The Lycan's Chains Of Obsession

Ploy

The forest blurred around me as I ran, breath tearing through my lungs, each gulp of air sharp and painful. My heartbeat thundered in my ears, nearly drowning out the sounds that haunted me—the relentless baying of hunting dogs, the hunters’ voices growing nearer, their boots crunching through the underbrush like a countdown ticking toward my end.

The curse of my own body weighed me down. Unlike the others in my pack, I couldn’t sharpen my senses, couldn’t hear them well enough to tell how close they were or smell the blood that likely trailed from cuts I didn’t have the strength to feel. My legs ached, my chest burned, but still, I pushed forward. The only thing I knew for sure was that they were coming.

And they were close.

A branch snagged at my sleeve, tearing through the fabric and dragging me back for just a heartbeat, but it was enough to send terror lancing through me. I ripped free, nearly stumbling as I surged forward, every fiber in my being screaming that I couldn’t let them catch me. I had to keep running. Had to stay alive. No matter what.

I don’t know how long I’d been running by the time exhaustion finally wrapped around my bones, slowing my pace until every step felt like lifting weights. My vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges as my muscles began to tremble, and just as I took one more shaky step, my foot caught on an exposed root.

I hit the ground hard, pain flaring up my ankle, raw and searing. A sharp cry tore from my throat, and I clutched my leg, a sick twist of pain making it hard to breathe. I’d twisted it, maybe sprained it. I tried to stand, but agony shot up my leg, and I slumped back down, choking back the panicked tears that threatened to spill.

The dogs’ howls echoed, closer than ever. Panic clawed at my chest, tightening my throat. I scrambled back on my hands, trying to drag myself into the shadows, anywhere that could keep me hidden, but the hunters were already in sight.

“There she is,” one of them growled, his voice dark and hungry, like he’d finally cornered the prey he’d been hunting for days. He stepped forward, his shadow falling over me, and his mouth twisted into a cold smile that sent ice through my veins. “Pretty little wolf,” he murmured, his gaze raking over me. “Bet she’ll squeal nice.”

Another man joined him, his expression equally cruel, his eyes dark with malice. “Maybe we’ll let you go,” he sneered, glancing at the others. “After we’ve had our fun.”

Fear clawed its way up my throat as their laughter rang out, hollow and harsh. I pressed myself back, trying to melt into the ground, trying to disappear. Every fiber in my being was screaming to fight, to use the curse inside me, but I was paralyzed, trapped in this broken, faulty body that couldn’t even protect itself.

One of them stepped closer, his hand reaching out. My heart seized, and I willed the curse to awaken, to do something, to protect me. Just this once.

But nothing happened.

I squeezed my eyes shut, the weight of their footsteps drawing closer, the heat of their glares sinking into my skin. This was it. This was—

“That’s enough.”

The voice cut through the air like a blade, cold and commanding, carrying a strange mixture of calm and danger. I opened my eyes, heart pounding, and there he was, leaning casually against a tree just a few paces away, his form barely visible in the shifting shadows of the forest.

Him.

He’d been there the whole time, watching me run, watching me suffer. I hadn’t even sensed him. Hadn’t even known he was near. And now he stood there, an odd smirk twisting his lips as he watched the hunters freeze under his gaze.

“You really are pathetic,” he murmured, his voice soft and edged with dark amusement. He straightened, the casual air gone as he moved closer, his eyes narrowing at the hunters who now cowered, backs straightening as he closed the distance. “What were you doing?” he asked, his voice laced with something unsettling.

“We were only—” one of them stammered, but he cut himself off as the other man’s stare sharpened, silencing him with a single look.

His gaze slid to me, and the corner of his mouth lifted, as though I were some amusing curiosity he’d found in the woods. “Were you planning on killing one of my men again, little wolf?” His voice was light, almost teasing, but his eyes held a glint of warning. “Is that why you were crawling away so desperately?”

The words sank in, cutting through my panic and twisting into something cold and furious. This was his plan, all of it. He’d done this to me—forced me to run, to fall, to be hunted like some kind of animal, all just to watch me fight to survive. The realization hit me like a blow, and I couldn’t keep the words from spilling out.

“Why?” I demanded, my voice hoarse. “Why would you do this to me?”

His smile widened, but there was nothing warm in it, nothing human. “Because I wanted to see you run.” He leaned closer, his gaze piercing and predatory. “I wanted to hear you scream.”

A sick twist of horror rippled through me, and I swallowed hard, fighting to keep my voice steady. “You’re insane.”

“Perhaps,” he replied easily, as though insanity were just another trait, another tool in his endless arsenal. He reached down, his hand moving so quickly I barely registered the shift, and before I knew it, he was scooping me up, lifting me off the ground as though I weighed nothing at all. I couldn’t bring myself to struggle, my body too drained to fight, and a new terror took root in my stomach as he held me close, his grip firm and unyielding.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, little wolf,” he murmured, his voice soft and strangely gentle, a sharp contrast to the danger that lurked beneath every word.

Exhaustion crept over me, and as much as I tried to keep my eyes open, to stay alert, my body betrayed me. The fear, the pain, the helplessness—it was all too much. I felt my head fall against his shoulder, my breaths shallow and uneven, but the darkness was calling, its grip pulling me down with a force I couldn’t fight.

The last thing I saw before sleep claimed me was his face, half-hidden by shadows, those cold, calculating eyes gleaming with an intensity that left me with one last lingering thought:

I was in more danger with him than I’d ever been with Luca.

What kind of werewolf controlled hunters?