Forbidden Temptation

Chapter Three

The darkness was warm and quiet at first. Then cold slowly leaked into it: the whistle of the draft from the hallway, the soft crackle of embers. My body protested. Every muscle ached, and none of them wanted to move.

The cold stone pressed into my back. My ribs hurt sharply, and my stomach pulsed with cramps. My throat burned as if a rope had squeezed it, and every breath hurt me inside. I tried to lift my head, but the haze weighed down and pushed me back.

“Breathe!” my wolf’s voice cut into me. It didn’t ask; it commanded. “Slowly. With me.”

I obeyed. The air smelled of smoke and iron. I opened my eyes. The leg of the flipped table pointed toward the ceiling. The soup was spread on the stone, and white shards of broken plates gleamed. A brown streak ran along the wall. I didn’t want to know if it was my blood.

Robert was nowhere.

For a moment, I was relieved, then panic immediately came: if he wasn’t here, he could come back anytime.

My wolf sniffed, listening. “Now,” it urged. “While he’s gone.”

I moved, and my body answered with pain. I reached for my stomach. The skin was hot, but the fine, secret hum I had felt for days was gone. Warm wetness ran down the inside of my thigh. I looked down. The stain was dark. Too dark to mean hope.

My heart twisted. My wolf did not howl. Only a long, deep sigh trembled inside me.

“Not now,” I whispered hoarsely. “Now we have to go.”

I leaned on my arm against the stone to turn onto my side. My ribs protested; my lungs let out a wheezing breath. My palm slipped in the spilled liquid and blood. My forehead hit the stone; I had to wait until the darkness pulled back from the edges of my vision.

“Get up,” my wolf said. “Not pretty. Just get up.”

With great difficulty, I pulled myself onto my knees. The rough surface of the wall held me. Every movement was like breathing on knives, but finally, I managed to stand. The room swayed, but I stayed on my feet.

The door on the far side gaped open. It seemed far away. My hand, pressed to my stomach, was no longer protecting anyone but me. My wolf huddled inside. It was no longer protecting the pup—it was holding me.

“Step,” it whispered. “One foot after the other. Don’t look back.”

I started along the wall. “If he comes back, we’re finished,” it growled. “Move.”

The doorknob was cold under my palm. I pushed it down slowly. The door sighed softly. I peered through the gap.

The hallway was colder. Every step echoed. Carved wolves ran along the wall, as if they were watching. I tried to walk without a sound.

“Right,” my wolf said. “The servants’ hall. Few people go there.”

The secret door gave way. The dark, cool air of the narrow passage embraced me. My steps were quieter inside, but the pain warned me with every movement: you can only bear what is necessary.

First, I stopped in the small cupboard behind the laundry room. I sank down. My skirt was soaked with blood. No tears came, just a tight feeling behind my eyes.

“I am here,” my wolf said. Its voice was deep and soft. “I won’t let you go.”

“Why only now?” I asked back in my mind. Not out of anger. Only pain.

I stood up. My legs were numb, but they held me. Near the kitchen, I grabbed a dark-blue cloak and drank from my water skin. The cool water flowed down my throat, soothing the burn inside.

“Enough,” my wolf rumbled. “You can’t overload yourself. We have to get out.”

I went to the back exit. The latch gave way. The cold, wet, pine-scented, and smoky night hit my face through the gap.

I stepped out into the courtyard. It was empty. A guard walked back and forth on the rampart. The small side gate was hidden behind the forge.

“Now,” my wolf whispered when the guard turned away. “Into the shadow of the forge. Fast.”

I moved quickly along the base of the wall. At the forge door, I grabbed the latch. The metal was cold and rough. My groan sounded too loud. The guard patrol slowed down. I waited until they moved on again. Then I slipped out the gate.

Behind the wall began the steps leading to the lower garden. Frost glistened on the steps; they were slippery. I almost jumped the last three steps. A flash of pain hit my hip, but I couldn’t stop.

That’s when the true silence hit me: the throbbing in my stomach stopped. A new, warm wave ran down my thigh. My heart missed a beat. I bent over the stones, dry-heaving.

“I am here,” my wolf spoke from my bones. “You are still alive.”

I leaned against the wall. I heard the slow dripping of blood on the stone.

“Right,” my wolf signaled. “Toward the pine trees. The bushes will hide you.”

At the base of the castle wall, I fell to my knees next to the old stone drain. My shoulder barely fit; my ribs protested. I crawled forward inch by inch.

“Don’t stop,” it encouraged. “A little more. One more elbow length.”

The forest began on the other side of the drain. I knelt up, digging my fingers into the grass. The castle stood behind me like a dark block.

“Let’s go,” I said. I knew what I was leaving behind. But there was no time to mourn.

“Let’s go,” my wolf answered.

I stood up, pulling the cloak tighter around me. The warmth running down my thigh no longer scared me. Grief would not come here, not now. First, I had to stay alive.

The shadow of the first pine tree closed around me. The smell of pine needles filled my lungs. The castle light slowly disappeared between the trees. Stubborn determination took the place of fear.

I took one step. Then another.

The trees grew thicker. My hand went to my stomach. I greeted the one who remained: myself and my wolf.

“I’m holding you,” my wolf said. This was no longer a promise, but a fact.

And I walked toward the heart of the forest. My future no longer seemed like a promise but a task: to reach the border.