Forbidden Temptation

Chapter Three

At first the darkness was warm and quiet. Then something cold seeped into that quiet: the thin whistle of a draft from the corridor, the soft crackle of embers. But my body resisted. Every muscle lived its own separate life, and none of them wanted to move.

The cold stone bit into my back. My ribs ached with sharp, slicing pain, and my stomach throbbed in hellish cramps. My throat burned as if a rough rope had been tightened around it, and every breath scraped raw. I tried to lift my head, but the haze thickened and pressed me back down.

“Breathe!” my wolf struck through me. She didn’t ask—she commanded. “Slowly! With me!”

I obeyed. The air was bitter, filled with the scent of smoke and iron. Lights drifted in my vision when I opened my eyes. The overturned table’s legs pointed toward the ceiling, soup spread across the floor, shards of shattered plates glinted pale and sharp. A darkening streak trailed along the wall—I didn’t want to know whether it was my blood.

Robert was nowhere.

Relief was immediately followed by panic. If he wasn’t here, he could come back.

My wolf’s ears twitched, sniffing. “Now!” she urged. “Before he returns!”

I moved, and my body screamed. Instinctively, my hands flew to my stomach. The skin beneath my palm was hot, but the faint, secret humming I had felt for days was gone. Warm wetness trickled down the inside of my thigh. I looked down. Dark. Too dark a stain for hope.

My heart contracted. My wolf didn’t howl. Only a deep, wheezing sigh broke inside me.

“Not now,” I rasped. “We have to go.”

I braced my arm against the stone to roll onto my side. My ribs protested, my lungs let out a thin whistle as they released air. My palm slid through spilled broth and blood. My forehead struck the floor. I had to wait until I crawled back from the edges of blackness.

“Get up,” my wolf said. “Not gracefully, just get up.”

I pulled myself to my knees. The rough surface of the wall held me. Every movement sliced the air inside me with a thousand tiny knives. But at last, I stood. The room tilted, but I didn’t fall.

The door yawned open on the far side. It felt distant. My hand pressed against my belly no longer protected anyone—only me. My wolf curled around me, no longer shielding the pup. Only me.

“Move,” she whispered. “Foot after foot. Don’t look back.”

I started forward. I leaned against the wall. “Stay up,” my wolf told me. “If he comes back, it’s over.”

The handle was cold. I pressed it down slowly, carefully. The wood only sighed. I slipped through the gap.

Out in the corridor it was colder. Every step echoed. The carved wolves running along the wall seemed to watch. I tried to move quietly, shifting my weight.

“Right,” my wolf said. “The servants’ passage. No one goes there.”

The hidden door gave way, and the dark, narrow passage breathed its chill over me. Inside, my steps were softer, but pain reminded me with every motion: you bear only what you must.

I took my first rest in the alcove behind the laundry room. I sank down. My blood soaked through my skirt. I couldn’t cry. The tears lived only behind my eyes.

“I’m here,” my wolf said. Her voice was deep and soft. “I won’t let go.”

“Why only now?” I answered her in thought—not with anger, only sorrow.

I stood again. My legs were numb. At the kitchen I grabbed a dark-blue cloak and drank from a water skin. The water was cool as it scraped through the burned grooves in my throat.

“Enough,” my wolf rumbled. “Don’t push too hard. We have to get out.”

Beyond the kitchen door lay the back exit. The wooden bar gave way. Through the crack, the night exhaled its damp breath of pine and ash.

I stepped into the courtyard. Empty. A patrol moved along the ramparts. The small side gate hid behind the smithy.

“Now,” my wolf whispered as the guard turned. “To the shadows of the smithy, quickly.”

I slipped along the wall. At the smithy door the iron latch felt cold and rough beneath my fingers. The metal groaned, and the sound felt too loud. The patrol’s steps slowed. I waited. Then they moved on. I slipped out.

Beyond the wall, the stairs led down into the lower garden. Frost made the steps slick. I jumped the last three. Pain flashed through my hip when I caught myself, but there was no time to stop.

Then the silence reached me—the inner silence. The throbbing in my belly ceased. A new warm wave slid down my thigh. My heart skipped. I bent toward the stones and dry-heaved.

“I’m here,” my wolf said. Her voice came from deep within my bones. “You’re alive. You are.”

I leaned against the wall. Blood dripped slowly on the stone.

“To the right,” my wolf urged. “Toward the pines. No one there.”

At the base of the wall, beside the old drainage channel, I stopped. I knelt. My shoulder barely fit; my ribs protested. I crawled inch by inch.

“Don’t stop,” she said. “Two more elbows. One more.”

On the other side, the forest stood waiting. I knelt, sinking my hands into the grass. The castle loomed behind me, heavy and dark.

“Let’s go,” I said. I knew what I had left behind. There was no time for mourning.

“Let’s go,” my wolf echoed.

I stood. Pulled the cloak tighter around myself. The warmth sliding down my thigh no longer frightened me. I would grieve elsewhere. First, I had to survive.

The shadow of the first pine swallowed me. The scent of needles filled my lungs. The castle lights faded between the trees. Fear yielded to a stubborn determination.

I took another step. Then another.

The trees thickened. My hand rested on my stomach. I greeted what remained: myself and my wolf.

“I’m holding you,” my wolf whispered—no longer a promise, but a fact.

And I walked deeper into the forest. My future ahead was not a promise, only a task: reach the border.