The Price of Survival
1901 Words
Sierra
When night falls, I don’t sleep. The room is too cold, the blankets too stuffy, and my body is too tense to find peace. I toss, turn, stare at the cracks in the ceiling, listen to my heartbeat hammering like a warning. The night stretches on, endless and cruel.
Kaelen Draven’s name hums in my bones, low and electric—a storm waiting to break. Every time I close my eyes, I see those steel-gray eyes staring back at me, unblinking, unafraid. Like he knew me—like he peeled back the layers this village has begun burying me under and recognized the wolf still breathing beneath. It was like his eyes saw past who I pretend to be now, peering into who I was before my world fell apart—bold, unbroken, wild, and free.
I hate how much that rattles me. But what unsettles me most is the truth I try to keep buried, the most dangerous part I can’t ever admit, even to myself.
He didn’t feel like an enemy.
---
Finally, morning dawns and brings with it a heavy sky and a thick silence in the house. I take a cue from my grumbling stomach as permission to give up on sleep and start a new day. In the kitchen, my father’s already seated at the table, a map spread in front of him, one hand clenched tightly around his coffee cup. My mother hovers nearby, pretending to organize the pantry but glancing at him every other second.
Something’s wrong.
“Did something happen?” I ask.
They both stiffen.
My father looks up slowly. “We need to talk.”
I lower myself into the chair across from him, bracing for another lecture on caution, another reminder to stay quiet, stay hidden, stay small. But that’s not what I see in his eyes. What I see is guilt.
“What is it?” I ask as my heart is already starting to race.
He doesn’t speak. Instead, he slides a folded letter across the table. I stare at it as if it might bite me before picking it up. The paper is heavy, the ink dark and sharp. It smells faintly of pine and wax.
The seal is unmistakable.
A wolf’s head with its teeth bared. The Draven crest.
My throat dries. “Why do we have this?”
My father doesn’t answer right away. My mother sits down beside me, her hand reaching for mine. I let her hold it, even though mine is cold and shaking.
“We’ve run out of options,” she says softly.
“What does that mean?”
My father leans back, the tension in his jaw visible. “It means the Dravens made us an offer.”
My entire being goes still. My hands, heart, and mind silenced. The world tilts.
“You said we’d never—”
“I said I’d protect you,” he snaps. “I am protecting you.”
My voice shakes. “By making deals with the wolves who destroyed us?”
His eyes darken, but I don’t look away. The room feels smaller with every word.
“What kind of offer?” I ask, urging my parents to continue.
My father doesn’t answer. My mother’s eyes fill with tears. And suddenly I know.
“You sold me.”
“No,” my father growls. “Don’t you dare say that.”
I rise from my chair. “Then what is this, if not handing me over to them?”
“It’s a placement,” he says. “A servant position. A temporary arrangement.”
“A servant?”
He flinches.
I step back, my heart hammering. “You’re sending me into the belly of the Draven estate like a lamb to slaughter, and I’m supposed to believe it’s to protect me?”
“They offered peace in exchange,” he says through gritted teeth. “Our debt will be wiped clean. They’ve given us a guarantee they won’t pursue the rest of our packmates, our allies.”
My head spins. “And you believe them?”
“No. But we’re out of options.”
The room is silent for a long time.
“Why me?” I whisper. “Why not you? Why not offer yourself?”
My father stands abruptly, shoving the chair back with a scrape, slamming the heel of his hands into the table’s edge. “Because you’re the last Lark they care about. You’re what they want.” He sticks a firm finger straight at me, his eyes burning with fury. “And I’d rather send you in alive than wait for them to come busting down our door.”
His voice cracks at the end, and I see it then—the fear beneath the fury. I hear his desperation.
He isn’t choosing between good and bad. He’s choosing between hells. But I don’t care.
“You should have told me,” I say. “You should’ve asked.”
“You would’ve said no.”
“You’re damn right I would’ve.” I storm out of the room, slamming the door behind me, and I don’t stop until I’m halfway to the forest, my breath coming fast, my eyes burning.
The Draven estate. He’s sending me to them.
To Kaelen.
Was this why he was here? Did he already know?
No—he said he was looking for something. He looked surprised to see me. Didn’t he?
Or maybe I was just too desperate to believe he wasn’t the enemy.
I sink down against a tree, gripping my hair with both hands.
How did we get here? How did we go from royalty to servants? From leaders to pawns? And why do I feel a strange current beneath the fear—something almost like anticipation?
---
Despite my unfulfilled hunger, I stay in the woods for hours, letting the silence wrap around me like a second skin. The forest was once mine. I used to know every bend in every trail, every moss-covered boulder, every root in the forest my wolf ran in. Now, I’m in a foreign place, surrounded by trails, boulders, and roots that don’t know my name. Still, it’s the only place here that feels remotely like home, and as I listen and become acquainted, the weight of its end looms above me.
I shift my weight against the tree trunk, sitting up and drawing my knees to my chest.
My thoughts tumble, chaotic and sharp.
The anger comes easily. I’m familiar with rage, but under that is a flicker of something even more dangerous.
Curiosity.
Questions swirl. I think of Kaelen and his sudden appearance. Why was he here? What does he really want? What happens when I walk into their world?
And underneath it all, buried like bones beneath the snow, is another thought I don’t want to admit even to myself:
What if I want to see what’s on the other side?
When my stomach growls loud enough to echo in the trees, I take it as a sign to go back.
I walk home slower than I left it. My feet are heavy, dragging with every step. I half expect to find the house empty, silent, but when I push the door open, the scent of garlic and herbs floats through the air. My mother stands at the stove, stirring a pot, her back to me. Something about the normalcy of it makes my throat tighten.
“I made soup,” she says without turning.
“I noticed.” My voice is dull, but I try to make it lighter.
She ladles it into two bowls and sets them on the table without a word. I sit across from her. The steam curls up between us. I stare into it like I can read some kind of future there. She finally sits down too, quietly watching me from beneath her lashes.
I dip the spoon in and take a bite, my stomach impatiently yearning to devour the smell. It’s lentil—thick, earthy, something she only makes when we’re running low on meat. I chew slowly. The warmth hits my stomach like a small kindness, and suddenly, I realize how cold I’ve been all morning.
“I thought you wouldn’t come back,” she says.
“I wasn’t going to. Then I got hungry.” I smirk, but it fades quickly. “Is that terrible?”
She shakes her head. “No. It’s human.”
I bristle at the word. I don’t say anything.
We eat in silence for a few minutes, the kind that isn’t exactly comfortable but not sharp either. The kind that feels like both of us are tiptoeing around something fragile on the floor.
“I hate him for agreeing to it,” I say suddenly, keeping my voice low.
She sets her spoon down. “Your father is trying to keep us safe.”
“By trading me for peace?”
Her eyes don’t flinch, but they go distant, like she’s somewhere far behind the present.
“I remember the first time I saw a Draven up close,” she says. “I was just a girl, barely older than you. Darian came to our lands for negotiations. He smiled like a wolf before the bite.”
I pause. “You knew this day would come.”
“Not like this. Not to you.”
We finish eating slowly. I mop up the last of the broth with the crust of bread she left on the side of my plate. I don’t taste it. When I finally push the bowl away, my voice is quieter. “Why now?”
She breathes in through her nose, slow. Measured. “Because the Dravens are preparing for war.”
Now, instead of grumbling, my stomach churns.
“They’ve been consolidating power,” she continues. “Silencing dissent. Pressuring the other packs into submission. The council doesn’t trust them. But no one’s strong enough to stop them outright. Not anymore.”
“And me?”
Her hands twist in her lap. “Your presence at the estate legitimizes their claim of peace. It makes them look merciful.”
“And if I don’t go?”
“They’ll burn the rest of us alive.”
It’s a trap. A gilded cage. A leash. But if I refuse, others might die.
“He didn’t want to tell you,” she continues. “We’ve been trying to find another way.”
“And?”
“There wasn’t one.”
I reach for her hand, holding it between my own. I don’t know why. Maybe because I need to feel anchored.
I close my eyes and see Luca’s face. The way he grinned by the river. The way he believed in me.
Would he want me to go? Or would he tell me to run?
---
Later that night, I stand at the edge of the forest, staring up at the stars. The wind whispers through the trees, and somewhere deep in my chest, my wolf stirs.
I don’t shift.
But I let her rise enough to feel the pain, the longing.
I press a hand to my chest, over the moonstone.
“If I do this,” I whisper, “I do it my way.”
I may not get to choose whether I go, but I can damn well choose how.
- Writer
