The forest swallowed them whole.
Ava had never moved so fast. Branches lashed at her arms like sharp talons, moonlight spilled in broken shards through the canopy, and the pounding of her feet matched the thundering of her heart in her breasts. But she didn't let go of Callum's hand. His grip was warm, steady, alive, but most of all, protective.
Behind them came the dreadful howls.
Not like his. These were wrong. Wild. Jagged. Feral. Screams stitched to gut wrenching snarls.
"The rogues—what do they want?" Ava gasped as they wove between the trees.
"You," Callum said. "They can sense your blood. You're fresh. Unclaimed. They think they can turn you."
"Turn me?"
"Force the shift. Bend you into their pack. That's how the wild ones grow. They steal what isn't theirs."
They vaulted over a fallen log. Ava nearly stumbled, but Callum caught her mid-stride around her waist, pulling her upright without slowing down. Like it was effortless for him.
"How much farther?"
"Not far," he said. "We just have to reach the glade. It's protected."
A scream shattered like glass in the night.
Ava stopped dead. "That wasn't a wolf."
"No," Callum said, turning, eyes sharp. "That was Leif."
Another scream. Painful. Then dead silence.
Ava turned toward the sound, but Callum grabbed her shoulder. "He made his choice. We don't have time. Keep running!"
"I can't just leave him—"
"You have to!" he shouted. "If they take you, it's over!"
A flicker of silver moved in the trees, like death itself stalked them.
Too fast.
Too close.
Callum pushed her to the ground just as a shape burst forth from the brush—a wolf, but twisted. Larger. Scarred. Its eyes gleamed red like a nightmare in the darkness.
The rogue.
Callum roared—shifted mid-air—bones cracking, fur erupting. He slammed into the rogue with a sound like thunder rolling over a valley, and they crashed through the underbrush in a whirlwind of sharp claws and deadly teeth.
Ava scrambled to her feet, heart hammering in her chest.
She should run.
But she couldn't bring herself to leave him.
The two wolves circled each other, snarling, jaws snapping. The rogue was lean and vicious, black-furred with gnarled scars down one side. Callum was bigger, stronger—but he was still bleeding from before.
The rogue lunged.
Callum countered, locking jaws with it. They tumbled in a blur of claws, teeth, and pure fury.
Ava grabbed a fallen branch—heavy, thick—and ran straight at them like a bat out of hell.
The rogue pinned Callum, claws digging at his throat.
She swung the branch as hard as she could.
The branch cracked across the rogue's skull with a sickening crunch. It yelped, staggered—just enough.
Callum surged up, seized its throat in his jaws, and ripped without remorse.
The rogue collapsed. Still. Unbreathing. Lifeless on the dark forest floor.
Callum stood over it, panting, his fur soaked in slick blood and silvery moonlight.
Then he looked at her and quickly shifted back.
He was breathing hard, shirtless, scraped and bruised, but his eyes glowed like wildfire. He stared at her like she was both a miracle and a weapon. There was a hint of adoration there too.
"You stayed," he said.
She dropped the large branch. "So did you."
A flicker of something passed between them. The feeling of something ancient,magnetic and true. Almost primitive.
Then he swayed.
"Callum!"
She caught him in her arms as he collapsed to one knee.
"Just… need a second," he muttered.
She pressed her hands gently to his chest. "You're burning up."
"The shift takes a toll. And rogues… they fight dirty."
"You're hurt because you protected me."
He looked up at her, voice soft. "I'd do it again."
Ava swallowed.
This wasn't a story anymore.
This was blood. Teeth. Fate. A bond.
"Come on," she said, slinging his arm over her slender shoulder. "Let's find this glade."
Together, they stumbled through the trees. Behind them, the forest whispered and wept and watched.
But ahead—through the trees—glowed a pale, silver light.
The glade. And whatever destiny waited within it.