23. Found
961 Words
= Mikael =
I had already torn through half the territory before the moon reached its peak.
The night should have been calm. Still. Familiar. Every sound—the rustle of leaves, the whisper of wind through the pines, the distant call of nocturnal creatures. It grounded me.
After a few hours of investigation, Lorne deduced that Amara was…taken.
I knew it in my bones the moment the link went silent.
Amara didn’t vanish without a trace. She didn’t disappear into the night without leaving something behind.
Fear had a scent.
And it was on a certain part of the forest when we managed to track it. It was faint, but it was there. It was almost frustrating on my part on how to find her, especially since we couldn't feel her presence. But that familiar scent of fear was enough for me to conclude what happened to her.
I moved fast, faster than the guards trailing behind me could keep up. I didn’t wait for orders to be obeyed or plans to be formed. Alpha instincts took over, sharp and ruthless. Every breath I drew tasted like ash as I tracked the faintest remnants of her presence—sweet iron and rain, threaded with panic.
They were good.
Whoever took her knew how to cover their trail.
They crossed running water twice, doubled back, circled through rock and dense brush meant to confuse even seasoned trackers. I lost her scent more times than I could count. And every second that passes, my frustration piled up.
I broke a tree with my bare hands when it happened the third time.
The sound echoed through the forest, birds scattering into the dark. One of my men flinched.
“Keep searching,” I growled without looking back. “Spread out. No gaps.”
They obeyed.
They always did.
But this wasn’t a hunt I could delegate.
This was mine.
Hours blurred together. The forest thinned, then thickened again, giving way to terrain I hadn’t walked since I was younger—older paths, forgotten routes, places the pack no longer used. That realization chilled me more than the night air ever could.
They knew the land.
They knew me.
The moon crested higher, silver light cutting through the canopy, illuminating a broken path barely visible beneath overgrowth. My pulse spiked. The air shifted—stale, old, touched by rot and dust instead of pine.
Structures.
Abandoned.
I slowed, senses stretching outward, every nerve alight. The place reeked of neglect—collapsed fences, half-buried foundations, the remains of cabins once used by exiles and outcasts long before my father’s reign.
A clever place to hide someone.
A cruel one.
I caught it then. Not her full scent—too faint—but something unmistakably hers. Blood. Dried. Mixed with sweat and fear so sharp it burned the back of my throat.
My vision narrowed.
I signaled the others to stay back.
Whatever waited ahead wasn’t for witnesses.
The cabin sat at the far edge of the clearing, nearly swallowed by vines and shadows. One wall leaned inward, roof sagging under years of rot. A single door hung crooked on rusted hinges.
No guards.
No torches.
That worried me more than an ambush ever could.
Every step toward it felt wrong. Too quiet. Too deliberate. Like the world itself was holding its breath.
I reached the door and paused, hand hovering just above the warped wood. Rage pressed against my ribs, begging to be unleashed. Fear—real, biting fear—followed close behind.
I shoved the door open.
The hinges screamed.
The sound cut through the silence like a wound.
The smell hit me first.
Blood. Old and new. Damp wood. Mold. Fear so thick it coated my lungs.
The interior was barely lit, moonlight filtering through gaps in the roof and broken walls. Shadows clung to every corner, stretching and twisting, refusing to give up their secrets all at once.
Then I saw her.
Amara was slumped against a support beam near the back of the cabin, her body unnaturally still. Her wrists were bound behind her, rope digging into bruised skin. A dark cloth was tied tightly around her eyes, stained and uneven, pressing cruelly against her face.
Her clothes were torn.
Her skin—gods—marked.
Bruises bloomed along her arms and collarbone, fingerprints dark and unmistakable. A thin line of dried blood traced from the corner of her mouth down her chin. One side of her face was swollen, lips split, breath shallow but mercifully present.
She was alive.
Barely.
For a moment, I couldn’t move.
I was…confused.
I had faced enemies, wars, betrayal. I had ordered executions and stood unmoved by bloodshed. None of it compared to the sight of her like this. My vision blurred.
The cabin groaned softly around us, wood creaking as if the place itself mourned her suffering. I took a step forward, then another, every movement slow, controlled only by sheer force of will.
I knelt in front of her.
Close enough now to see the faint tremor in her hands, the way her chest struggled with each breath. Close enough to smell her fear beneath the blood.
“Amara,” I whispered.
Her body flinched.
Just barely—but it was enough to damn whoever had done this beyond redemption.
Rage surged again, hotter, sharper, promising annihilation.I couldn’t even understand why I was feeling that. I just…suddenly want to kill someone. I swallowed it down, forcing myself to stay present, to stay here.
She was found.
But the night was far from over.
And whoever thought they could touch what was mine and live to tell the story—
They had no idea what kind of monster they had just awakened.
- Writer
