Chapter 8
The forest had never felt like a cage until that night.
I ran. Goddess, I ran as if freedom waited just beyond the pines. The snow crunched under my boots, branches whipped across my arms, the cold sliced my lungs open. My wolf screamed inside me—move, faster, don’t stop—but every instinct shrieked the same warning: he’s behind you.
Damien’s presence was a shadow draped across the trees. Not seen, not heard—scented. Cedar, frost, and the faintest trace of blood. A predator’s perfume, threading through the night like a promise.
I leapt over a fallen log, landed hard, stumbled. The silence of the forest mocked me. Not a bird, not a breath. Only the sound of my heart hammering loud enough to betray me.
Then—his voice. Low. Velvet. Too close.
“Run, little wolf.”
I froze, breath clouding in the air.
“I want to see how far you’ll make it before you beg.”
The bond was gone, yet my body remembered. My mark burned phantom-hot, my wolf straining to obey, to turn and crawl toward that voice. I clamped down on her, forcing my legs to move again.
I darted deeper into the forest, aiming for the old riverbed. If I could mask my scent in the water, maybe—just maybe—I could buy time.
But Damien wasn’t chasing with his body. He was chasing with his voice.
“You severed me in front of the Court.” His words floated like smoke, wrapping around me no matter which way I turned. “You made the pack whisper. You made me bleed.”
My throat tightened. I forced myself not to answer. Wolves who answered the hunter’s voice didn’t live long.
A snap of a twig. My pulse jolted. I spun, claws half-shifted, eyes flashing silver in the moonlight. Nothing. Only shadows.
And then arms slammed around me from behind.
I thrashed, claws raking, a scream tearing from my throat. His grip was iron, his heat a brand pressed into my back. He spun me, slammed me against a tree, the bark biting into my spine.
Damien’s face loomed, beautiful and monstrous under the moon. His golden eyes burned like twin flames. His chest rose and fell, predator’s hunger in every line of him.
“You run well,” he rasped, breath hot against my cheek. “But you run for me.”
I spat blood and snow in his face. “I run from you.”
His smile was feral, sharp. “There’s no difference.”
I shoved at him with everything I had. My claws sliced his jaw, leaving bright crimson lines. His head snapped to the side, but instead of anger, he groaned—low, guttural, aroused.
“Ah, there she is. My wolf.”
My chest heaved. “I’m not yours.”
His hand closed around my throat, not choking—holding. Claiming. His thumb brushed the scar of his broken mark. “Tell that to your pulse. To your scent. To the way you still tremble for me.”
I kicked, struggling, refusing to yield. “You’re pathetic. Chasing a woman who doesn’t want you.”
His eyes darkened, gold flaring molten. “Want?” He leaned closer, lips grazing the shell of my ear. “This was never about want. This is about need. And you’ll need me again. When the next moon rises, when your wolf goes into heat, you’ll scream for me until your throat breaks.”
My stomach lurched, fury igniting like fire. I raked my claws down his chest, tearing fabric, skin, and muscle. He hissed, blood blooming across his shirt.
Instead of releasing me, he crushed me harder against the tree, his mouth ghosting mine—close enough to taste the metallic tang of his blood between us.
“Fight me, Clara,” he growled, low and intoxicating. “It only makes the claiming sweeter.”
The forest tilted around us. My wolf howled, torn between fury and desire, rage and longing. I hated him—hated him with every drop of blood in my veins.
And yet my body remembered his mark.
The hunger in his eyes told me he knew it too.
A howl split the night. Not Damien’s.
Another presence crashed through the trees—rough, wild, untamed. The air shifted, and the scent hit me like a storm. Pine smoke, steel, rain.
A rogue. No—something stronger.
Damien’s head snapped toward the sound, his grip tightening on me instinctively. A growl ripped from his chest, deep and dangerous, vibrating through my bones.
“Stay behind me,” he snarled.
And for the first time since the Severance, I saw something in Damien’s eyes I hadn’t thought possible.
Not hunger. Not fury.
Fear.
