Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
My captors leave me alone in the cage as night falls, assuming the iron bars are enough to keep me here. The guards’ footsteps fade up the corridor. I hear a door slam somewhere above, then silence.
They’ve done their job and moved on to other duties. In their minds, I’m secure and contained, no longer their problem. The iron bars have held countless prisoners before me. Why would a wolf be any different?
The collar still burns against my throat.
It sits heavy around my neck, warm and alive with magic.
But something’s different now. The active compulsion has gone slack.
Quinnlan’s commands were tied to proximity or perhaps intention.
Without active commands from the sorcerer, I can think clearly for the first time since the transformation.
My thoughts are my own again. I’m not clouded by someone else’s will pushing through my consciousness. The relief is almost dizzying. I can plan, strategize, make decisions without fighting through the barrier spell.
There are two entrances, barred windows, and weapon racks on the far wall. The main door is solid wood reinforced with iron bands. It’s locked from the outside. Air currents from the smaller door tell me that it leads to a storage area. My ears pick up sounds my human hearing would have missed.
Five heartbeats in the building.
I can hear them all. Two guards upstairs, their heartbeats slow and steady with boredom. One on this floor, moving around. Two more in the basement level, conversing in low voices.
Five obstacles between me and freedom.
The cage lock is simple iron without any spell.
I examine it through the bars, nose pressed close. The guild assumed the bars themselves would be sufficient. They assumed a wolf couldn’t pick a lock. Well, they’re fucking right about that. I have no hands or any tools to manipulate the mechanism. The lock might as well be impenetrable.
I pace the tiny space, testing my new body’s limits.
The cage is maybe six feet by six feet. Four legs instead of two changes everything about balance and motion.
The moon is bright and the wolf instincts are stronger at night. It calls to parts of me that never existed before. The primal urges are stronger now, more insistent, harder to ignore.
Hunt. Run. Howl.
Instead of fighting them, I listen.
For days I’ve been trying to hold on, refusing to accept what I’ve become. But resistance costs energy.
The cage bars are not meant for a wolf. I study them with new eyes. I’m smaller now, compact with collapsible ribcage and flexible joints.Wolvens are built to squeeze through impossible spaces.
I approach the bars, turn my head sideways and push. The bars press against my temples, my jaw, but there’s space. Just enough space… I push harder, forcing my head through the gap, feeling iron scrape against fur and bone.
Pain flares as the collar catches.
The servitor band is wider than my skull.
It catches on the bars, stopping my progress completely.
The edges dig into my neck on both sides.
I push harder and the collar pushes back, caught between bar and throat.
For a moment I think this is it. I’ll be trapped halfway through, unable to advance or retreat.
But my skull slips through. I twist my body, angling my shoulders one at a time. I land on the other side in a heap, panting from exertion. The collar left raw burns around my neck where it ground against the bars. But I’m free.
I run as fast as I can.
The guild safehouse is a maze, but my nose knows the way. I can smell fresh night air seeping through a gap, carrying scents of the city. The trail leads left, then right, up a short flight of stairs. I follow it without hesitation, trusting these new senses more than memory or reasoning.
I follow the air currents toward freedom.
A guard rounds the corner ahead, wearing guild blacks with a short sword at his hip. He’s carrying a plate of food, probably taking a meal break.
I hold perfectly still, not breathing, every muscle locked. The guard is humming something under his breath. He’s focused on not spilling his drinks. His boots pass within inches of my nose. The plate passes overhead. He turns the corner and disappears.
That was close. I guess nobody expects a wolf in the hallways.
I keep to shadows, moving on silent paws with every sense alert. My ears track the other guards, two still upstairs, one in the kitchen, two in the basement. I map their positions in my head, plotting a route that avoids them all.
The main door is barred, but there’s a window on the second floor left cracked for air.
It’s not large but it’s access to the outside.
I follow the scent trail up the stairs, nose tracking the fresh air.
The window is in what looks like a records room based on the smell of paper and ink.
I leap effortlessly, landing on the desk without sound.
Another jump takes me to the top of a tall bookshelf.
These movements would have been impossible with my old injured knee.
That shattered kneecap that never healed right meant constant pain and a weakness that limited my mobility.
I couldn’t run full speed or jump properly.
The wolf body is healthy and strong. It’s everything my previous form wasn’t.
There’s no pain in the joints. The muscles respond instantly, without hesitation.
I’m faster and more agile than I’ve ever been.
From here I can see the window, propped open with a small wooden wedge. It’s a narrow opening but I’ve already proven I can compress.
I approach the window, studying the gap. I understand how the wolf body works now, how to make myself narrower. I fold and twist my body to squeeze through the window. Within seconds I’m on the roof and the cold night air hits me.
I look out over the city. Aelfheim is spread below me under the starlight. Beyond the walls, dark forest stretches to the horizon. The tiles are slippery beneath my paws but I find my balance quickly. These four legs are more stable than two ever were.
The city is different from this perspective.
I’ve moved through these streets dozens of times but I never saw them like this.
From ground level, Aelfheim is a maze. It’s a tapestry of scents and sounds.
The docks carry the scent of fish and salt water.
A tannery four blocks east produces the acrid smell of chemicals and hide.
I can smell bread baking six streets away and track the paths of a hundred cats hunting rats. It’s easy to track their movements from hours ago. Every individual on the street has a unique scent. Cutting through it all like a shooting star is Garrett’s scent.
I stop in my tracks. It’s so vivid and clear it’s like he’s standing next to me. The scent is diffused through the city air but unmistakable. My nose points me toward its source.
Follow it. He is home, my instinct whispers.
The wolf brain is simple. It knows Garrett means safety, comfort, belonging.
He is pack. Find him. Be with him.
The urge is overwhelming, but I know better.
There’s nothing Garrett can do to help me.
I’m a cursed wolf. How the hell am I supposed to speak to him? Even if I could make him understand what would he do? He can’t break curses. There’s no way he can challenge the guild and undo what Quinnlan did.
Besides I’m still angry that he drugged me…
The memory surfaces with perfect clarity.
His hands on my skin, his mouth on mine. I trusted him completely while he fed me poison. Black Orchid, coating his skin, mixing with every kiss. He discarded me and sentenced me to this.
Garrett made his choice. He’s the Queen’s Knight now, bound to her service.
But my legs are already moving, following the scent trail across rooftops and through alleys.
I don’t consciously decide to go. My body just moves, drawn by instinct and the desperate hope that maybe, somehow, he’ll recognize me.
Perhaps he’ll look into my eyes and see past the fur and fangs to what’s trapped inside. It’s stupid and impossible.
But I go anyway.
My paws carry me to the Clayborne estate.
The familiar walls of Elvarstyne keep rise ahead, obsidian stone glowing in moonlight.
I’ve been here for weeks as bodyguard. I know every entrance and their guard rotation.
I leap over the old section of the walls where there are fewer patrols.
The jump carries me easily over the twelve-foot barrier.
I land in soft grass on the other side, barely making a sound.
No one saw me breach their perimeter. Garrett’s scent is everywhere in the garden. It’s still warm and fresh. He was here recently, maybe an hour ago.
If I’d arrived earlier, I might have seen him. The thought lodges somewhere painful beneath my ribs.
I follow his scent through rosebushes and hedge mazes to a small door I remember.
The servant’s entrance. I used it myself when I wanted to leave discreetly. The door is well-maintained and locked from the inside. But there’s a window right above it. It’s barely six inches of gap but I’ve gotten very good at windows.
One leap brings me to the opening. I squeeze past the frame and land silently on the floor inside. My paws make no sound on the stone floor as I navigate turns I remember from my time here. The scent grows stronger with each step. Finally, I reach the door to his chambers. It’s slightly ajar.
The room is exactly as I remember but more detailed now.
Through wolf senses, I notice what I couldn’t before.
The curtains are drawn tight against the daylight.
Papers lie scattered across the desk instead of neatly organized, and a glass sits half-empty among them.
His chair is pushed too close to the fireplace, like he’s been sitting there for warmth.
The whole space feels smaller, darker, and steeped in melancholy.
Garrett is sad.
Good, I think vindictively.