The world returned in fragments.
Selene's eyelids fluttered, heavy as stone, her body stiff against the damp earth. The scent of iron filled her nostrils—blood, sharp and metallic. Her own or the rogue's, she couldn't tell. The forest around her was quiet, too quiet, save for the distant rustle of leaves in the wind.
Then she remembered—the golden-eyed rogue, its teeth bared. The fight. The black wolf, scarred and feral. Her breath caught, and her eyes flew open.
She wasn't alone.
The scarred wolf stood not far from her, its massive form outlined in the silver glow of the moon breaking through the trees. Its fur was ink-black, streaked with pale scars that glistened against the light, a living testament to countless battles survived. Blood matted its muzzle, but its golden eyes were fixed on her—not with hunger, but with something else. Something unreadable.
Selene froze, every muscle tensing. Her wolf stirred inside her, weak but alert.
Not an enemy, the wolf whispered faintly. Not like the others.
Still, fear coiled tight in her chest. Rogues didn't save people. Rogues killed, destroyed, consumed. This one had saved her… but why?
She tried to sit up, and a hiss of pain escaped her lips. Her side throbbed, her arms felt like lead, and exhaustion pressed down on her like a mountain. The wolf's ears flicked at the sound, and for a moment it simply watched her struggle, head tilted, as if measuring her strength.
Then, before her eyes, it began to change.
Bones cracked. Muscles shifted. The air shimmered with the raw power of a shift. Selene's heart hammered as the wolf shrank, twisted, reshaped—until in its place stood a man.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, his body marked with the same scars that marred the wolf's hide. His dark hair was damp with sweat, his jaw sharp, his mouth set in a grim line. But it was his eyes that struck her most—the same molten gold, fierce and unyielding, yet carrying a flicker of something deeper.
"Stay back," Selene rasped, forcing strength into her voice despite the weakness of her limbs. She dragged herself upright against the tree trunk, clutching at her torn cloak like it was armor.
The man didn't move closer. He crouched a short distance away, his posture loose but alert, like a predator who could spring at any moment.
"If I wanted you dead," he said, his voice low and gravelly, "you wouldn't be breathing now."
Selene flinched at the roughness of his tone. Yet beneath it was a strange steadiness, as though every word was weighed before it left his mouth.
"Why?" she demanded, her throat raw. "Why save me?"
The man's eyes narrowed slightly. "Because you're not meant to die here."
A bitter laugh bubbled out of her before she could stop it. "Not meant to die? I've already been condemned. Banished. Stripped of everything. Maybe this was exactly how it was supposed to end."
The man's jaw tightened, but he said nothing at first. Instead, he glanced toward the dead rogue lying a few feet away, its body already stiffening. Then his gaze returned to her, sharp as a blade.
"You're stronger than you think," he said finally. "But strength is nothing if you let yourself believe their lies."
His words struck something deep inside her, a place she'd tried to bury beneath anger and despair. She looked away, her vision blurring with unshed tears.
"You don't know me," she whispered.
"No," he agreed. "But I know what it's like to be hunted. To be cast out. To bleed and keep moving because the world won't let you stop." His voice roughened, the scars on his chest catching the moonlight as though echoing his words. "I know what it's like to lose everything."
Silence fell between them, thick and heavy. Selene's breath came uneven, her body trembling from exhaustion and the raw edge of fear.
"Who are you?" she asked at last, her voice barely more than a rasp.
The man's lips curved in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Darius," he said simply. "Darius Stormborn."
The name hung in the air like a stormcloud—weighty, powerful, tinged with danger. Selene felt it settle into her memory, impossible to forget.
Her wolf stirred faintly inside her. Stormborn… not just a name. A survivor.
Selene swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "And what do you want with me, Darius Stormborn?"
For the first time, his eyes softened—barely, but enough for her to notice. "Nothing," he said. "Except to see if you'll stand… or if you'll break."
The words sank deep, unsettling, challenging. She wanted to hate him for them, wanted to turn away, but something in his tone made her pause. It wasn't mockery. It was… truth.
Her body gave another shudder, the last of her strength draining away. Darkness threatened to close in again, her vision tunneling. She barely registered the movement until she felt it—strong arms lifting her, careful despite their power.
"No—" she tried to protest, weakly pushing against his chest, but her strength was gone.
"Quiet," Darius said, his voice low but firm. "You'll bleed out if you keep fighting. I'm not your enemy."
She wanted to argue, to demand why he was helping her, but her body betrayed her. Her head fell against his chest, and exhaustion claimed her once more.
The last thing she heard before the darkness swallowed her was his heartbeat—steady, strong—and his voice, murmured almost too softly to catch:
"You're not done yet, Selene Blackthorn."