To Tame a Winter Wolf

7.

The wind shifted sometime after midnight.

Instead of scraping across the rocks above us, it began slipping sideways through the trees—softer, thinner, carrying new smells with it. Snow. Pine. And something else. Voices. Faint.

My spine went rigid.

Krystal saw the change immediately. Her hand moved to my arm, fingers tightening once in silent question. I tilted my head toward the cave entrance. She nodded. Slowly, carefully, I slid toward the narrow opening of our rocky shelter. Every movement deliberate, measured. The snow outside reflected enough pale moonlight that I could see the dark outlines of trees swaying in the wind. The voices came again. Closer now. Male. Three… maybe four. Laughter. But it wasn’t the easy laughter of relief or camaraderie. It was sharp. Cruel. My stomach turned.

I edged forward another inch, lowering myself to peer around the rock.

At first, I saw only shadows between the trees. Then they stepped into the open. Four figures. And a fifth. The fifth one was on his knees. My heart dropped into my stomach.

One of the boys kicked him in the side hard enough to knock him into the snow. The others laughed again as he struggled to breathe. “Come on,” one of them said lazily. “Stand up. Thought you wanted to get into Fighting House?”

The boy on the ground coughed, pushing himself up with shaking arms. Even from this distance, I could see blood on his face, dark against the snow. He was exhausted. Cold. Terrified.

One of the others circled him slowly, blade glinting faintly in the moonlight. “Maybe we let him run,” another suggested. A pause. “Make it interesting.” More laughter.

The boy looked between them like a trapped animal. I felt something crack inside my chest. They weren’t just killing him. They were playing with him.

Krystal’s breath brushed my shoulder. She had moved beside me without a sound. She saw it too. Her jaw tightened. “We have to—” I whispered. Her hand clamped down hard on my wrist. “No.” “But—” “No,” she repeated, voice barely louder than the wind.

Another kick landed. The boy crumpled again. One of them crouched, grabbing his collar and hauling him upright just enough to whisper something into his ear. The boy shook his head violently. The blade pressed against his throat. My fingers curled around the knife at my thigh. Every instinct screamed to move. To do something. Anything. Krystal leaned closer, her voice a breath against my ear. “Look at them.” I forced myself to count. Four. Four healthy, armed recruits. Against us. Two girls hiding in a rock hollow with a blanket and a knife.

“There’s nothing we can do right now,” she said quietly. The words felt like ice sliding down my spine. Another burst of laughter drifted through the trees. The boy tried to crawl away. They dragged him back by the ankle. I closed my eyes for a moment. If we attacked, we would die. And then, the boy would die anyway.

Krystal’s grip softened slightly, but didn’t release.

“We survive,” she murmured.

“Or his death means even less.” The truth of it hurt more than the cold. I forced myself to look away from the clearing.

“We need to leave, right now,” she continued. I nodded. If they moved ten steps further, they would see the cave entrance. And then we would be the next game.

We backed away slowly from the opening, careful not to dislodge even a pebble. The wind covered small sounds, but not carelessness. Once we were deep enough in the hollow, Krystal crouched beside the blanket and began packing it with swift, efficient movements. I followed her lead, fingers numb as I shoved supplies back into my pack.

Krystal slung her pack over her shoulders and looked at me.

“Step where I step,” she whispered. I nodded. We slipped out the back side of the rocky hollow, keeping low as we moved into the trees. Snow crunched faintly beneath our boots, but the wind swallowed most of it.

Krystal moved first. Light. Precise. She placed her feet carefully in older patches of hardened snow, avoiding the fresh powder that would record every step and would only give those assholes a trail to follow.

I mirrored her movements exactly. Step. Pause. Listen. The forest seemed to breathe around us. Branches creaked. Snow shifted in distant drifts.

Behind us, voices returned—quieter now. My chest tightened painfully.

Don’t look back.

Don’t think about it.

Focus.

Survive.

We moved deeper into the trees, circling away from the clearing and the death we couldn’t stop. Minutes stretched into something longer. Every shadow looked like a hunter. Every gust of wind sounded like footsteps. Once, Krystal froze so suddenly that I nearly collided with her. We both crouched instantly. Two figures passed through the forest ahead of us—silhouettes against the snow. They spoke in low voices, blades still drawn.

We waited until they vanished into the dark before moving again. My heart pounded so loudly I was certain it would give us away. The forest thickened as we climbed a shallow rise. Rock formations began to appear again—jagged shapes half-buried in ice.

Krystal pointed silently to a narrow crevice between two boulders. Smaller than the first shelter. But also hidden. We slid inside, backs pressed against cold stone as we listened. The wind howled overhead. No footsteps followed. No voices. Just winter.

Krystal exhaled slowly.

“Better than the last hide-out,” she whispered. I nodded, though my throat felt tight. In the distance, somewhere far behind us, a single scream echoed briefly through the trees. Then nothing.

I wrapped Brynja’s blanket tighter around my shoulders, staring out into the endless dark forest. Krystal glanced at me. “We did the right thing,” she said quietly. I didn’t answer. Because somewhere out there, a boy who had wanted the same future we did now lay buried in snow. And all we could do was make sure we didn’t join him before morning.