The forest blurred around them as they ran.
Snow kicked up in their wake, and every breath burned in Liora's lungs. The howls had grown louder, multiplying until they seemed to come from all directions. She could tell by the sound — this wasn't a scattered patrol. This was a hunt.
Aric's hand caught her arm, pulling her sharply to the right. "This way," he said, his voice low but urgent.
They broke through a thicket of frost-covered branches and stumbled into a narrow cleft between two towering slabs of rock. The walls rose high enough to block most of the moonlight, leaving the space dim and close.
"This will do," he murmured, pressing her back gently against the rock face.
The space was barely wide enough for them to stand side by side. Liora could feel the heat radiating off him, could hear the steady thump of his heartbeat — matched perfectly, painfully, to hers.
She glanced toward the canyon opening. "Won't they find us?"
"They might," he admitted. "But the wind's in our favor. If we stay still, they could pass right by."
So they stayed still.
She tried to focus on the sounds outside — the crunch of snow, the occasional echo of a distant howl — but it was impossible with him this close. Every breath he took brushed warm against her cheek. Every shift of his weight brought his shoulder or arm against hers.
And then there was the pull. Always the pull.
It was strongest when they were this near, an invisible thread binding them so tightly she could almost feel it under her skin. It wasn't just magic. It was… something else. Something that scared her more than the hunters outside.
Aric's eyes met hers in the shadows. Silver in the dim light, intense and unreadable.
"You're trembling," he said quietly.
"It's cold," she lied.
He tilted his head, the faintest smirk touching his mouth. "It's not the cold."
Her pulse stumbled. "You think you know me that well?"
"I can hear your heartbeat, Liora. I don't have to guess."
The silence that followed was heavy, pressing in from all sides. She knew she should look away, that the smart thing would be to focus on escape, on survival. But her gaze caught on the curve of his mouth, the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.
And then he leaned in.
It wasn't sudden — it was slow, deliberate, his eyes never leaving hers. His hand rose, fingers brushing her jaw with a touch so light she almost doubted it was real. The space between them narrowed until she could feel his breath warm against her lips.
Her heart thundered. Her body leaned forward without permission.
And then he stopped.
His jaw tightened, his hand dropping away. "If I start," he said, voice rough, "I won't be able to stop."
The words cut through her haze like cold water, leaving her breathless and… disappointed. She hated the feeling, hated that part of her wanted him to ignore his own warning.
She swallowed hard. "Then don't start."
He didn't move for a moment, his gaze lingering on her as though he was memorizing her face. Then he stepped back just slightly, enough to let her breathe without feeling like the air belonged to him.
She turned away, forcing herself to focus on the canyon walls. That's when she saw them — faint markings carved into the stone, weathered by time but still visible.
"Aric," she whispered.
He followed her gaze, frowning. "You've seen these before?"
"Yes," she said, reaching out to trace one with her fingertips. "The night I was cursed, they were on the stones around the altar. I thought… maybe I imagined them."
His expression darkened. "You didn't imagine anything. These are older than my pack — older than any of us."
Before she could ask more, a sound echoed from outside — the distinct crunch of footsteps in snow, heavier than a wolf's, and the faint clink of metal.
Liora froze. "Hunters."
Aric's hand closed around the hilt of his blade. "Stay behind me."
The wind shifted, carrying the scent of iron and silver. The hunters were close. Too close.