Chapter 25
“Wake up. Wake up!” Alaric’s voice pierced through the haze clouding her mind. “Open your eyes, Ev.”
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Her head throbbed, each pulse like a hammer against her skull. Even the thought of lifting an eyelid felt impossible.
“Damn it,” Alaric swore.
Her world spun violently, like she had been tossed onto one of the festival rides she used to love as a child.
Like the carousels at Rosewyth’s summer fair, the ones that whirled endlessly in dizzying loops.
But this wasn’t playful or thrilling. This was nauseating.
Her stomach flipped, bile threatening to rise.
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to focus.
Breathe. Open your eyes and breathe, a small, steady voice whispered from the depths of her subconscious. You are alive.
Fighting against the churning discomfort twisting in her gut, she opened one eyelid. All she could see were blurry shapes and a dull, flickering light. She blinked. Again. And again.
The world slowly steadied.
Alaric sat across from her, his face streaked with dirt and dried blood, his left cheek swollen and bruised. His composure had shattered. His blue eyes, once steady, now flickered with fear as they scanned her.
That was when she felt it. The harsh bite of rope cutting into her wrists; her shoulders stiff and strained, pressing against the rough wooden pole at her back. She was bound. And so was Alaric. To her left, Reuben sat tethered to another pillar.
The realization hit like a slap, sending adrenaline burning through her veins. She twisted her wrists, fighting against the bindings, but the knots held firm. She sucked in a sharp breath, her chest tightening as she took in their surroundings.
They were in a tent. It was dimly lit, the air filled with the scent of something musky and animalistic.
“Where are we?” Evelyne’s voice came out hoarse. “What—what were those things chasing us?” She turned to Reuben, but he sat motionless, face pale and eyes empty. He was in shock.
Alaric swallowed hard. “Very large wolves. Deadly.”
Evelyne shook her head in disbelief. “Wolves? No… no, that’s not right. They were so big—”
“Shh, they’re coming back,” Alaric whispered frantically. And he was right; she heard something nearing the tent.
But it wasn’t wolves that barged inside. It was men. Three of them.
Evelyne’s breath trembled as they stepped fully into the torchlight. They were larger than most men, making the tent feel unbearably small. Even the shortest of them, if he could even be called short, stood at least six feet, and all of them were built like warriors carved from stone.
The shortest of the three was blond, with striking green eyes that gleamed like polished emeralds. The shorter cut of his hair set him apart, adding a disciplined edge to his demeanor. And the way he tilted his head while studying her left her unsettled.
He smiled. “Well, look who’s finally awake.”
Evelyne ignored him. She was too busy taking them all in, noticing the raw, untamed energy coiled beneath their skin and the way they carried themselves like creatures barely restrained. Their clothes, though practical, were unlike anything worn in human society.
The two taller men, their black hair falling just past their shoulders, stood side by side.
She wondered momentarily if they were twins, but a closer look revealed the tallest one had more defined features, a few more years etched into his face.
Dressed in deep shades of charcoal and forest green, they blended easily into the shadows, perfect for tracking or disappearing into the night.
Their dark, heavy tunics covered thick leather-wrapped armor that fit snugly over their muscular frames.
Fur-lined mantles draped over their shoulders, keeping out the early spring chill.
The blond wore a sleeveless leather vest, its intricate stitching almost ceremonial.
The exposed muscle of his arms was lined with faded scars, each one a story carved into his skin.
His dark woolen trousers, reinforced with leather panels at the knees, were most likely built for speed.
A bone-handled dagger rested at his hip, secured in a faded but well-kept belt.
Their boots were nothing like the fine-crafted boots of noblemen.
Instead, they were hand-stitched, battle-worn leather, wrapped with thick crisscrossing straps.
But what caught her eye most were the matching tattoos inked along the sides of their necks, trailing down past their collarbones: dark, intricate symbols that twisted like ancient tribal markings.
Hunters?
She looked to Reuben once more. He hadn’t moved, his stare still anchored to the ground as if stunned into stillness.
Next, she glanced at Alaric. No fear remained in his expression, only a quiet intensity as he studied their opponents and weighed his chances.
Not that he had the freedom to act just yet.
The blond stepped closer, and Evelyne tensed as he crouched before her, his fingers lifting her chin. “Ah, she’s a pretty little thing.” His lips curved with amusement.
She ripped her face from his grasp, and he chuckled, standing and turning away. Now, his attention was on Reuben.
“What’s wrong with this one?” He nodded toward him, his expression shifting from teasing to something colder, but Reuben didn’t respond. The blond’s eyes narrowed. “Look at me.”
For a long moment, nothing. Then, too slowly, Reuben lifted his head and locked eyes with the stranger.
A sharp breath left the man’s lips, and he staggered back a step.
“Get the alpha. Now.”
The two dark-haired men exchanged a look before disappearing from the tent. Evelyne’s heart began to pound. What had he seen?
The blond began pacing around Reuben, circling like a predator. His hand drifted toward his belt. In one fluid motion, he unsheathed his bone-handled dagger and leveled the blade at Reuben’s throat.
“You make any sort of move on me, and I’ll slit your throat in one swipe.”
Evelyne gasped, twisting against her bindings. “Stop!”
Reuben smiled. It was not a look of delight or reassurance. No, it was the same eerie smile she had seen in the carriage.
“Reuben?” she whispered.
He turned his head toward her slowly. When their eyes met, his were black.
“Eyes on me, fucker.” The man’s voice was cold. Without taking his gaze off Reuben, he raised a hand toward Evelyne and commanded, “Don’t speak to it.”
“It?” Evelyne snapped. “He is not furniture to be pointed at. He is a man. Address him accordingly.”
The blond shot her a furious look, but before he could speak, a heavy presence pressed into the tent. The two dark-haired men had returned, yet all focus fell on the figure looming behind them, stepping into the flickering light.
Built like a fortress, he was broader than the others, his short-cropped dark brown hair lending him a look of deliberate severity. His gaze moved with ruthless intent, cataloging the space with the cold skill of a creature used to being at the top of the food chain.
Even in the dim light, Evelyne could see the power in his stance.
The steady rise and fall of his chest, the precision of every movement, and the quiet restraint in each breath all spoke of a threat held tightly in check.
This was a man who never hesitated, never doubted.
He didn’t ask for obedience; he expected it.
Then she remembered the blond man’s words. Get the alpha. There was no doubt now. He wasn’t just one of them; he was their alpha.
He seemed young for a leader, though she had no actual frame of reference. Until now, she hadn’t even known that men like this existed, whatever they truly were. Yet his mere appearance sent a shiver down her spine, and she instinctively knew that he was the most dangerous person in this tent.
Her eyes drifted lower, taking in the clothing and armor of a warrior who commanded respect and fear.
He wore a sleeveless tunic reinforced with stitched leather panels across his chest and shoulders.
But unlike the others, his armor wasn’t just practical; it was marked with intricate, battle-worn etchings, as if symbols had been burned into the leather.
A heavy jet-black wolf pelt draped over his shoulders, fastened by a metal clasp shaped like a snarling wolf’s head.
A clear symbol of power. Leather bracers wrapped his forearms, and a thick, worn belt secured a large bone-hilted dagger.
It was similar to the blond’s, but looked far more deadly on him.
Her gaze floated to his dark, fitted trousers, reinforced with stitched padding along the knees and thighs.
They looked made for running. A fleeting thought passed through her mind: how effortless it must feel to move in something like that.
She’d have chosen them in a heartbeat over the weight of her usual gowns, or even her brother’s stiff riding trousers.
Ridiculous, she scolded herself. Now is not the time.
It wasn’t just his clothing that set him apart.
Evelyne noticed the matching ink etched along one side of his neck, which she now assumed was a mark of their kind.
But unlike the rest, his markings didn’t stop there.
A second tattoo wound down the opposite side of his neck, its ritualistic patterns snaking over his shoulder, along his arm, and down to his wrist. Even with the leather bracer concealing most of his forearm, she could still make out the ancient design.
“Which one?” the alpha commanded.
“Him,” the blond replied, pointing directly at Reuben.
The alpha’s stare shifted, assessing Reuben, then turned to Evelyne and Alaric. “And these two?”
Evelyne lifted her chin, refusing to let her fear show, even as terror twisted in her gut and sent tremors through her core.
“Haven’t seen anything yet.”