Chapter 11
Wild Place
Alexa
After walking for a long while, my feet start to ache. I’ve been pushing through the outer magical fog for more than two hours now, and I still haven’t reached the nearest bus stop. I pass a few cabins scattered along the forest’s edge, but the human town center still feels far away.
The First Light area and Southern Star are two different cities.
According to the map app, the distance is around fifty miles.
Walking all the way to Southern Star would take roughly fifteen hours, while a bus ride would take about two.
So finding the nearest bus stop is not optional. It is necessary.
Exhausted and soaked in sweat, I veer off the main road, head deeper into the forest, and settle beside a small river. The river comes down from the First Light area, so it must be pure and clean, less magical, but safe enough to use.
I scoop up some water to drink and splash my face and arms in the shallows. Cool relief slides over my overheated skin, and I whisper a quiet thanks to the Moon Goddess.
As I climb farther up the riverbank, something catches my attention. The breeze carries a mouthwatering scent of food. Roasted meat. My nose twitches, and my stomach answers with a low, traitorous growl.
“That smells amazing,” Mythril says, practically drooling. “Best bacon of the day, I swear.”
She’s not wrong. The last time I ate was at Alpha Romero’s place last night. I skipped breakfast when I left, and the long walk has drained what little energy I had left. It is already past noon. I need food.
Without hesitating, I follow the scent across the river. I step carefully from stone to stone until I reach the other side, my jeans getting soaked along the way. Then I hike uphill through the woods until I reach the top of a slope.
About ten feet ahead, a man sits with his back to me, grilling meat over a small campfire. He has no idea I’m there yet. I hesitate. Should I ask for food?
“Or I could take over and scare him off,” Mythril says with a wicked snicker.
“Not happening,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.
I have money. Maybe he would sell me a piece. I take one more step forward.
A hand clamps down on my shoulder. Strong arms lock around me, pinning my movements. My breath catches. How did I miss him?
“He’s masking his scent,” Mythril gasps.
I react on instinct, ducking low and twisting, trying to free myself. I go for his arm, aiming to lock it behind his back just like I did to Romero last night. But this man is faster.
He anticipates the move, traps my wrist, and drives me down into the grass. I refuse to yield. Using my weight, I roll us over and end up on top, my elbow pressed firmly against his neck. Pain flares in my wrist as it twists wrong, but I bite it back.
We freeze. Our eyes meet, and shock flashes across both our faces. My heart slams wildly in my chest, my breathing coming fast and uneven. Fear is part of it, but not all. Something else twists beneath it, relief, recognition, confusion.
“Harlow?” I gasp.
“Alexa?” His eyes widen.
“Well, would you look at that,” Mythril murmurs, pleased. “Hug him. I miss that chest.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks as I realize I’m still straddling him. Mythril is practically dancing while I sit there, flustered and stunned.
He looks different from the last time I saw him. Sharper jaw. Sun-kissed skin. His dark-brown hair is longer and messier, and the faint scars on his brow and cheek only add to his rugged appeal instead of taking away from it. He looks wilder. Stronger.
But something is missing. I don’t catch his familiar scent of mint and pine.
“If you’re gonna keep staring,” he says with a crooked grin, “I might have to start charging.”
I scramble off him, rolling to the side. The pain in my wrist surges now that the adrenaline fades, and I cradle it against my chest, trying to slow my racing heart.
“You scared me,” I snap, still flushed.
“I was just saying hi,” he replies, sitting up. “You were sneaking toward our fire like a hungry raccoon.”
“Hey, Harlow, what’s going on?”
The man who had been grilling earlier walks over. He’s handsome in a rough way, with braided blond hair and deep scars running from his jaw down his neck. His scent is smoky, mixed with sweat and campfire.
“So, he really went rogue,” I murmur to Mythril.
“Yep,” she replies cheerfully. “And I am not mad about it.”
“Is she a friend of yours?” the blond man asks as his eyes flick toward me.
“Yeah,” Harlow says as he gets to his feet. “Relax, Jack.”
He turns to me and offers his hand. I take it, but the moment his grip tightens, pain shoots through my wrist and I hiss.
“Hey. You hurt?” His tone shifts instantly.
“I think I sprained it,” I admit, glancing warily at Jack. “It’s fine.”
“Come on,” Harlow says gently, sliding an arm around my shoulders. “Sit down and eat. I’ll take a look at it.”
“I’m okay,” I insist, still unsure.
Jack chuckles. “We’re not gonna bite. Eat with us.”
I shake my head again, but my stomach betrays me with a loud growl. Heat floods my face.
“Alexa, stop embarrassing us,” Mythril groans.
Harlow snorts, trying not to laugh, while Jack laughs freely.
“Alright,” Harlow says, patting my shoulder. “No need to be stubborn. Let’s get you fed.” He guides me toward the campfire.
Despite my doubts, my stomach is painfully hungry. My instincts refuse to ignore the abundance of food, especially with the intoxicating smell of roasted bacon hanging in the air. I follow them back to the campfire and lower myself onto the grass, sitting in a loose circle with them.
“So what’s your name? Jack,” he says, settling cross-legged across from me.
“Brianna,” I murmur.
Jack nods once, simple and satisfied, then turns back to his food.
“Give me your hand. Let me see how bad it is.” Harlow holds his hand out to me.
“You can’t heal it. Not without proper ointment. Besides, it’ll heal on its own,” I say, still skeptical.
“I don’t remember you being this mouthy.” Harlow rolls his eyes. “Funny how your words don’t match your wolf’s. She keeps asking for hugs, but you’re putting on this whole trust-issues act.”
“Oh, so you’re the brave type now? A girl like you?” Jack laughs, clearly enjoying himself. “Been pretending to be all sweet and innocent this whole time, huh?”
“No. He’s lying. I never asked for a hug.” Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I’m sure they can see how red my face is.
“Really?” Harlow smirks.
His words hit me all at once. Questions flood my head. If he can hear Mythril’s voice, then that means I’ve been embarrassing myself since the moment we met.
“That’s what I told you. He’s our mate,” Mythril sighs, exasperated.
But Romero, who clearly claimed me as his mate, couldn’t hear Mythril at all. Whatever is happening here, something about Harlow is different from six years ago.
Is it because he has no scent? No human or ordinary magical creature can completely hide their scent. If he can mask it while stalking prey, then he must be far stronger now. Unless he’s using a scent blocker like I am.
Confused and without a real answer, my thoughts drift as Harlow gently takes my hand.
I watch him closely as he rubs, twists, and pulls at my fingers, working a yellow, glowing oil into my skin.
Every movement sends a spark through me, my imagination betraying me as I picture those hands traveling much lower.
A sharp crack sounds, followed by a flash of pain that makes me groan. Then it’s gone. Just like that. I blink, stunned, realizing there’s no lingering ache anymore.
“It’s healed. Just need to keep the swelling down,” Harlow says, looking quietly pleased with himself.
“Oh. You’re right.”
I turn my wrist, flexing it. It feels lighter, almost normal. I stare at it, still not fully believing what just happened.
“Thank you, Harlow,” I say, smiling despite myself.
“You’re welcome,” he replies with a nod.
“See?” Jack chuckles as he goes back to eating. “We’re not bad folks.”
“For now, let me feed you. Open up.” Harlow holds out a small piece of a grilled bacon sandwich.
“Ouch. You two look like newlyweds,” Jack teases. “If you’re planning to get married, just say the word. I’ll call the elders myself.”
“No.” I shake my head quickly, but Harlow only grins wider.
“Come on. Don’t be shy,” he says.
Why is he acting like this? What kind of gesture is this supposed to be? Does he think he’s feeding a baby?
“He’s sweet,” Mythril sighs dreamily.
I shake my head again. “There’s really no need. I still have my left hand,” I say, reaching for the food with it.
Harlow studies me for a moment, then lets out a quiet laugh. “I’d normally argue manners,” he says, shrugging, “but we’re out in the wild. We can eat however we want.” He places the warm sandwich into my left palm. “And you don’t like being treated like a kid, do you?”
“Ugh. Stop reading my mind.” I groan in silence.
I shoot Harlow a sharp look. He just chuckles, unfazed. He doesn’t seem to take me seriously at all. I have no idea how big the age gap between us is, but one thing is clear. He isn’t the man I knew six years ago.
“Thank you for the food,” I murmur, forcing politeness as I glance between Harlow and Jack. They nod, already slipping back into their own conversation.
“Hey, we should link our minds. He’s the only one who can hear me. I won’t be lonely anymore,” Mythril says eagerly.
“What? No! We’re not a same pack anymore. I’m a rogue, remember? And we’re not mates. He left us.”
“But I’m sure—”
“Hush!” I cut off Mythril’s words and put her back deep beyond my consciousness. Five minutes with my own thoughts to process all of this. That’s all I need.
I catch snippets of their talk as I eat. From what I piece together, Harlow is part of a group of wild rogues, forming a new community with Jack and others. That explains everything.
* * *
“It’s done. Keep your hand up against your chest so the swelling goes down,” Harlow explains as he tucks the last of the herbal ointment back into his bag.
He wraps my right wrist with a damp, cold towel and layers it with a simple herbal salve from his supplies. Even though he knows I will heal within a day, he still tends to my hand with quiet patience, careful and thorough, like the pain actually matters.
“Look at that. Even the bandage is tied neatly,” Mythril says, awed.
“Thank you,” I say, offering him a small smile.
I never expected him to be capable of anything beyond basic first aid. The realization stirs something restless in me, a growing curiosity about who he has become since the day he left me behind in Southern Star.
And that wolf medallion around his neck. He still wears it. The sight of it tightens something in my chest. It’s not a subject meant for casual conversation, not now, not here. So, I swallow my questions and keep them tucked away, unlike Jack, who clearly has no such restraint.
“You two were close back when you were at Silver Moon?” Jack asks.
“No.” Harlow lets out a short scoff. “A girl born into Alpha nobility wouldn’t spare a glance at someone like me. I come from an Omega family.”
“She’s an Alpha heiress?” Jack’s jaw drops as he stares at me.
“Yep.” Harlow hooks his thumb in my direction. “Her grandfather and her dad were both Alphas. Big names.”
“Well damn,” Jack chuckles. “Guess that explains why she’s so chilly with lowly rogues like us.”
He laughs and keeps going, tossing out jokes and assumptions about how I must have treated Omegas and rogues back when I had a pack. I stop laughing. The sound drains out of me completely.
What is this feeling? I press my lips together.
Heat gathers behind my eyes. They don’t know me.
Not even a little. And yet they judge me so easily, so casually, like I fit neatly into some stereotype they have already decided on.
Even Harlow disappoints me, even if all he does is laugh at Jack’s dark jokes.
I have always treated everyone the same, no matter their rank.
After I became packless, I never once mentioned my family or where I came from.
I was afraid people would sneer at an Alpha’s bloodline gone rogue, afraid someone would use my real name against me.
And now, that fear crawls out of the dark and stands right in front of me, wearing laughter like a knife.
“Thank you for the food,” I say quietly. “Here.” I reach into my bag, pull out my wallet, and hand Jack a ten dollar bill. “For the meal.”
Jack frowns, scrunching his nose. “Did you just pay me for lunch?”
I don’t answer. I stand and turn away before the sting in my chest turns into something worse.
“Hey, where are you going?” Harlow calls out, startled.
I keep walking. Yes, they fed me. That doesn’t give them the right to mock me. My steps quicken as I head for the main road across the river.
The rocks slow me down. My footing is clumsy in unfamiliar terrain, and before I can reach the other side, Harlow catches up. He grabs my unbandaged hand at the riverbank, stopping me short.
“Alexa, wait.” His voice drops. “I’m sorry. We went too far with the jokes.”
I struggle, trying to pull free. His grip tightens, steady but not rough. He leans in, like he means to pull me into an embrace, and I shove at his chest with my free hand.
“Let me go.”
“Not until you forgive me.”
“I already did.” I twist again, but he’s still too strong.
The gunshot cracks through the air. We both freeze and turn toward the sound. On the other side of the river, a man stands with a rifle raised, smoke curling from the barrel as it points toward the sky.
“Let the girl go,” a voice shouts. “Or the next bullet goes straight through your head.”