Forbidden Temptation

Chapter Four

Seraphine's POV

I ran as fast as my body still knew how. The pine-needled ground of the dark forest muffled the sound of my steps, but not the pain. Every move sent a sharp stab into my ribs. The cold air cut into my lungs; my throat burned as if it were scratched inside. The cloak was heavy, its bloody edge touching my thigh.

I didn't think—my body remembered: forward, right, avoid the roots, keep my head low under the branches.

“One more,” my wolf’s voice said, hoarse but firm. “Just one more.”

Step followed step. The trees stood around me like dark columns, with thin lines of moonlight filtering through them. The smell of pine sap was strong, but the metallic scent of my own blood covered everything.

I ran. I didn't dare look back.

Then my foot caught on a root. I fell. I dropped to my knees, skin scraped open, the cold mud biting sharply into me. My palm slammed into the ground, and the air rushed out of me.

My wolf instantly leaned over me inside. “Don’t stop! Breathe!”

I tried. The first gulp of air tore at my throat, but by the third, I could think again. My knees were throbbing, my ribs protested, and a dull, deep cramp tightened in my stomach. Warm liquid ran down the inside of my thigh again.

I pressed my hands to my stomach. I no longer felt that fine, secret tremor inside. Only emptiness.

“It’s gone…” I whispered, though barely any sound came out.

My wolf gave a soft sob. It was a deep, quiet wail, like ice cracking in winter. I felt it move aside within me to make room for the pain.

“He took it from us,” it finally said. “He took the pup.”

The word, took, hit me hard. The world shrank. The trees, the wind, the moon—all watched as I leaned forward, my forehead touching the mud, my fingers digging into the dirt.

The crying started slowly. First, just a painful sigh, then soft, then full sobs. The kind that only someone completely alone allows themselves. My shoulders shook, my wounds stung, the blood kept flowing. Images flashed one after another in my chest: a tiny hand… a warm cradle… And next to every image, the fact was burned in: it’s only a memory now.

When the crying calmed down, the dark forest remained still. The moonlight shone coldly on the pine needles.

“I can’t carry this,” I whispered.

“You will carry it,” my wolf replied. It was not comfort; it was a statement. “Because you must.”

My shaking slowly stopped, but the grief remained. My forehead rested on the wet earth. The pain no longer tore at me—it settled inside me, like a large, heavy stone that I must carry from now on.

“We can’t stay here,” my wolf reminded me. “The smell of blood will call predators. And it will call him.”

The word—him—clenched my stomach again. Robert’s red, glowing eyes flashed: “I don’t want you or the pup.”

I knelt up. My knees protested. I leaned on a tree trunk and took a deep breath. My wolf’s rhythm helped.

“Where to?” I asked.

“Down the hill,” it replied. “Toward the stream. The water will wash away the scent. There is a den under a fallen trunk there. We’ll rest there.”

I started downhill. The gurgling of the stream reached me before I saw the water. When I reached the silver streak running between the stones, I knelt. The cold water bit into my skin, carrying away a red swirl.

I took off my cloak and laid it on the bank. I washed the blood and mud from myself. I put my hand over my stomach for just a moment—like a goodbye—then took it away.

“If you go back, he will kill you,” my wolf said quietly. “If you stay here, what is hungry will find you. If you keep moving, there is a chance. Choose.”

“Move on,” I replied. My voice was barely audible. “Move on.”

I wrung out the cloak and put it back on. The cold bit into me, but the movement would warm me up. A dark hollow gaped between the roots of a fallen trunk by the bank. I pulled myself inside.

My first move was to curl up. I wrapped my arms around my stomach and rested my forehead on my elbow.

Now I cried silently. The tears soaked into the rough fabric of my clothes. The images reappeared—these will be the stones I place before me, so I have something to step on to keep going.

“I swear,” I whispered to the earth, the water, the moon. “I will never be defenseless again. I will never let them take what is mine again. I will not forget. And I will survive.”

My wolf let out a deep rumble. It agreed. Its voice settled around me, and my shaking slowly calmed.

“I’m afraid to fall asleep,” I confessed.

“I will keep watch,” it replied. “I will be your ears. Your teeth. Sleep.”

My eyelids felt heavy. The darkness didn’t crash down on me—it covered me instead. The pain remained, but it no longer tore at me. My wolf sat inside, watching.

And when the first, uncertain bird chirp sounded somewhere far away, my body, full of wounds and brokenness, still whispered back:

“I am still here.”