Zachariah Forb Rockefeller: A story of unconditional love

"Don’t look back!” A voice whispered, fiercely.

The words echoed like a prayer in her head — Mia's voice, breaking with fear as she ran.

But even with that, Elowyn couldn't dare look back.

Behind her, the night howled. Trees clawed at the sky. And somewhere far off, too close, the Pack Lord’s scouts were closing in. She could hear them. The padded footsteps, pack growls, the metal creak of a chain leash, her stepdad yelling at her sobbing mother.

She tightened her fists.

Her boots slapped the earth, soaked and freezing, every breath a knife to her lungs. Her hood clung to her damp hair. She didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not when her scent was strong to pull them her way. Not when her real name still echoed behind her like a curse.

Elowyn Froste. To be claimed. Promised. Hunted.

They wanted her for deep reasons and her stepfather didn't care. Her mother couldn't do anything. Nothing! She was just a woman to be used.

A once alluring Vixen who lost her mate and turned her back on her daughter to favor another power-hungry animal.

So Elowyn ran.

And now—

“Ashmoore's Training Academy’s the only way out.” the whisper said. “No one will look for a girl among Alphas. No one of them packs can get let in. So, don't give up."

A plan.

A dangerous one.

But it was all she had left.

She stumbled, knees buckling on the icy slope. Scraped palms. Blood. The weeds and shrubs clawed at her but she couldn't dare to mind.

Her disguise was still intact: hair chopped. Chest bound. Her forged name pressed against her ribs like a second heartbeat. Ashmoore's Training Academy. Elyan Froste. Male. Admitted.

If she could just make it to the cave and meet her bestfriend. For one last time....

"Don’t look back. Don’t look back."

A snarl split the darkness behind her.

She ran harder.

A flicker of firelight.

She stumbled into the clearing like a storm — soaked, shaking, breathless. The circle of stones was exactly where Mia said it’d be. Elowyn ran in and dropped to her knees, knuckles raw, body aching.

“You’re early, dear.” a voice said, smooth and dry as ash.

Mia stood in the shadows, cloak billowing, fingers already smeared with chalk and herbs. Her black eyes glinted with moonlight, like they already knew what would happen next.

“Mia!” Elowyn rasped.

Mia sighed, crouching down, pushing a warm, glowing flask into her hands. “Sip that. It’ll always mask your scent for up to six hours. Any longer, you’re on your own.”

"And my injuries, face and voice?”

“The more you drink, the more it disguises. It'll slightly dull your features. You’ll pass as a tired boy in the right light. Drink it once you see the gates.”

Elowyn hesitated, hands trembling. “What if they catch me anyway?”

Mia raised one brow, her expression unreadable.

“Then die with your secret intact. Better than living as a sacrificial Luna to that pig. Don't be afraid. I'll do anything for you. Just one message and it's done.”

The Pack Lord.

Her stomach twisted with discomfort. Her fingers closed around the cloth.

She needed to go.

Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked.

“Ashmoore’s gate will open at dawn and you'd have gotten there." Mia said. “They’ll expect you. I sent your file. You know the plan. Don’t speak more than you have to. And for Moon’s sake....”

She reached out, cupped Elowyn’s face gently, to comfort her and to lock her gaze.

“Don’t you dare fall in love with anyone. Not even a little.”

Elowyn exhaled a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “I’m going there to survive. I can't love anyone.”

Mia stepped back, lips twitching. She looked unsure.

"I just can't picture something right away but all will be well.”

She knelt at the edge of a chalked summoning ring, whispering in a tongue that hadn’t been spoken in centuries. Her eyes glowed faint purple, herbs curling in smoke around her palms. 

Elowyn watched, clutching the forged ID against her chest, heartbeat matching the rhythm of the incantation.

Then the ground rumbled.

From between two skeletal trees, a carriage emerged, wood darkened with time, silver trim glowing faintly in the moonlight. The two horses weren’t alive. Not quite dead either. Their eyes burned pale blue. Their breath fogged the air like smoke from forgotten war camps.

Mia pulled out of her trance and stood up, brushing soot from her palms. “You’re officially Prince Elyan Froste of the Eastern Draven Clan. Long forgotten, rarely questioned, and conveniently noble.”

“And the carriage?” Elowyn whispered, stepping toward the spectral ride.

“Constructed from memory. It’s how I made them believe you existed in the system. Old academy records from twenty years ago — I bent time to make you real.”

Elowyn stared at her even though she didn't fully understand. 

“Mia… how long will it last?”

Mia’s lips pressed into a tight line. “One hour. From the moment the wheels stop at Ashmoore’s pack. After that, the carriage fades, the illusion breaks, and if you’re not inside those walls by then.... it all collapses.”

"Everything?"

“They aren’t people, Elowyn. They’re illusions that seem real.”

The driver, wearing a high-collared black coat, turned slightly and nodded once — motionless, ghostly, obedient.

“Once they drop you off, they’ll vanish with the wind in one hour,” Mia said softly. “So move fast. Don't answer too many questions. And remember…”

She looked at Elowyn — no longer playful, but deadly serious.

“This isn’t a game. If someone catches your scent — the real one — you’re likely to be dead. Mate bond or not.”

Elowyn bit her lips and cried softly before running into the arms of her dear friend.

The hug lasted for a moment and then Mia stepped back.

"You're strong, Elowyn. Go, now. Remember, you're Elyan Froste."

And yes, she was.