Chapter 40
I’ve got to find Lucas, or I’ll die alone in here.
Hell, at this point, I’d even take Oliver or Jordan. We are all being hunted down like animals. This is no longer a trial. It’s basically a sport for them. We’re outnumbered, and the brutal truth is only a miracle can save us right now.
It’s just the matter of how long we can manage to stay alive.
I intend to make that as long as humanly possible.
I pick up my daggers. The moonstone blade gleams faintly. Danger is nearby. Gods, at least Atticus could have given me a proper outfit. The dress I’m wearing is anything but practical.
I squint at the sky. The sun is disappearing beyond the tree line, the air warmer than a usual morning, so I’m going to assume it’s almost late afternoon.
I don’t know which way is north, or even if I’ll survive if I make it out of the woods.
There’s no telling that people at the Court won’t try to kill me, too.
But the problem isn’t just being hunted.
It’s being hunted at night, once the sun sets.
Okay, Cassandra, be logical. You haven’t slept all night. Soon you’ll be hungry. You’re going to need water. Maybe a fire?
But a fire at night might attract some unwanted attention.
No fire at all and I’ll freeze to death by sunrise.
Either way, I need to find somewhere to hide.
I start moving quietly, fallen leaves making crunching noises under my feet—not ideal. But then again, an ideal situation would be me at home, in Kieran’s arms, warm and safe—not stalking through a death trap.
Just hold on, Cassandra.
He’s alive.
He has to be.
I hold on to that thread of hope with every breath that I take. After a while, I spot a tree tall enough to climb and get some visibility. The last thing I want is to wander deeper into the woods without knowing what’s out there.
I strap both daggers to my boots and start climbing, praying that I don’t step on my own dress and plummet to my death.
I try to go as slow and as steady as I can. Speed is not my concern here. Only staying alive.
Every branch scrapes my skin, and I lose count of how many blisters this tree so generously gifts me.
Then my foot slips, and my dress snags on a jagged edge, tearing with a loud rip. I nearly scream, but I stop myself just in time. My heart leaps up my throat, all twenty-three years of my existence flashing before eyes as I hold on for dear life.
For a second, I really think this is it, but my trembling hands are still holding on, and splinters have made a lovely home on them with my blood as their swimming pool.
I’m okay.
Still alive.
I try to slow my breathing, giving myself an imaginary trophy for still being brave enough not to cry out when I slipped.
Then, when the shaking finally stops, I keep going.
It feels like forever before I’m finally high enough to see the surrounding woods. The sun has already vanished beyond the horizon, leaving only steaks of orange and purple bleeding across the sky.
And all I see is trees.
Nothing but this endless, suffocating forest.
The sweat on my forehead turns to ice as my breath grows heavier. A cold breeze slams into me from every direction.
There is nowhere out.
For a brief moment, I let myself panic. I need to feel it, to let it tear through me, before I force it to pass so I can think straight again. I squeeze my eyes shut, listening to my own heart drumming, trying to control my breaths until they stop hitching.
Okay, Cass.
Time to find shelter.
Food and water.
Focus on the things you can control.
The descent is painfully slow. My limbs are tired and trembling, but I can’t risk resting. Pretty soon the forest will be swallowed in pitch black, and I don’t want to find out what lurks here in the dark.
My legs feel like jelly when I finally touch the ground again, shaky and weak. I have a feeling that if I sit, I might never get back up again.
So, I keep moving.
There has to be water somewhere.
It’s getting darker and darker by minute, shadows stretching long, my moonstone blade now shimmering brighter in my hand.
Somewhere behind me, a howl cuts through the trees—somewhere far too close.
Please don’t tell me there are wolves in this forest.
I quicken my pace, but the howling multiplies, overlapping with sharp barks. Not one wolf—several.
Oh, this is bad.
Really bad.
I run.
Branches whip at my face as I sprint, my lungs screaming, heart pounding in my chest. I don’t look back, but the barking is closer now—shapes darting through the trees on either side of me, their eyes glow yellow in the darkening sky.
Then, my stupid dress betrays me again. I trip and hit the ground hard. For half a heartbeat, I can’t see anything, until a thunderous growl tears through the dark, so close it rattles my bones.
I scramble to my feet just as the first wolf lunges at me—no, not wolves. They are larger, broader. Their jaws could snap a normal wolf in half.
Direwolves.
Holy fuck.
My daggers flash up on instinct. I swing, catching its shoulder, not deep enough to kill but enough to make it yelp and skid back, blood splattering across the twilight dagger.
And all of the sudden, raw, hungry energy slams into me. It tears through my veins like a blast of magic.
I freeze, staring at the blade. The blood seeps into the steel like it’s feasting on it.
I might not die here after all.
The other two lunge at me at the same time. I duck—so fast it terrifies me. Then I slash the one to the left, and another surge of raw magic tears through me, hotter, wilder. I can feel it pumping through my veins, like a beast trapped in a cage, roaring to be unleashed.
I embrace it, letting it consume me with a smile and open arms.
I growl, but my voice isn’t mine. Every move is on instinct and faster than I can think. Even the wolves seem hesitant at the shift. They step back, circling and assessing me.
And this time, I launch myself onto one of them, nails digging into its fur, riding it like I’m trying to tame a wild horse.
The direwolf’s head snaps to the side to bite, but I drive the twilight blade into its back, further than I probably could with my human strength.
A whine tears from the wolf, loud and haunting.
I stab, and I stab.
The more I cut, the stronger I become—the weaker it is.
Another one catches me on the arm, desperately trying to save its mate. I cry out, bracing for flesh to tear, but it barely stings. Just a shallow scratch. No blood. No gaping wound. My arm is still intact.
Woah.
I’ve got wolf skin, too?
Let’s fucking go.
A snarl rips out of me as I leap down and jump at the other one, like I’m on a mission to rid the forest of these creatures. My senses explode—every scent, every shift in the air, every heartbeat hits me at once. I crash down on them one by one, daggers slashing, ripping through fur and flesh.
Oh, how the tables have turned.
The prey takes a redwood throne and crowns herself the queen of the jungle. Direwolf heads adorn my house crest.
Blood sprays everywhere.
They yelp. I suck in more power.
Three direwolves turn to two. Two collapse to one. One falls into nothing.
I rip them apart. Every last one of them.
Thick, hot blood drips from my hair, splattered all over my clothes. I’m drenched, stinking of death and merciless victory.
I glance down at the carnage.
Wonder if direwolf meat tastes nice.
Well, meat is meat—if I throw it in a fire, it’s dinner.
I crouch low and start hacking, crimson soaking into my hands. I carve enough for one meal, then flip one of the beasts over with the strength that shouldn’t belong to me and begin skinning it.
It’s cold, and I need something else to wear.
What’s better than a direwolf pelt?
I grin through the gore, three direwolves’ strength pumping in my veins.
I’d better get popular votes for this performance.