CH2
1601 Words
FREYA'S POV
After walking out of the shed and locking it behind me, I turned to start my walk back to the pack house when a loud, painful scream tore through the air, freezing me in place.
My heart jumped to my throat, pounding wildly as my eyes darted around the dark forest. The next one caused me to stagger backward, and the basket of potatoes slipped from my hands and landed in the mud. I should run, but I couldn't. My legs felt like stone.
Where had that scream come from?
The next one that followed sounded even closer, and it was raw and filled with agony. My breath caught in my chest.
I took a step forward, careful not to make a sound. The rain was falling hard now, making it harder to see or hear clearly. I crept toward the sound, staying low and keeping to the shadows. My soaked clothes stuck to my skin. They felt cold and heavy, but I kept moving.
Through the sheets of rain, I caught movement.
Several figures were dragging someone through the trees.
I crouched behind a bush, trying to stay hidden. My heart felt like it would explode. The men stopped a few feet ahead, and I watched as they forced the person—a man, I realized—to his knees. He looked half-conscious, bloodied, and swaying between the two men holding him up. A third man stood in front of him, saying something I couldn’t hear over the loud sound of rain and storm.
Then, to my horror, the man in front raised something in the air.
A stake.
I watched as he drove it straight into the kneeling man's chest.
My eyes widened in horror, and I slapped my hand over my mouth to stop the scream that nearly escaped. My body shook uncontrollably as I watched the man collapse into the mud.
Dead.
He had to be dead.
The men turned and began walking away—heading straight toward me.
I panicked and curled into myself, hiding as best I could, praying they wouldn’t notice me. My breath caught in my throat, and my soaked hair stuck to my face, but I didn’t move. I didn’t blink.
They passed just a few feet from where I crouched.
And then, they were gone.
I stayed frozen for a moment longer, too afraid to move. Then I snatched up my basket and turned to leave, my only thought to get out of here while I still could. For all I knew, they planned to come back.
I didn’t look back at the man in the mud as I ran.
He was dead.
What could I do?
But then I only took a few steps before I heard it.
A low, painful groan sounded from behind me, and I stopped dead in my tracks.
I held my breath as I waited.
Then the sound came again.
I turned slowly, my heart thudding, and my eyes scanning the darkness. That was when I realized it was coming from the man. The one they’d left for dead.
He’s alive?
I stood there, torn. My instincts screamed at me to run home and forget what I just saw. To get out of this dark woods while I still could. But something else rooted me to the spot.
Then a third groan came, and this one was full of pain and heartbreaking.
I couldn’t leave.
I had to go back and check.
I dropped the basket again and slowly walked back to where he lay, hesitating with every step I took. I kept glancing over my shoulder, terrified that the men might return. That they might still be close by. I dropped to my knees in the mud beside the injured man.
The sight of him nearly made me vomit.
His body was a mess—deep claw marks slashed across his chest and arms. His clothes were shredded, soaked in rain and blood. One eye was swollen shut. His face was a map of bruises, and blood ran from a cut at his temple. His breathing was slow and uneven. Barely there.
Barely alive.
And then I saw it—the wooden stake still lodged in his chest, blood oozing around it.
I swallowed, and my hands trembled violently. I didn’t know what to do—but I had to do something. If I left it in, he might bleed internally. He could die. If I pulled it out…
I swallowed hard.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, tears stinging my eyes as I thought of the pain he must be going through, and how much more was about to come. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
Gripping the stake firmly with both hands, I braced myself and pulled. He let out a strangled cry, filled with agony, and fresh blood gushed from the wound.
I gasped, nearly dropping it, but I forced myself to stay focused. I had to stop the bleeding or he would bleed to death. Quickly, I looked around but had nothing with me—nothing but his own shredded shirt that was already soaked in blood and rain.
But it would have to do.
I leaned forward, fingers fumbling as I ripped what was left of the fabric. I pressed the thickest part against the bleeding wound, applying as much pressure as I could with both hands.
“Please don’t die,” I whispered, my voice shaking. “Please, just hang on.”
Blood soaked through the cloth quickly, so I pulled off another piece of his shirt and pressed that over the first, tying it tightly around his chest to hold the makeshift bandage in place. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best I could do out here in the cold, wet woods.
I reached out with a trembling hand to check his face and feel his temperature, but then hesitated.
What was I doing?
I didn't even know this man.
What if this was a trap? What if he was dangerous?
I quickly pulled my hand back.
I tried again, but then pulled back once more, suddenly unsure if I should touch him or not.
But then he groaned again, and something inside me cracked.
Slowly and shakily, I reached out and pressed my palm to his cheek.
To my surprise, he stopped groaning.
His whole body stilled, like he found peace in the simple touch. His breathing steadied too. It was still weak but calmer now.
I stared, confused.
What… was that?
I tried to pull my hand away—but the second I did, he groaned again, shifting slightly as if in pain. I panicked and quickly placed my hand back on his skin. Again, he quieted.
It was like… like my touch soothed him.
I didn’t understand it. I didn’t know who he was, or why this was happening. Or maybe it was just the warmth he sought in the cold weather.
My lips trembled slightly. My heart thudded so hard I thought it might burst.
"Hey, can you hear me?" I whispered, but there was no answer.
His eyes were still closed, and he looked almost dead save for the slow rise and fall of his chest that showed he was still breathing.
"Mr.," I whispered again, shaking him gently, but still he didn't respond. I realized he must have fallen asleep.
“I don’t know who you are,” I whispered, rain still dripping from my hair. “But I hope I don't regret this. Please don't make me regret this.”
I looked around again. I couldn’t leave him here. But I couldn’t take him home either. He was a stranger, and strangers weren't welcomed in the pack. If Alpha Ethan or Amber found out…
No. I had to hide him.
My mind raced as I looked around until I remembered the old hunting shack not far from the edge of the forest. It hadn’t been used in a long time. It was abandoned and falling apart. But it was shelter. And no one would find him there.
It would have to do for now.
I slid my arms under him, gasping at how heavy he was. “Okay… okay… just hold on.”
I dragged him slowly, every step a struggle through mud and rain. He groaned once, and I stopped to rest. Then again. Then again. Until finally, the shack appeared through the trees.
I shoved the creaky wooden door open and pulled him inside. The shack was dark and musty, but it was dry and surprisingly warm.
I carefully laid him on the old cot in the corner, my chest heaving from exhaustion to a point where I thought I might pass out. My hands were covered in blood and dirt. My arms ached. My legs trembled.
I stood over him, staring.
He was still breathing.
Still alive.
But one question stayed on my mind.
Who was he?
Why had those men attacked him and tried to kill him?
Why did my touch calm him like that?
There were so many questions. But no answers.
But one thing I knew for sure—I couldn’t leave him now.
Not until I was sure he would survive.
I also couldn't leave him like this. If he doesn’t get some real help soon, he might not make it through the night.
But right now there was an even bigger problem.
How am I supposed to go to Alpha Ethan about this?
How do I get him to help the stranger without him killing us both?
- Writer
