but Torin couldn't move. His body betrayed him, heat pooling low as memories of the bond's pull flashed—her soft body against his, the way she'd leaned into his touch. He shook his head, snarling at himself, but the scent held him captive, his erection straining against his pants, painful and insistent.

Lyra saw it—the hesitation in his stance, the way his gaze dropped to her body, darkening with unwanted lust. It fueled her resolve. With a final, defiant glare, she turned and leaped, her body slicing through the air toward the roaring falls.

Torin's roar shattered the storm as he lunged forward, too late. "No!"

She plunged into the torrent, the water swallowing her whole, pulling her down into the unknown depths of Devil's Throat.