Forty-seven minutes passed before the left bolt came loose.
One beat after another, Sage tracked time. Without a clock near - gone were her things: phone, boots, even the small silver ring from when her mother passed. Still, she tallied each moment. It held her attention together. The axe stayed out of thought that way. Panic remained shut away, deep behind walls inside her head.
A sharp shriek echoed as the bolt broke loose, stopping Sage cold. The sound scraped against his nerves like rusted metal dragged over stone.
Down she went, flat on the cold stone, body tight against the dark. Overhead, a guard peered down - sounded like Cole, with that jittery foot-dragging noise he made.
"You hear that?" Cole whispered.
"Hear what?" Brennan.
"Like a... scraping."
"It's a stone pit, Cole. Stones scrape. Stop being paranoid."
"Right. Yeah. Okay."
The shuffling retreated.
Fog slipped out between her lips, quiet. Measured breaths followed, one after another without rush.
A length of silver links dangled from her wrist, the far end resting on the dirt - around four feet long, ending in a heavy iron locknut, once fastened, now free.
A weapon.
A little something. Still, beats having zero.
From the right bolt she began.
Worse this time. Tighter stone under her fingers, cold and unyielding. A narrow split ran through it, hardly enough. Yet still she pushed, because the herb had already taken hold - strength slipping away, slow as rain down glass. Each breath brought less. Each heartbeat felt thinner. Inside, the beast once loud now curled in silence, more shadow than shape.
Hold on, Sage said to her. I've got to have you here. Not much more after this.
The wolf whimpered.
Sage pulled.
Half an hour almost gone, then the next bolt snapped loose.
From each wrist dangled a chain, clinking with every shift. Though locked in silver cuffs - no way off without the key - she wasn't frozen. Movement came. So did resistance.
She could run.
Shaky legs held Sage up. Around her, everything slanted sideways. Feet pressed hard into the ground while she let the spinning fade. Where silver cut deep, skin turned dark. Blood seeped through torn flesh at her wrists. Scars would stay long after. That truth meant nothing to her.
She looked up.
Twelve feet down, the pit sat. Smooth granite made the sides hard to grip, curved just enough to stop climbers. She looked at her goal across the hole. Up there, a twisty stone path climbed toward the old storage room below the main building.
Floating above, a pair watches closely. One stands silent on the left, another still on the right.
Fingers testing the weight, Sage let the chains rest across her palms. Each one carried six pounds - silver mixed with iron. A solid heft. Swung with aim, they'd find their mark.
Training Brennan had been her task. His stance - she memorized it long ago. Reaction time? Fast, but predictable every third move. Blind spots lingered just off his shoulder. The right side carried most of his weight, slower to recover. After blocking once, he'd leave opening behind without noticing.
Cole had never seen blood up close. A flicker of shock would cross his face whenever things turned ugly. That pause - just fifty blinks of an eye - felt like dragging feet through wet cement. In a brawl, timing slips steal breath.
Down near the stairs, Sage stepped in close. The spot felt right for waiting. Not too far from where people passed by. A quiet place stood out just there. Nothing loud about it. Just space enough to stay put.
Up the winding stone stairs, darkness waited. From somewhere ahead, guard breaths broke the quiet. Nervous energy pulsed in Cole's chest - his heart racing. Yet Brennan's rhythm stayed even. Calm. Focused.
Sage paused, then pulled air into their lungs.
Then she screamed.
It wasn't something shouted in anger. More like a raw howl - what escapes when the body gives out. Into that noise she poured every ounce, with cuts on her arms weeping and venom moving through veins. The hurt didn't stop her. It shaped the sound.
A shriek tore through the air, rising step by step until it slammed into the guards as though pushed by unseen hands.
"What the - "
"Is she - "
Footsteps. Fast. Descending.
Cole showed up before anyone else, just like Sage expected. Puppies of the wild tend to sprint at the first sign of trouble. That pull inside them won't stay quiet - connection runs that deep.
Out of the curve he stepped, seeing the hole bare. Nothing lying there. Not a soul fading away.
Confusion lasted only a breath. Then it was gone.
A figure moved from where it had been hidden near the stairs, then sent the metal link spinning through air.
Six pounds of silver and iron struck Cole's temple - just shy of deadly force. Sage had held back on purpose. Yet the blow turned his knees weak, dropping him sideways. He slid down the wall, body slack, like something lifeless let go too soon.
A heavy thud followed his slow drop onto the dirt. Pain slipped out through a low moan.
Cole!" The name cracked through the air like a warning. Footsteps followed - urgent, heavy, each one measuring danger as they came down, careful but quick, because Brennan had already figured it out.
Out of the curve he stepped, claws bared. Hands changed - part man, part beast. Fighting stance locked in place.
Sage held back the chance he might have offered.
A flicker of motion made him blink - she'd sent the dangling part of the iron link straight toward his eyes. Not meant to strike, only to draw attention. It sliced through air near his temple, snapping sideways. His gaze wavered, caught off guard, even if briefly. That tiny lapse let her vanish from view.
Down went Sage, slamming her shoulder hard into his stomach. She moved fast before he could react.
Bigger than her stood Brennan. Power packed in every limb. Fed well, never tainted by poison. A level match would end fast - she'd be broken.
Hardly what you'd call balanced. The odds tilted before it even began.
Forward he went, Sage using the man's own rush to steer him straight into the stone. Weight shifted, guided hard toward the wall. Granite met skull with a heavy thud. That noise - dense, done.
Still lying there. Not moving a muscle.
Breathing hard, Sage loomed above the two fallen guards. Her chains wept red streaks that traced slow paths down to the cold stones below.
Faster, said the wolf inside her. Just a breath, almost gone. Run now. Before they arrive.
Sage moved.
Upward she went, each stair a battle fought through shaking limbs. Blurry shapes crept into sight, dulling the world around. Poison curled tight in her veins, growing stronger. Time slipped thinner with every breath drawn slow.
Down below, the packhouse held silence. Cold stone spaces for keeping things, rows of old bottles, a humming heater. Every corner lived inside Sage like a steady pulse. Six winters had passed through these corridors under her feet, meals at the long table, nights on a narrow cot.
For the first time, her footsteps carried her through not as a visitor, but someone running. The path felt different under that weight.
Out back, the way out turned out to be a thick steel door facing north - one that led straight into the loading zone behind the packhouse. Beyond that point, just fifty yards stretched across bare land before hitting the edge of the woods. Make it to those trees, survival became possible.
If.
Down in the basement, Sage moved slow, close to the wall, ears open. From upstairs, noise spilled down - packhouse full, restless. Wolves getting ready for what comes next - their steps heavy with purpose. A drum sounded, deep and steady, like it always did before judgment. Voices hummed below it, quiet but growing, a tide pulling toward one moment. She stayed still, breath thin, caught between shadow and sound.
They were assembling to watch her die.
Down below, she touched the handle of the service door. Open, just like that - who'd bother locking it? Thirteen feet deep maybe, but close enough, the prisoner sat fastened in darkness. Escape? Never happened in the history of the Crimson Howl's punishment hole.
A shove came from Sage against the door. It moved.
A sharp gust slammed into her chest. Autumn's last days up north always felt this harsh. Down went the mercury, quick as blinking. Sage had on just a prisoner's light dress - bare feet, no coat, nothing else at all.
Fifty yards out, the edge of the woods came into view.
Beyond where she stood, flat earth stretched toward the woods. Light poured down from the floodlamps around the packhouse walls.
And the moon.
Overhead, past the treetops, it loomed - round, bright, spilling liquid silver over rooftops and dirt paths alike. A pull tugged deep in Sage's gut, her wolf clawing upward, eager to break skin, dash through shadows, sing into the night. Yet the bitter scent of wolfsbane coiled around her bones, locking fur behind flesh. Her limbs stayed soft, heavy, earthbound.
Fifty yards.
Out from the doorway came Sage. Then silence settled around them like dust after a fall.
Twenty was what she ended up with.
"SAGE BLACKWOOD HAS ESCAPED!"
A sharp cry split the air, slicing through the yard. Not once did she turn to spot the one yelling. Knowing wasn't necessary.
She ran.
Frozen earth stung her soles each time they hit the ground. Pain shot up her legs - made shaky by wolfsbane - with every movement forward. Her wrists bore heavy chains, their rhythm a steady clang marking each pace.
Footsteps pounded as she moved forward. A door crashed shut behind her. Voices rose, sharp and wild, belonging to wolves caught mid-shout. Then came that low thunder of change - bones splitting, shapes bending, flesh giving way to thick coats of fur.
They were coming.
Fifty feet ahead stood the edge of the woods.
Twenty.
Ten.
Fleeing fast, Sage reached the edge of the woods and vanished into shadow. Slashing limbs stung her skin. Tangled ground snatched at her toes. Down she went - up again - still moving. Darkness pulled her deeper.
Fog clung between trunks, slow to rise after midnight. Tangled roots waited just under soft soil, eager to twist an ankle. Shadows piled deep where trees stood close, their tops sealed against the sky. Light rarely made it through. Moving fast meant trouble.
Suddenly, Sage kept moving. Not a pause in sight.
Far off, voices tore through darkness. More than just a pair. A crowd of them - every fighter from Crimson Howl now chasing, changed, moving fast. She heard each footfall snap twigs behind.
She just sat there, frozen in place.
Something wild twisted beneath her skin, frantic, dazed by chemicals. Out. Get out. Release me now. The voice wasn't hers, yet it screamed anyway.
I Can't Sage Thought The Wolfsbane
TRY.
Into the shift she reached. A thousand times before, that pull inside, the body shedding its skin so the wolf could rise. Breathing easy, it ought to have felt. Yet something caught.
Nothing happened.
Frozen inside by the wolfsbane's grip, her wolf stayed caged in venom - will alone too weak to crack it open.
A woman stood on two legs, breath uneven. Not built for speed. Bones breakable. Thirty wolves moved as one - muscle and instinct fused - a line of fangs chasing collapse through cold air.
Sage ran anyway.
Breath on fire, she kept moving. Her feet cracked open but still pushed forward. Sounds of pursuit sharpened - each footfall distinct now, sharp in the cold air. The front beast's breathing came fast, close enough to taste. Ground trembled under rushing weight from behind. Distance shrank with every step she took.
Footsteps faded as the earth gave way beneath her.
She stood on solid ground one second. Then it vanished - empty space, blackness, a stomach-dropping pull downward without warning.
Sage fell.
Falling into the ravine meant hitting bottom after thirty feet of drop.
Down she went, sliding crooked, crashing into bushes and gravel. Her limbs bounced hard off boulders, twisted by tree snags. A snap came from her ribs - one break, possibly more. Fire shot across her torso. She opened her mouth to shout yet found no breath left inside.
Down in the ravine, she landed hard, tangled in snapped twigs and cloth stained red. Branches cracked beneath her, fabric torn open by thorns and impact. Blood dripped slow through fibers, soaking into dirt already damp from last night's rain. Her breath came sharp, caught between pain and silence. The air smelled green and wet, mixed with iron warmth rising off crushed leaves. One arm twisted under her chest, fingers curled like dead vines. Above, treetops swayed without noticing.
Floating into view above, along the edge of the steep drop, figures emerged. Black cutouts pinned beneath the glow of night clouds. Not moving - these wolves stood like stone, watching her twisted body far below.
Buried under wet earth, Sage rested among scattered foliage and shadow. Stillness came after the rain had passed through. Roots curled close, nearby. A breath held between one moment and the next. Quiet lived there, thick as moss. The world above seemed far off then.
Rise now, said her wolf in a hush.
She couldn't move.
GET UP.
A shape moved among the wolves perched high. Snap of breaking tissue rang through stone on both sides. Where fur once was, a person now took place.
"She's down there," the figure called back to the others. "Looks like she fell. Might be dead already."
Silence hung there. A different sound followed - low, unyielding, marked by the kind of control only Alpha could hold.
Declan.
"Make sure."
The edge held a wolf starting its way down.
Down in the muck at the ravine's base, every breath came sharp through Sage Blackwood's teeth. Her limbs answered slow, cracked like old timber under weight. The dark earth clung thick as she dragged one arm ahead of the other. Pain rode each motion, steady and unkind. Nothing moved but her fingers clawing forward into the damp.
She crawled.