Chapter 2: Run Until It Hurts (continued)
1094 Words
The cold slowly crept through her bones, but she didn’t move.
Not yet.
The guards had passed—she thought—but the silence that followed was louder than their footsteps.
Cordelia crouched deeper inside the gnarled roots of the ancient tree, her body trembling, her fingers clutched tightly around a shard of broken stone she’d found beneath the leaves. She didn’t know what she’d do with it if someone grabbed her. She only knew she’d do something.
The sky above the branches was darkening now. Not quite night, but near. A bruised purple bleeding into black.
She had to move.
She had to keep moving.
But her legs—gods, her legs—
They didn’t want to obey her anymore.
She pressed her forehead against the moss-covered root, eyes shut tight, and counted.
One.
Two.
Three years.
That’s how long she’d been locked away. Not in a cell—no, they were more elegant than that.
Her “room” had high windows and heavy curtains. Painted ceilings. Silver-framed mirrors. Silk sheets and endless rules.
A cage made of gold is still a cage.
Three years of silence.
Three years of obedience.
Three years of preparing her to be the perfect Luna for a man she’d never met.
“You must not speak out of turn.”
“You will not ask questions.”
“You are a gift to the Alpha. A redemption. You must be worthy of his bond.”
She was sixteen when they took her from her family. Just old enough for her voice to start mattering. Just young enough that no one listened to it.
They’d told her it was her duty. Her inheritance. Her family’s penance, paid in her flesh.
But it had always felt like a sentence.
She opened her eyes. The moss beneath her was damp, but soft. Her breath steamed in the cold. Her ankle throbbed from the fall.
She had to go. Now. Before the second patrol swept through.
But her body ached. Her lungs burned. Her limbs didn’t feel like hers anymore.
It wasn’t the running.
It was the silence.
The silence was heavier than the chase.
She’d gone three years without speaking to anyone who didn’t already think she belonged to Caius. Without a single soul asking what she wanted. Without hearing her name said with anything but orders.
She curled tighter into herself.
And for a moment—just a moment—she wasn’t Cordelia the Luna.
She was Cordelia the girl.
The one who used to climb trees and come home muddy and bruise-kneed.
The one who had a laugh like wind chimes and an older brother who used to sneak her sweets after curfew.
The one who used to dream of running—not from someone—but toward something.
She closed her eyes. Her breath slowed.
If they caught her, they’d drug her again.
They’d bring her back to that room. They’d clean her up. And when the blood dried and her hair was braided and her wrists were perfumed and bound in silk—
They’d deliver her like a prize to the Alpha who’d waited three years to claim her.
And no one—no one—would ask if she said yes.
A snap.
Not far. Too close.
Cordelia’s body reacted faster than her mind.
She rolled from the hollow, crashing into the underbrush. Thorns raked her arms. Something sharp sliced the sole of her foot. She didn’t stop.
This time, she didn’t bother being quiet.
She ran.
The forest closed in around her, tighter now. The path narrowed. Her hair tangled in branches. A howl broke through the dark to her left—closer than before.
Not a guard.
A wolf.
One of them had shifted.
Panic lanced through her.
If they shifted, they could move faster. Scent her better. Hear her heartbeat.
She stumbled into a clearing—moonlit, wide, dead silent.
She didn’t stop. Just kept running across it, sprinting for the break in the trees beyond.
Another snap of branches.
To her right.
She turned—too late.
A shadow lunged from the darkness.
Cordelia screamed, pure instinct, and threw herself sideways. The wolf’s jaws missed her shoulder by inches. She hit the ground hard, rolled, kicked.
The beast growled, crouched to pounce again—
She stabbed upward.
The broken stone she’d kept hidden in her grip slid deep into soft underbelly.
The wolf yelped. Thrashed. Blood sprayed.
Cordelia didn’t wait to see if it died.
She ran.
She didn’t think. Didn’t feel. Didn’t breathe.
She just ran.
Branches tore at her face. Her shoulder burned where it had grazed the ground. Her vision blurred. She didn’t know where the path was anymore. She only knew forward.
Just keep moving, Cordelia.
You’ve already died once. Don’t let them bury you again.
She crashed through a thicket and suddenly—
The trees were gone.
The forest ended.
She stumbled out onto gravel.
A road. Narrow. Empty.
The sky was darker here, wide and starless.
Her knees buckled.
She collapsed to the center of the road, barely upright, arms raised like a desperate prayer.
A sound.
Not from behind.
From ahead.
A low rumble.
Headlights crested the hill.
For one panicked moment, she thought it was one of theirs—a guard’s vehicle, a hunter’s truck.
But it didn’t look like one.
It slowed.
Tires crunched gravel.
Brakes hissed.
The car stopped.
She blinked against the glare, one arm raised to shield her eyes.
The door opened.
Boots on stone.
A man stepped out.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in dark layers. His coat whipped in the wind. She couldn’t see his face—but she felt his presence before he spoke.
The ground seemed quieter around him.
The air less cruel.
He said nothing at first.
Just looked at her.
As if he’d known she’d be here.
As if he’d been waiting.
Cordelia tried to speak. Her lips moved, but her throat was dry.
“H-help…” she rasped. “Please…”
He stepped closer.
Still silent.
Her knees buckled again.
His arms caught her.
He was warm. Too warm.
She smelled fire and pine and something else—something familiar.
She looked up.
His face was in shadow.
But his eyes—his eyes were gray. Cold and unreadable. Like smoke that had forgotten how to burn.
“You’re safe,” he said.
His voice was low. Calm. Almost… sad.
And then she collapsed against him.
As her vision dimmed, she thought she heard him whisper—
“I finally found you.”
- Writer
