Asena
People began screaming, scrambling for cover in a wave of panic that crashed through the great hall.
Guards rushed forward, shouting orders as they formed protective barriers around the elders and the Alpha's family. Chairs toppled in the chaos. Crystal glasses shattered against the marble floor.
I stood frozen in place, my feet rooted to the floor.
Move, I commanded myself desperately. Move. Run. Hide.
But my body wouldn't obey.
Suddenly, I wasn't in the great hall anymore.
I was five years old again, standing in our small cottage as flames licked up the walls. My mother was screaming my name from somewhere I couldn't see.
And there—blocking the doorway—was a rogue.
Massive. Scarred rogue. Its yellow eyes locked on me with a focused gaze.
"Move, Asena, please," I begged myself, my voice breaking on a whisper.
Nothing.
In what felt like seconds, the hall had emptied around me. Everyone had found shelter behind overturned tables, in side rooms, pressed against the far walls behind the line of guards.
Everyone except me.
I stood alone in the centre of the vast space, my chest tight, my breath coming in shallow gasps that didn't seem to bring any air.
And then I saw it.
A huge brown wolf with a jagged scar running down its muzzle, lips pulled back to reveal yellowed fangs. Its eyes were wild and locked directly on me.
It was coming straight for me.
Is this how I die? I thought distantly. In my father's hall? Twenty-one in thirty-three days.
Behind it were other rogues, growling as they drew closer.
A sob broke from my throat as I braced myself for the worst. The largest rogue had reached me now. It gathered itself and lunged at me.
From the corner of my eye, I saw a blur before someone slammed into me from the side, shoving me out of the way. I hit the round hard, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs.
Above me, I heard a sharp, pained cry.
Shaking, I looked up and saw it was Alpha Ruel.
He'd pushed me aside, and now the rogue's teeth were sunk deep into his forearm. His face was twisted with pain, but his eyes were still sharp.
"Run!" he shouted. "Asena—run!"
The command snapped me out of my paralysis. Without thinking, I scrambled to my feet and bolted toward the French windows at the corner of the room. I didn't stop to think, I just ran straight through the open window and jumped.
I landed hard on the grass outside, pain shooting up my ankle. I stumbled but kept moving. Behind me, I heard the sharp crash of breaking glass.
I risked a glance over my shoulder, and my blood ran cold.
Rogues were pouring through the shattered windows, their eyes fixed on me.
I turned and ran toward the tree line.
My legs pumped with desperate strength. My lungs burned. My mind was filled with no thoughts, only panic and the primal need to survive. There was a safe house in the woods. If I could get to it, I'd be fine.
Suddenly, my foot caught on something—a root, a rock, I didn't know—and I went down hard. Pain exploded through my ankle as I hit the ground, spreading through every part of my body.
I grunted and tried to lift myself, to keep running, but my leg gave way beneath me. I yelped at the sharp pain that shot through my body.
Three rouges were closing in, their growls filling the night air.
I tried to stand again, clawing at the dirt, dragging myself forward. But it was no use.
This is it, I thought. This is really it.
The rogues were so close now I could smell their rancid scent—rot and blood and something worse. I closed my eyes as tears rolled down my cheeks.
Ruel's sacrifice had been for nothing.
Suddenly, someone grabbed me from behind and yanked me backwards.
A voice, carrying an edge I'd never heard before in my life, whispered in my ear:
"Don't make a sound."
Before I could scream, a hand clamped over my mouth, and I was dragged sideways into darkness.
My back hit cold stone, and as my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I realised I was in a tiny crevice barely wide enough for one person, let alone two. Rough rock pressed against my spine, and a body—it was definitely a man—pressed against my front.
"Don't move," he growled in my ear. "And don't make a sound. Those aren't ordinary rogues. They're Bloodmarked rogues, and they're here to hunt you."
What the fuck is a bloodmarked rogue? I wondered silently, my heart hammering against my ribs. And why would they want to hunt me?
I couldn't see him—whoever he was—I could only feel him. His chest against mine. His hand firm over my mouth. His other arm wrapped around my waist, holding me completely still.
Outside our hiding place, I could hear the rogues growling, circling the area. They didn't sound like they were leaving anytime soon.
I should have been terrified. I was terrified.
But something else was happening.
My saviour's hand remained clamped over my mouth. His chest rose and fell against mine in a slow, controlled rhythm that my own frantic breathing tried instinctively to match. His scent wrapped around me—woods and smoke and something wild I couldn't name.
And instead of panic, I felt myself slowly… relaxing.
My wolf stirred restlessly, which was strange because she never did that. My gift was so unusual that my wolf didn't feel like a normal wolf most days. But now, she was pressing toward this stranger, desperate and frantic.
The pull made no sense. This had never happened before.
Suddenly, one of the rogues stuck its snout into the opening of the crevice.
My breath hitched.
The stranger went completely still. Then, in one fluid motion, his arm around my waist tightened, and he pulled me impossibly closer. Electricity spread under my skin as I sucked in a sharp breath through my nose.
As if that was not enough, his fingers pressed into my hip, and for a heartbeat, I forgot the rogues entirely.
Finally, the rogue pulled back, snarling in frustration. The pack moved off slightly, but their growls still echoed through the tree.
They hadn't left.
The hand over my mouth dropped away. The stranger stepped back or tried to, but the space was so narrow he managed maybe six inches before his back hit stone.
We were still chest to chest, both breathing hard in the suffocating darkness.
I turned to face him, and for the first time, I got a good look at the man who'd saved me.
Brutal.
That was the only word that fit.
Sharp jaw shadowed with stubble. Grey eyes that caught the faint moonlight filtering through the crevice. A scar cut through his left eyebrow, pale against his tanned skin. He was tall enough that I had to tilt my head all the way back to meet his gaze, broad enough that his shoulders nearly touched both walls of our tiny prison.
Dangerous. My mind supplied again.
But my wolf was doing something I'd never felt before. It kept pressing forward, whining softly, desperate for…what? I didn't know.
"Who the hell are you?" I whisper-hissed.
His expression didn't change. Or was that a dismissive look I saw there? As if he wasn't pleased with what he saw. For someone like me, that shouldn't have mattered, but for some weird reason, I felt anger flare through me.
"That doesn't matter." He finally said.
"You dragged me into a hole in the ground. It matters."
"I saved your life in case you hadn't noticed." His voice was clipped. "You could have started with thanking me."
"I didn't ask you to save me."
"Clearly." He scoffed. "You were doing an excellent job of getting yourself killed."
The anger that had started small was now burning brightly in my chest, momentarily drowning out the strange pull I felt toward him.
"Better than hiding in the dark with a stranger."
"Then leave."
I shifted toward the narrow opening, ready to prove him wrong and immediately froze as a rogue snarled just outside, far too close.
The stranger's mouth curved into a mocking smile. "That's what I thought."
I pressed back against the stone, trying to put distance between us, but somehow ended up pressed against him instead. Every time either of us shifted, we brushed against each other—shoulder to chest, hip to thigh, accidental contact that spent sparks racing across my skin.
My wolf wouldn't settle. It kept panting, whining, pressing toward him in a way that made no sense.
But there was something else.
Something hard pressing into the small of my back, right above my waist, digging uncomfortably into my spine.
At first, I tried to ignore it and focus on staying silent and alive. But with every shallow breath I took, with every tiny shift of his body, it pressed harder.
I tried to wriggle away from it, angling my hips forward, but the crevice was too narrow. The uncomfortable pressure only increased, and I could feel it distinctly now. Long, thick with some kind of rough, textured surface. Maybe leather wrapping? Carved ridges?
What kind of weapon is this?
My discomfort won out over caution. I reached back carefully, fingers searching for whatever was digging into my back, intending to move it or shift it to the side—anything to relieve the pressure.
The moment my hand closed around it, the stranger went rigid behind me.
A low, warning growl rumbled in my ear.
His hand moved to my shoulders, fingers digging painfully into my skin. "What," he breathed, his voice rough and dangerous, "are you doing?"
I grunted quietly, still gripping the object. "I feel uncomfortable. Your weapon is about to break my back."
Silence. Then a dark, incredulous snicker that vibrated through his chest into my back.
"You mean my penis."