CHAPTER 4- THE ESCAPE ATTEMPT
1265 Words
(Evelyn’s POV)
I didn’t even pretend to eat at dinner. Not that they’d call it dinner. Wolves didn’t “eat” like normal people—they devoured.
The hall had smelled of roasted meat, smoke, and something more primal, and every time someone’s glowing eyes flicked to me I felt like I was the next course.
Ronan had sat at the head of the table, silent, powerful, a presence that made the others shrink even when they sneered at me. He didn’t speak to me all night. Not once.
He just watched.
When Scar and Tattoo (whose names I still didn’t know) escorted me back to the chamber, my mind was already spinning.
I had to get out.
It didn’t matter where. The city, the next town over, the middle of nowhere. Anywhere but here.
The door to my chamber clicked shut behind me, and this time I heard the lock slide. I waited until their footsteps faded down the hall before moving.
I didn’t bother with the bed. I went straight to the window.
The heavy velvet curtains hid thick glass panes, but when I pushed them aside my heart jumped. Beyond the glass, the night was black and endless. No city lights. No hum of traffic. Just dark forest stretching forever, the trees rising like sentinels against the moonlit sky.
I pressed my forehead to the cool glass.
“God…”
No street signs. No cars. Nothing but wilderness and the looming shadow of the fortress around me.
Still, wilderness was better than captivity.
I turned from the window, scanning the room.
My shoes were gone, but they’d left a pair of soft boots by the bed—wolf hospitality, I guessed.
I jammed my feet into them, ignoring the way they fit perfectly, as if someone had measured me.
The door was locked. I already knew that. But when I crouched down, I saw the gap beneath it—enough to confirm the hall beyond was dark.
I crept to the fireplace and lifted one of the heavy iron pokers. Not much of a weapon, but better than nothing.
My heart pounded so hard it hurt.
I could do this.
I had to do this.
I eased the door handle down. The lock clicked but didn’t give. I gritted my teeth, pressing harder.
A snap of wood. The door creaked open an inch.
I froze, breath held, listening. No footsteps. No growls.
I slipped out.
The corridor stretched in both directions, lit only by the faint glow of dying torches. Shadows clung to the stone walls, the air cool against my skin. I tightened my grip on the poker and started moving, keeping my steps light.
The Keep at night was a maze. Narrow halls opened into cavernous staircases, and every surface whispered of age runes carved into doorframes, murals of wolves under moons, thick rugs muffling my footsteps.
I had no idea where I was going.
But every instinct told me: down.
Down meant out.
I found a stairwell spiraling deep into the stone. My pulse spiked as I descended, the air growing colder. Somewhere above, a low howl echoed distant but real.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to keep moving.
Finally, at the bottom, I found what I was looking for. A side door. Small, iron, probably for servants or warriors, but it led outside.
I could smell the trees through the crack.
I shoved it open, and cold air slapped me in the face.
Freedom.
I ran.
The forest swallowed me whole, its darkness thicker than anything I’d ever known. Branches clawed at my arms, wet earth sucked at my boots, and the smell of pine and damp moss filled my nose. I didn’t stop to look back.
Just run.
Just keep running.
My lungs burned. My legs screamed. But the thought of Ronan’s golden eyes kept me moving, harder, faster.
Branches snapped behind me.
I froze.
Not him. Please, not him—
Another snap. A low growl.
My heart dropped into my stomach.
From the shadows, a wolf stepped out.
Not Ronan. Not one of his guards.
Bigger than the ones from the alley, its fur is mottled gray and black, its mouth dripping saliva. Its eyes glowed red—not gold, not blue, but a feral, rabid red.
I stumbled back, clutching the poker like it would save me. “Stay back,” I hissed. My voice shook. “I’m warning you—”
It snarled, lips peeling back to show teeth longer than my fingers.
I swung the poker. It hissed through empty air.
The wolf lunged.
I screamed and fell backward, the poker flying from my hands. Claws raked the ground where I’d been. Its hot breath slammed against my face, its teeth snapping inches from my throat.
I scrambled away, slipping in the mud, my boots catching on roots. My back hit a tree. Nowhere to go.
The wolf crouched, muscles bunching.
And then—
A black blur hit it from the side.
The impact shook the ground. Snarls erupted. Teeth clashed. The wolf yelped, then snapped back, but the black wolf—the same one from the alley—was relentless. Ronan.
He moved like a storm, claws sinking into the wolf’s flesh, jaws closing around its throat. One violent twist and it went limp.
I stared, trembling, mud on my hands, my breath ragged.
Ronan stood over the body, his fur bristling, eyes blazing gold in the darkness. He looked at me. Not at the rogue. Me.
And in that look, I saw more than anger.
I saw possession.
He shifted in a blur of cracking bones and torn fur, rising to his full height as a man. Blood streaked his arms and chest, but his breathing was steady, his body coiled with restrained fury.
“What,” he said, his voice low and lethal, “do you think you’re doing?”
“I—I had to—” My voice broke. “I had to get out.”
“You could have been killed.”
“I’d rather die than be your prisoner!” I shouted.
For a heartbeat, silence. Only our breathing and the dead wolf between us.
Then his jaw tightened. “You’re mine,” he said again, softer this time, but no less terrifying. “And mine is protected—even from herself.”
“Who are these wolves trying to kill me!?”
I shot back again.
He stepped toward me. I tried to scramble back, but my legs wouldn’t move. His hand closed around my arm, not painfully, but firm. Unbreakable.
“Rogues”
He answered as he hauled me up as if I weighed nothing, pulling me against his chest. His heat burned through my clothes, his scent flooding my senses, dizzying me.
I hated the way my body reacted—shaking, yes, but not only from fear.
He looked down at me, eyes still glowing. “You run again,” he said quietly, “and I won’t be this gentle.”
Then he lifted me off my feet and started back toward the Keep, carrying me like I wasn’t a person but something he’d claimed.
I wanted to scream, to fight, to claw at his face. But my throat was tight, my heart pounding against his shoulder, my mind a blur of terror and confusion.
The forest receded. The fortress loomed ahead, its torches burning through the fog like eyes.
My cage.
My captor.
And a bond I didn’t understand, pulling me closer even as every sane part of me wanted to run.
- Writer
