"I told you to run, damn it!"
A voice, harsh, desperate, and fading with distance, growled behind her. Seraphina didn't turn around. Thunder roared overhead, drowning out the sound of her bare feet smacking against the wet woodland floor.
The cold rain stung her skin, causing her throat to boil as her breath caught in ragged gasps. Like a curse, her ripped gown stuck to her body. Every time she stumbled, mud splashed onto her knees.
"Where is she?"
In the distance, there was a howl. Male. Alpha. Known. Seraphina felt her chest tighten.
No. Not him. Never again.
Her legs gave way, but she pushed herself to her feet. Her heart was on the verge of bursting from her ribs as blood and rain ran down her arms and the silver cuffs bit further into her skin. With each step, the enchanted metal hissed.
She said to herself, "Sera, don't stop. A little bit further."
Branches snapped behind her. Bark was scraped by claws. Her entire body screamed as she pushed harder.
Through the trees came the sound of a voice: "You can't outrun me, little bitch. I still own you."
"No," she muttered more loudly. "No longer."
She ripped into the undergrowth, leaves clinging to her wet skin and branches cutting her cheeks. The sky was split by lightning, and the silhouette of a ridge ahead became visible.
One more wail. This time, closer.
"Please let it be the border," she said in a raspy voice.
Her palms sank into the stone and wet leaves as she fell. Then... it was there. A line etched into the ground. It's not to be confused.
The Border of Bloodlines. Prohibited. Damned. Those who never came back left their mark. She had heard rumours in the dungeons that "no one crosses the Lycan King's line."
But she would tonight.
Behind her, footsteps skidded. Growls. Breathing heavily. Her attackers were getting closer.
Pushing herself up, Seraphina staggered across the line.
Everything was different. The silence grew. Heavy. The growling halted behind her.
Her chest heaved as she turned. Three enormous, foam-lipped, red-eyed wolves stood at the edge. One yelled as it lunged and fell to the earth in midair. The other two whimpered and tucked their tails as they retreated.
Then... quiet. Behind her, the woodland died. She took a step back, farther into the unknown.
She heard it at that moment. A grumble. Not from behind. Up ahead. Low. Old. Similar to stone rubbing up against steel. The dirt itself vibrated.
Seraphina stopped.
Golden eyes opened from the darkness across the ridge. A massive figure, all muscle, fur, and threat, came forward. Not a wolf. Not exactly a man. Something... more.
She retreated a step. Her leg failed her. Like fog, he moved here and there.
Like a noose, the smell of power, fire, and desert wind twisted around her. Then he said something.
"Who goes too far... with her flesh covered in blood?"
The rain could be stopped by the depth of his voice. She was unable to talk.
"Reply to me."
"I... I didn't mean to—"
"Lies don't taste good."
Her body failed her attempt to stand.
She said, "I'm not here to fight."
"No. You came here to run." He took a step forward. "However, from what?"
She blinked against the rain as she spoke, "I... I was a prisoner. Of Alaric. Alpha, the renegade."
The shadow became rigid. "Alaric?" His head was inclined. "You smell like him... as well as silver."
He squatted next to her, clawed fingertips grazing the edge of her handcuff, and Seraphina winced. There was a slight sizzle.
"You exude fear and pain." His nostrils flared. "Power."
"I have no authority," she said. "Just wounds."
He got back up. "Everyone does."
The piercing, golden, aged eyes that had seen too much met hers.
"If you have to, kill me," she muttered. "But I refuse to return."
The thing gave a low, humourless chuckle. "You believe you have a choice?"
"I deserve the freedom to pass away."
His voice sharpened. "No one dies free. But maybe... you will live with a brand."
He took a step back, his eyes narrowing. Then the trees were cut by a whistle. People appeared. Cloaks of darkness. Blades of iron. No smell. Warriors.
One made a point. "She went too far. Her blood is silver. We don't have her."
The beast—no, the King—said, "She fled from Alaric. She is useful because of that."
"She poses a threat."
He didn't flinch. "I am, too."
The guard's blade came up. "We ought to gut her."
The King held up a hand. "No. Quiet. Now that she's mine."
"Wake up."
Like a blow to the senses, the voice struck her. Harsh. Male. Far away. Then heat and anguish slammed into her skull as the world twisted.
Seraphina let out a groan. Not rain. Not chilly. Only sand. Grit-caked, her eyelids pulled open. Overhead, the sky flared brightly. Her lungs were hit by the dry, harsh, and ancient smell of heat.
The trees had vanished. The woodland. The boundary. It's all behind her now.
The desert of Lycan.
She was lying on her back with her limbs spread wide and her ribs covered in bruises. Her wrist cuffs were made of silver and had cracked but not snapped. With every short breath, her arms ached.
There were footsteps. Voices.
"She's alive?"
"Barely. She doesn't smell like any of our pack."
She was flipped roughly by a boot digging into her shoulder. Her face was scratched by sand. She gave a hiss.
"Careful," said another. "Before the King meets her, do you want her dead?"
"She's nothing, rogue bait, and he shouldn't see her."
Seraphina cleared her throat. "I'm not—"
Before the word could come out, a hand clamped down on her throat.
"Silence."
Above her, the warrior kneeled, his gaze cold and his skin like sun-cracked stone. He had a golden insignia on his chest, a crescent moon with teeth, and was dressed in black leather over reinforced armour. The Lycan King's mark.
Draven Kael.
The leader said, "We carry her in," and got up.
"Why?"
"Because the King declared that he would personally judge anything that made it across that border alive."
"She poses no threat."
"Thereafter, there will be a brief trial."
One of the cloaked guards knocked Seraphina down again as she attempted to stand up.
"You'll regret it if you move again, girl."
She suppressed a scream. Her body shook with fatigue, and her spine protested.
A distinct voice cut through the heat, low and clipped. "What's your name?"
In an attempt to locate the source, she blinked. A man, illuminated by the desert glare, stood a few steps distant. Unlike the others, he was not armoured. His black robes were loose, but his stance... it spoke of command.
"Seraphina," she sounded. The name was unfamiliar to her.
The man gave one nod. "Bring her."
Her arms were seized by two guards. Dragged half-conscious through the dunes, she let out a cry. The sun was harsh and merciless. Her thoughts frayed and her flesh burnt.
One said, "If you don't keep awake, you'll perish out here."
She said, "Maybe that's the point."
Beyond the ridge, they came to a group of black horses that were waiting. The leader was given a water skin by one of the riders. Nobody gave her any.
Chained once more, Seraphina was flung into the rear of a sand sledge. Her wrist sizzled with the metal.
As the procession began to move, she saw the world get blurry. Hills of charred rock. Half-buried bones in the sand. Above, vultures circled. There was no end to the desert.
Her vision grew hazy. Then the earth trembled. The whole sledge gave a start. Horses were raised. Men yelled.
"Earthquake?"
"No." They went cold. Ahead, the sand... shifted.
Something huge moved under it.
Seraphina took a seat. A rumbling. As deep as the underworld, a moan. Then nothing. Just quiet.
The guard gave her a suspicious look. "She is cursed."
The leader yelled, "You believe that everything is cursed. Observe her eyes."
Seraphina blinked. They gazed. "Previously, they weren't silver."
Her chest twisted with panic. Silver?
"She is among them."
"That isn't achievable."
The leader remained silent. Then, quietly, "Ride more quickly. The King himself must see this."