Exiled Wolf, Fated Luna

Chapter 9 – The Catch

For a heartbeat everything is sound.

Milo’s ragged breathing. Neri’s high, breaking sob. The groan of old wood straining past its limit. The low, ugly chuckle from the shadows across the ravine.

“Look at that,” a man says, voice too smooth for this filthy place. “A little Hollowpeak bird on a string.”

The plank under my left knee gives with a wet crack.

I drop.

My stomach lurches as the world tilts. Milo’s full weight yanks on my arms, dragging me toward the gap. My shoulder screams; my fingers slip on his skin.

No.

My almost‑wolf slams into me like a fist, every nerve suddenly on fire.

MOVE.

I don’t shift. Not fully. But something in my hands changes—nails lengthening just enough to bite deeper into Milo’s wrists, grip locking like iron. My other knee jammers sideways, finding a scrap of solid board by sheer stupid luck.

Pain bounces up my spine. I ride it like a wave.

“Hold on,” I rasp. “Milo, hold on.”

He sobs, but his fingers scrabble harder at my forearms, clutching like a drowning pup.

On the far bank, Neri is screaming Tharos’s name over and over. The rogue laughs again, stepping into view.

He’s big. Not as big as Darian, but heavy with the kind of muscle you get from hurting things. Stubble shadows a jaw marked by an old burn. His eyes are wrong—too bright, fever‑sharp. The scent clinging to him makes my stomach roll: unwashed wolf, gun oil, antiseptic.

Helix.

“Easy now,” he croons, raising empty hands. “Wouldn’t want her to slip.”

He doesn’t look at Milo. Only at me.

There’s a harness under his jacket. Metal glints at his hip.

“You’re on Grimvale land,” I manage, voice shredded. “You should leave while you can still walk.”

He smirks. “Cute. Heard they were coddling strays. Didn’t know one of them was you.”

My arms shake harder. The good board under my knee groans. Fear spikes in Milo so hard it makes my vision swim.

Somewhere to my left, branches crash.

“VEXA!”

Darian’s voice tears through the trees like a blade.

The rogue’s head snaps toward the sound. For half a second his focus shifts.

It’s enough.

Wood explodes beside me as something massive hits the bridge—Darian, in motion, boots finding the same patch of half‑solid planks I clung to. One hand slams down around my forearms from above, doubling the grip on Milo. The other braces on a support post with enough force to crack it.

“Got him,” he grits. “Let go with your left. Now.”

“I—”

“Trust me.” His eyes burn into mine, black and furious and steady.

The bond roars.

I suck in a breath and peel my left hand from Milo’s wrist. The world narrows to the space between Darian’s fingers and mine.

For one spinning instant, Milo hangs only from his grip.

Then Darian hauls.

It’s not graceful. Milo slams into the edge of the bridge, scraping skin, scrambling. I shove from below with everything I have left. Between us we drag him over the lip, onto the one solid patch of boards.

He collapses against me, shaking. I wrap my arms around him, my whole body shuddering.

Behind us, Neri sobs in relief.

Across the ravine, the rogue snarls. His hand goes for the weapon at his hip.

Darian moves faster.

He swings Milo and me behind him with a shove that rattles my teeth, planting himself between us and the threat. Power pours off him in a wave, his wolf so close to the surface I can almost see the outline of teeth under his skin.

“This is your only chance to walk away,” he says, voice low and lethal. “You don’t take it, you don’t leave at all.”

The rogue’s lip curls. “They’ll pay more for you alive.”

“Oh,” Darian says softly. “They can try.”

He steps off the bridge onto solid ground, leaving me kneeling on splintered boards with two shaking kids and the taste of iron in my mouth.

The Helix scent thickens as the rogue shifts, bones cracking, fur bulging under his skin.

Darian doesn’t shift.

He doesn’t need to.

He’s already death, walking toward the thing that tried to take what’s his.