Chapter Fifteen
1623 Words
The Alpha stepped aside.
That alone should have terrified her.
Thalia stood frozen near the trap door, her breath caught somewhere between her ribs, her pulse screaming in her ears. The wooden panel beneath her fingers was real—solid, worn smooth by time. A way out. A chance. And yet Alpha Darius did not stop her.
He simply watched.
His golden eyes followed her movements with lazy amusement, his posture relaxed, almost indulgent. As if this—her trembling hands, her shallow breaths, her desperation—were a performance staged solely for his entertainment.
“Go on,” he said softly.
Her stomach twisted.
Every instinct screamed that this was wrong, that nothing he ever gave came without consequence. But fear overpowered caution. Staying meant certainty. Leaving meant possibility.
She chose possibility.
Thalia wrenched the trap door open and dropped through without another thought.
The darkness swallowed her whole.
She landed hard, pain jolting up her legs, but she didn’t stop. She scrambled forward, fingers scraping dirt and roots as she forced herself through the narrow passage beneath the cabin. The space smelled of damp earth and old wood, the air thick and suffocating. Her lungs burned, but panic drove her onward until she burst out from the other end, tumbling into the cold night.
The forest swallowed her whole.
Moonlight filtered through towering trees, silver and red-tinted, casting long, twisted shadows across the ground. The Red Moon hung low in the sky, swollen and ominous, its glow staining everything it touched. The night was alive—too alive. The forest throbbed with movement, with distant howls and the heavy pulse of wolves answering the moon’s call.
Thalia didn’t look back.
She ran.
Branches tore at her arms and dress as she pushed through undergrowth, feet slipping on damp leaves and exposed roots. Her breaths came ragged, sharp gasps tearing from her chest as fear propelled her forward. She didn’t know where she was going—only that she had to get away. Away from the cabin. Away from him.
Her thoughts fractured, scattering like startled birds. Run. Don’t stop. Don’t think.
The ground sloped downward, and she stumbled, catching herself just in time to avoid falling face-first into the dirt. Her legs screamed in protest, muscles trembling, but she forced them to keep moving. The forest blurred around her, shadows stretching and warping, every sound amplified—the snap of twigs, the rustle of unseen creatures, the pounding of her own heart.
Then she heard it.
A howl.
Not distant.
Close.
Her stomach dropped.
Another howl answered it, deeper, more resonant, vibrating through the ground beneath her feet. The sound sent a chill down her spine, primal and terrifying. Wolves were on the move—drawn into the woods by the Red Moon, wild and unrestrained.
She pushed harder, lungs burning, vision narrowing. The scent of earth and pine filled her nose, but beneath it, something else lingered—something sharp and familiar.
Him.
“No,” she whispered hoarsely, shaking her head as she ran. “No, no, no…”
Her foot caught on a root, and she went down hard, palms scraping against stone. Pain exploded through her hands and knees, white-hot and blinding. She cried out, scrambling to her feet, terror flooding her veins as she staggered forward again.
She could hear it now.
Heavy footfalls.
Too steady. Too deliberate.
Not the chaotic movement of wolves running toward the ritual.
This was pursuit.
She broke into a clearing, moonlight spilling fully over her. The Red Moon bathed the open space in crimson light, exposing her completely. She skidded to a stop for half a heartbeat, chest heaving, dread pooling deep in her gut.
That was when the forest went quiet.
No insects. No distant howls.
Just silence.
Then—
Impact.
Something massive slammed into her from behind, knocking the air from her lungs as she was driven into the ground. Her body hit the earth with a brutal thud, pain ripping through her ribs. She gasped, choking, fingers clawing at dirt as a crushing weight pinned her down.
She screamed.
The sound tore from her throat, raw and desperate, but it was swallowed by the forest.
A growl rumbled above her—low, powerful, vibrating against her spine.
She thrashed, struggling uselessly as massive paws pressed into her back, claws digging into the earth beside her head. Hot breath brushed her neck, carrying the sharp scent of smoke and something darker beneath it.
The growl changed.
Bones cracked.
Muscle shifted.
The weight altered—not lighter, not gentler, but different. Human hands replaced claws, gripping her wrists and forcing them above her head. She sobbed, shaking violently as the truth slammed into her.
Alpha Darius.
He loomed over her, naked under the blood-red moon, his body still radiating the raw power of his transformation. His golden eyes burned unnaturally bright, fangs visible as he smiled down at her—slow, deliberate, cruel.
“Well,” he said calmly, as if they were having a casual conversation. “That was entertaining.”
Tears streamed down her face as she struggled beneath him, terror paralyzing her limbs. His grip tightened just enough to remind her how easily he could break her.
“You really thought I wouldn’t let you try,” he continued, amused. “After everything?”
Her throat worked soundlessly. Words wouldn’t come.
He leaned closer, his shadow swallowing her entirely. “Did you enjoy it?” he asked softly. “The running. The hope.”
She shook her head, choking on a sob.
His smile widened.
“You always were predictable,” he murmured. “Brave enough to try. Weak enough to fail.”
She turned her head sharply to the side, squeezing her eyes shut as if that alone could erase him. The forest tilted, the red light bleeding into everything, and suddenly she wasn’t here anymore.
She was at the lake again.
Cold water biting into her skin. Mud between her fingers. The moon reflected on the surface like an unblinking eye. She remembered the way her voice had disappeared that night—how the sound had stayed trapped in her chest, useless. How the world had gone terribly quiet afterward, as if nothing had happened at all.
Her breath hitched.
“Don’t,” she whispered, the word barely audible, scraped raw from her throat. “Please… don’t make me look.”
His voice followed immediately, calm and sharp as a blade.
“Look at me.”
She shook her head, small and frantic, curls sticking to her tear-streaked face. Her body trembled beneath his weight, every nerve screaming to curl inward, to vanish.
“I—I didn’t mean to,” she said, words tumbling out brokenly. “I just… I just wanted to leave. I won’t—I won’t do it again.”
For a heartbeat, there was only the sound of her breathing.
Then his hand closed around her jaw.
Not hurried. Not angry.
Deliberate.
His fingers dug into her skin, forcing her head back until pain flared hot and sharp, stealing the rest of her breath. She gasped, a small sound of panic slipping out before she could stop it. Her eyes flew open on instinct—and there he was.
So close.
His face was stripped of every mask she had ever known. No calm authority. No distant restraint. Just something cold and predatory wearing his features. His golden eyes glowed fiercely under the Red Moon, pupils blown wide, fangs just visible when his mouth curved—not into a smile, but something worse.
Recognition.
Ownership.
Her entire body locked.
She couldn’t look away even when tears blurred her vision.
“There you are,” he said softly, almost kindly. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten who you belonged to.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt, like it was trying to tear its way free.
“I don’t,” she whispered finally, the words trembling. “I don’t belong to you.”
For the first time, something flickered across his expression.
Amusement.
His grip tightened just enough to make her wince. “Still saying that,” he murmured. “After everything.”
She shook under him, fear and anger tangling painfully in her chest. “You said—” Her voice cracked. “You said I could go.”
He laughed quietly, the sound low and unsettling. “I said you could run.”
The difference landed like a blow.
Her chest caved inward as the truth settled—slow, crushing, undeniable. This had never been escape. Not even close. This had been permission to fail.
“You disobeyed me,” he said, voice dropping, each word precise. “And you embarrassed yourself doing it.”
Her throat burned. “I was scared,” she said, the honesty spilling out before she could stop it. “I was just trying to survive.”
He studied her face like she was something fragile and broken he had already decided to discard.
“Survival,” he repeated thoughtfully. Then his gaze shifted past her, toward the dark stretch of forest she had torn through moments ago—the path she had believed might save her.
“And this,” he continued, tone sharpening, “was the last lie you told yourself.”
Her breath stuttered.
“You don’t get hope,” Alpha Darius said quietly. “You don’t get choices. And you certainly don’t get freedom.”
His eyes returned to hers, unblinking, merciless.
“Not anymore.”
Above them, the Red Moon burned—vast, indifferent, eternal.
And the forest stood silent, as if even it had turned away.
- Writer
