Elara woke to pain.
It wasn't sharp anymore. It was worse—dull, spreading, everywhere. A heavy ache that made it hard to remember where her body ended and the forest began.
Cold earth pressed against her cheek.
She tried to breathe.
Her chest burned.
The bond answered with a low, cruel pulse, as if reminding her it was still there. Still alive. Still tied to him.
A broken sound escaped her throat.
Why won't you die? she thought bitterly.
Her eyelids fluttered open.
Above her, twisted branches clawed at the blood-dark sky. The moon was no longer full, its light thinner now, weaker—like it had already taken everything it wanted from her.
Elara tried to move.
Agony exploded through her side.
She screamed.
The sound echoed briefly, then vanished into the forest, swallowed whole.
Her body trembled violently as memories crashed back in fragments—Draven's voice, cold and final. I reject her. The laughter. The blood on the stone. The way he had turned away.
Her fingers dug into the dirt.
"I didn't ask for you," she whispered hoarsely, unsure whether she meant the bond or the Alpha. "I didn't ask for any of this."
Her wolf stirred weakly, curled tight and silent, wounded more deeply than flesh.
Elara dragged in another shallow breath and forced herself to look down.
Blood soaked her dress, dark and sticky against the white fabric. An arrow wound gaped along her side, hastily torn free when she'd fallen. Every heartbeat sent fresh pain radiating outward.
She was dying.
The forest knew it.
The trees loomed closer here, their shadows thick and watchful. The air smelled wrong—rotted leaves, old blood, something feral. This place had not been meant for survival.
She tried to stand.
Her legs buckled immediately, dumping her back onto the ground. Stars burst across her vision, and she cried out again, this time softer, broken.
Tears slid down her temples and disappeared into the soil.
"I just wanted to live," she whispered. "Just… live."
The bond pulsed.
Mocking.
Somewhere far away, a howl rose—low, distorted, wrong. Not pack. Not safe.
Rogues.
Elara's heart stuttered.
She crawled.
Each movement was slow, desperate, humiliating. Her palms scraped against thorns and stone, skin tearing open as she dragged herself beneath a fallen tree, its trunk half-rotted and hollowed by time.
She curled inward, pressing a hand over her wound, trying to stop the bleeding.
Her breaths came shallow and uneven.
Stay awake, she begged herself. Please. Just a little longer.
Her wolf whimpered faintly, pressing close inside her mind—not to protect, but to share the pain so she wouldn't be alone.
Time lost meaning.
The forest shifted from night to something darker than night. Sounds came and went. Footsteps. Growls. Silence heavy enough to suffocate.
Elara drifted in and out of consciousness.
In one moment, she was cold and shaking.
In another, she was back in the clearing, standing under the blood moon, watching Draven turn away from her again and again, no matter how many times she called his name.
When she woke screaming, no one answered.
Her throat burned raw.
Her vision dimmed at the edges.
This is it, she thought distantly. This is how omegas disappear.
The bond flared suddenly—violent, sharp, enough to tear a gasp from her chest.
She cried out, fingers clawing at the earth. "Stop," she sobbed. "Please… just stop."
The pain didn't fade.
But something else changed.
The forest went quiet.
Too quiet.
Elara forced her eyes open one last time.
Shapes moved between the trees—shadows not quite shaped like wolves, eyes glowing faintly in the dark. They circled slowly, patiently.
Waiting.
Her heart slowed.
I'm sorry, she told her wolf silently. I tried.
Footsteps crunched closer.
A voice murmured something low and unfamiliar—calm, controlled.
Not a rogue.
The shadows shifted abruptly, retreating, melting back into the trees as if repelled by an unseen force.
Elara frowned weakly.
Another step.
Closer now.
She tried to lift her head and failed.
"Moon-marked," a male voice said quietly. "She's alive."
Strong hands slid beneath her shoulders, careful, steady. The sudden warmth startled her, and she let out a broken sob she hadn't realized she was holding back.
"Easy," the stranger murmured. "You're safe now."
Safe.
The word felt unreal.
Elara's fingers twitched weakly, grasping at the fabric of his cloak. "Don't… take me back," she whispered, panic bleeding into her voice. "Please. I won't survive it."
The man stiffened.
"No," he said firmly. "No one is taking you anywhere you don't choose."
Darkness closed in again, softer this time.
As she slipped under, Elara felt herself being lifted fully off the ground, carried away from the forest that had waited so patiently for her to die.
Far away, beneath a sky no longer red, Alpha Draven's chest tightened painfully—sharp, sudden, suffocating.
He dropped to one knee without warning.
Something had changed.
And he didn't know whether to fear it…
or chase it.