CHAPTER 2 — The Girl Left for Dead
1405 Words
Aria woke choking on air that tasted like iron and damp rot.
Her first breath burned. The second shattered.
Pain surged through her chest so violently that she thought her heart had split in two. She gasped, fingers clawing at the earth beneath her as if the ground itself might steady her. Cold soil packed beneath her nails. Leaves stuck to her skin, matted with blood that had already begun to dry.
For a moment, she couldn’t remember who she was.
Only that she hurt.
The forest loomed above her, tall and suffocating. Branches twisted together like skeletal hands, blocking out most of the moonlight. What little light remained filtered down in pale, trembling streaks, illuminating broken twigs, trampled undergrowth, and long drag marks gouged into the soil beside her body.
Someone had pulled her here.
The knowledge settled in slowly, accompanied by a deep, instinctive unease. She hadn’t crawled this far on her own—not with her injuries, not with the weakness gnawing at her limbs. Whoever had moved her had done so quickly, carelessly. Like she was already dead.
Memory returned in flashes sharp enough to make her cry out.
Fire roaring through the pack grounds. The smell of burning fur. Screams layered over screams until they became meaningless noise. Warriors shouting orders, wolves shifting mid-stride, blood splattering against stone.
And Kaden.
Standing in the center of it all, unshaken. Untouched.
Her mate.
The bond between them twisted violently in her chest, a jagged wound that refused to close. She remembered reaching for him—remembered the hope, stupid and desperate, that he would turn, that he would feel her pain and come for her.
He hadn’t.
Aria rolled onto her side, bile rising in her throat. Her body shook uncontrollably, not just from the cold but from the aftershock of rejection. Mate bonds weren’t meant to be severed. They were sacred. Permanent.
Breaking one didn’t just wound the heart.
It scorched the soul.
She pressed her palm against her chest, fingers digging into fabric and flesh as if she could physically hold herself together. Her wolf stirred faintly within her, not dead but curled tight in on itself, silent in a way that frightened her more than pain ever could.
“I’m alive,” Aria whispered hoarsely.
The forest did not answer.
A sound drifted through the trees—a voice, distant but unmistakable. Aria froze.
“…check the perimeter.”
Another voice followed. Male. Armed. Alert.
Her breath hitched. Warriors.
Hope flared before she could stop it. They were searching. They had to be. She pushed herself upright despite the pain screaming through her limbs, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure it would give her away.
“I’m here.” she wanted to call.
She didn’t.
She crouched low behind a fallen log instead, instincts finally screaming louder than hope. Footsteps approached, crunching through leaves and snapped branches. Shadows moved between trees, torchlight flickering briefly through the darkness.
“They said no survivors,” someone muttered.
Aria’s fingers tightened against the bark.
“No sign of her either,” another replied. “Alpha’s orders were clear.”
Clear.
The word echoed long after their voices moved on, fading into the forest until nothing remained but the hum of insects and the distant rustle of leaves.
No one had called her name.
No one had scented for her.
The realization hollowed her out. It was worse than being hunted. Worse than being attacked.
They had already written her off.
The pain of the bond surged again, sharp and merciless, stealing the air from her lungs. She doubled over silently, teeth clenched to keep from screaming. It felt like burning thorns wrapping around her heart, tightening with every breath she took.
When she finally stood again, it was through sheer stubbornness.
She couldn’t stay here. The forest beyond pack territory was crawling with rogues, predators, things that smelled blood and weakness. If she had any chance of surviving, she had to get back.
Step by step, she followed the familiar pull of pack land, even as her legs trembled and her vision blurred. Every movement sent fresh waves of agony through her body, but she forced herself forward, clinging to the idea that once she reached the gates, everything would make sense.
They would see her.
They would listen.
The pack gates came into view through the trees, tall and iron-bound, torches blazing on either side. Relief flooded her so hard it nearly knocked her to her knees.
Then she heard him.
“Seal the gates.”
Kaden’s voice cut through the night like a blade.
Aria stopped so suddenly she nearly fell, pressing herself into the shadow of a tree just as warriors moved to obey. Her heart slammed against her ribs, panic and disbelief tangling together.
“The mate bond was a mistake,” Kaden said, his tone calm—too calm. “She panicked and fled when the attack began.”
Aria’s breath caught painfully in her throat.
“She chose cowardice over duty,” he continued. “Let it be known that Aria abandoned this pack of her own free will.”
The world tilted.
Her knees buckled, and she would have collapsed if not for the rough bark digging into her palms. The lie crushed her with brutal efficiency, stripping away the last fragile hope she had clung to.
Abandoned them?
The gates groaned as iron slid into place, sealing shut with a finality that echoed through her bones. The sound was louder than any scream she could have made.
Something inside her broke.
She staggered back, shaking, tears burning down her cheeks as grief and betrayal twisted together until she could no longer tell them apart. Kaden hadn’t just rejected her.
He had erased her.
A sudden prickle crawled along her spine.
Aria stiffened.
She wasn’t alone.
Slowly, she turned.
Between the trees, just beyond the reach of the torchlight, a figure stood watching her. Their features were swallowed by shadow, but she could feel their gaze like a physical weight pressing into her skin.
They didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
They simply observed.
Panic exploded through her veins.
Aria ran.
She didn’t know where she was going—only that she had to put distance between herself and the gates, between herself and them. Branches lashed her face and arms, tearing fabric and skin alike. Her lungs burned, each breath more ragged than the last.
Her body gave out before her fear did.
She collapsed hard onto the forest floor, pain flashing white-hot before everything went dark.
This time, the darkness had shape.
She stood beneath a vast moonlit sky, facing a ruined temple carved from white stone. Ancient symbols glowed faintly along its pillars, pulsing with a rhythm that matched her heartbeat.
Chains clinked softly.
At the center of the temple lay a massive white wolf, bound by blackened chains that dug deep into luminous fur. Its eyes opened, silver and knowing, locking onto hers.
Wake the blood, a voice whispered—not spoken, but felt.
The wolf strained against its bindings, and the ground trembled.
You are not broken, it told her. You are bound.
Aria reached for it—
And woke screaming.
She bolted upright, pain roaring back into existence, only to be met with warmth instead of cold. Firelight danced across wooden walls. The scent of herbs and clean linen replaced blood and ash.
“You’re awake,” a woman said calmly.
Aria spun toward the voice, instincts flaring uselessly.
The cottage was small, cluttered with hanging plants, charms, and bottles filled with strange tinctures. The woman standing near the hearth had sharp eyes and steady hands—someone used to danger.
“My name is Myra,” she said. “A rogue healer.”
Aria’s strength gave out, exhaustion crashing over her in a crushing wave. “Why?” she whispered. “Why help me?”
Myra studied her for a long moment, gaze lingering on the faint, unnatural glow beneath Aria’s skin.
“Because,” she said quietly, “whatever power tried to kill you didn’t finish the job.”
She placed two fingers over Aria’s heart.
Something ancient stirred in response.
“And because,” Myra added, voice low, “there’s something waking inside you.”
Aria closed her eyes, the image of the chained white wolf burning behind her lids.
Left for dead.
But not finished.
- Writer
