Chapter 11: Separated

Tehila's POV

My grandmother was dead. She had died when I was sixteen, wasting away from some illness the pack healers couldn't cure. I'd held her hand as she took her last breath, watched them burn her body according to wolf tradition. So the voice calling from the darkness was impossible, no it couldn’t be.

I was panicking, Dalton and I were alone. The others had vanished into the forest, following Zane toward the Dead Zone. And someone—something—was using my grandmother's voice.

The footsteps grew closer. 

I grabbed Dalton's arm, half-dragging him behind a massive oak tree. His weight nearly pulled me down, but adrenaline gave me strength I didn't know I had. I pressed my hand over his mouth, feeling his labored breathing hot against my palm.

"Shh," I breathed directly into his ear.

Two figures emerged from the darkness. Human, dressed in tactical gear, rifles held ready. Night vision goggles made them look like insects. They moved past our hiding spot, close enough that I could smell gun oil and coffee.

"Target last seen in sector seven," one said into his radio. "Female, early twenties, accompanied by an injured male. Requesting permission to neutralize the male."

My heart stopped. Neutralize. That was such a clean word for murder.

The static crackled. Then a voice responded, cold and professional. "Negative. Bring them both alive if possible. The male's bloodline may also be valuable."

 They wanted Dalton too. Whatever this breeding program was, we were both prizes to be collected. The mercenaries passed, continuing their grid search deeper into the forest.

I waited until their footsteps faded completely before removing my hand from Dalton's mouth. He sagged against the tree, his skin burning with fever. The silver poisoning was spiking again, and Dr. Lorett's antidote was wearing off.

"Can you walk?" I whispered.

"Maybe. Slowly." His voice was barely audible.

We couldn't outrun anyone like this. I scanned our surroundings, desperate for safer options. The moonlight filtered through the canopy, and thanks to it, we saw a stream about thirty yards away. Water would mask our scent, and make us harder to track. Perfect! 

"There," I said, pointing.

Dalton nodded weakly. Together we stumbled toward the stream, every step was an agony of noise I was certain would give us away. Branches cracked under our feet and leaves rustled. But no shouts came, no gunfire— yet.

The stream was wider than I'd hoped, and the current was strong enough to carry us away. But we had no choice. I helped Dalton into the freezing water, gasping as it soaked through my clothes.

The cold shocked him, partially alert. His eyes focused on me for the first time in minutes.

"Keep moving," I urged, pulling him downstream.

The current wanted to sweep us away, but I fought it, using rocks and exposed roots to keep us upright. My legs went numb and my teeth started chattering. But the water would hide our scent from any tracking wolves they might bring, that was all that mattered for now.

We waded for what felt like hours but was probably only twenty minutes. Every sound made me freeze—was that a helicopter? Voices? Or just the wind through the trees?

Finally, I spotted a section where willows overhung the bank, creating a natural curtain. I dragged Dalton toward it, practically carrying him now. We collapsed on the far side, hidden from any possible view of our predators.

Dalton shook violently, his whole body convulsing with cold and fever. I pulled him against me, trying to share what little body heat I had left. His head fell against my shoulder, his breath rattling in his chest.

This was the closest we had been since before his betrayal. Since before Jade. Since before he'd destroyed everything between us.

The mate bond pulsed in my chest, damaged but still alive. It recognized him, wanted him, even as my mind screamed that trusting him was suicide. The sensation was agony—like a limb that had been broken and set wrong, sending pain signals with every heartbeat.

"I'm sorry," Dalton whispered through chattering teeth. "For everything. For being weak. For choosing wrong."

The words should have meant something. Should have brought relief or anger or some clear emotion. But I felt only numbness.

"You chose status over me," I said quietly. "You chose your mother's approval, the pack's expectations, your own comfort. You chose everything except me."

"I know."

"Sorry doesn't fix it."

"I know that too," I whispered. I don't know why we were even having this discussion now of all time.

I should have let go of him. Should have left him there and run alone—I'd be faster, safer. But my arms stayed locked around him, holding him as his shivering gradually slowed.

Maybe I was weak too. Maybe we deserved each other.

Dawn finally approached, I heard howling in the distance—wolf calls, but wrong somehow. The pitch was off, discordant, like someone had recorded wolves and played them back at the wrong speed.

My skin prickled. We were near the Whispering Woods.

"Do you hear that?" I asked.

Dalton nodded against my shoulder. "The voices. They're starting."

"But we're not in the Dead Zone yet."

"The edges are permeable. The effects bleed out into the surrounding forest." His words were slurring again, consciousness fading. "We need to find the others. We can't survive alone."

He was right. Being separated from them made us easy targets. Together, we might stand a chance.

I helped him to his feet. My clothes were still soaked, weighing me down. 

We tried our best to walk faster, following the stream toward where I thought Zane had led the group. The howling continued, growing stranger. I started to hear patterns in it, almost like words.

Then a new sound cut through the morning air. A voice, clear and strong, calling my name.

"Tehila!"

My head snapped up. That was Zane's voice. Relief flooded through me.

"I'm here," the voice continued, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere. "Come to me. Let the traitor die."

I froze. Zane would never say that. Never tell me to abandon someone, not even Dalton.

Dalton's grip on my shoulder tightened. "Don't listen. It's not real."

But the voice was so perfect. Every inflection, every tone—exactly like Zane. My feet wanted to move toward it, wanted to trust it.

"Tehila, please," the voice called, now sounding desperate. "I can't find you. I need you. Come to me. Leave him."