Chapter 65

Third Person POV

After Sienna left the building, Archimedes let out a long, wistful sigh, stepping into his private bathroom and removing his mask.

He stared at himself in the mirror for a long moment, thinking about how absolutely difficult this was going to be.

But it had to be done.

•

As the day bore on, Asher couldn’t stop thinking about where poor Beta Simon was, and Julian, too. There wasn’t much they could do to track them, considering rogue camps had historically been impossible to find.

They were only found when they wanted to be…and that was never.

But what if I sniff them out? The thought had crossed his mind multiple times. He still didn’t necessarily feel strong enough to transform, but he could always force it.

Never a good idea, his wolf grumbled.

I can’t just leave them out there, Asher shot back.

No, but you also cannot sacrifice yourself.

His wolf had a point.

But I need the strength, Asher argued.

You need to recover.

“There are potions for that,” Asher muttered, frustrated that his body still hasn’t fully healed.

You almost died, his wolf reminded him, though he didn’t need reminding of it. In fact, you were pretty much on the brink of death.

I’ll take something to keep me strong.

Asher shut his wolf off, slipping to the cellar where all the potions were stored. There were so many different kinds, but from the little he’d seen, they were labeled well.

He needed muscle regeneration, strength in general. Stamina.

There were potions of every possible color, some for basic ailments while others did things that were a lot more complicated, like regenerating bone marrow or specific tissues.

Asher found a generalized one that focused on repairing muscles, taking a long chug of it with little hesitation. Over the next few hours, he should be mostly back to normal.

He took off walking towards the border of Nightfall, to and past the watchtower he and Sienna had been at during the attack. The cliffs loomed in the distance ahead, a barrier between the packs and the rest of the continent.

For the most part, the rogues spread themselves north, further from the capital city, hoping to claim the land for their kind.

Asher reached the first face of the cliff, finding an easy way up the ledges, cresting the top within minutes. He didn’t need to be in wolf form to climb something that easy.

From the top of a cliff, he got a beautiful view of the northern lands, though they weren’t as green as the southern ones. The further north it got, the chillier the weather was, coating the ground in ice.

The rogues wouldn’t be up that far — who’d want to be? They’d be hiding out somewhere in between where Asher stood and the start of the ice.

I’m gonna do it, Asher warned his wolf.

Your magic little potion should have done the trick well enough, it muttered back.

Asher gives in to the transformation of his wolf, his muscles tearing and stretching, hurting more than usual after all the stresses of the last twenty-four hours.

He descends the cliff three times faster than he would have in human form, his nose lighting up with familiar scents.

One in particular stood out to him — the exact reason he did this.

It was Beta Simon’s scent, still relatively fresh. Certainly fresh enough to follow, as long as it didn’t get masked.

Asher put his nose to the ground, his wolf senses in full force. He was locked onto the scent of Simon, walking for miles and miles along winding forest paths, a lot of unfamiliar scents coming and going along the way.

Then the scent began to grow stronger, closer, and Asher slowed down, creeping along the outskirts of the path. He could sense people up ahead, the mix of Simon’s scent with rogues.

He’d actually found them.

Asher wasn’t sure exactly how far he traveled, because wolves could cross such great distances with ease, but if he had to guess, he’d gone quite far.

He prowled along the edges of the rogue camp, which was marked with a handful of red flags at its border.

The camp was small, more of a stopping point on the way to one of their larger ones, which must be what they were doing. Transporting the prisoners, slowly but surely, to their own base.

Asher started to plan his attack, rogue by rogue, scanning the area for any sign of Simon. The hint of Julian’s scent lingered, but it seemed days old.

He would have to attack the three rogues in the first clearing, then continue on to the rest, all without being detected.

There would be seconds to react before they drew their poison arrows again, and this time, no one would be there to save him.

He was on his own.

Fool, his wolf growled, clearly disappointed in him.

I can take on a few rogues, Asher snapped, a low growl rumbling in his throat. The pads of his paws molded to the ground as his body arched in preparation to attack, his claws digging into the dirt to steady himself.

He counted to three, and then he jumped straight for the first rogues neck, tearing into the flesh of it, blood spurting out wildly.

With the taste of blood still coating his mouth, Asher leapt for the next rogue before he had a chance to react or grab for his arrows.

They were all dead in a matter of seconds, their blood smeared across Asher’s snout.

A narrow path led through the trees ahead of him, tents just barely visible through the trees. That had to be where the rest of them were.

Asher picked up on Simon’s scent again, following it up the path and pausing behind the cover of a large bush. There was no movement ahead for a long moment, until…

There.

It was Simon.

Cowered just behind the flap of the closest tent, blood caked to his face.

Almost as though Simon knew he was there, he looked in his direction, meeting his eyes even though Asher knew he could hardly see him.

Asher could easily swoop in and get Simon onto his back, leaving without a trace. But surely it couldn’t be that easy?

He scanned the area, seeing the remaining tents closed, with no other noises coming from them.

From behind him, back in the first clearing, came shouts. Asher’s head snapped towards the sound, the thud of feet growing closer.

It was now or never.

He leapt out from the cover of the bush, straight for Simon, who jumped out from the tent and straight onto his back, gripping his fur in two tufts, hanging on for dear life.

Asher barely stopped for one second, his heavy paws taking him through the trees, away from the thump of footsteps approaching the tents.

Simon sobbed softly against his back, but he didn’t stop, nor did he look back.

Instead, they ran for their lives, Asher’s legs pumping furiously through the brush and bramble of the northern forest.

We will make it back, he whispered to himself, exhaustion beginning to creep into his system.

We will make it back.