Chapter Ten – The Pursuit
The forest was a blur.
Eira’s lungs burned with each gasp, bare feet tearing through the underbrush as branches clawed at her skin. The night was thick and breathless, the trees pressing close like sentinels, the ground uneven beneath her. Her hair whipped behind her in tangled ribbons, catching on twigs, stinging her cheeks. Her dress was ripped, mud clinging to her calves, blood blooming from cuts she didn’t have time to feel.
She didn’t stop.
Couldn’t.
She didn’t know what she was running from anymore—only that she had to keep going. Away from that room. Away from hands that grabbed. Away from eyes that looked through her. Away from the monstrous sound of bone cracking under fist and the fire that had stared at her from across the wreckage.
The sound of her heartbeat thundered in her ears, and she could barely tell it apart from the pounding of her feet against the earth. Her breath came in sharp, ragged pulls. Every inhale felt like glass.
Somewhere behind her, something answered.
Not with words.
A growl.
Low. Feral. Too close.
She pushed harder, lungs screaming, vision going dark at the edges. Her legs were trembling now, muscles locking, every step threatening to give way. But the instinct to survive was louder.
Until she felt it—
Not just behind her.
Around her.
The presence.
Heavy. Wild.
The air was thicker. Charged. Like the moment before a storm breaks.
She faltered, nearly falling as her foot caught on a root. She righted herself, tears stinging her eyes now—not from fear. From frustration. Exhaustion. Her body was begging her to stop.
But her body wasn’t in charge.
She crashed through a thicket and stumbled into a clearing lit by the sliver of moon above. She stopped there, just for a breath. One. Maybe two.
That’s when she heard it.
The low snap of a branch.
She spun, heart lodging in her throat—and saw nothing but black.
But she felt it.
A prickle across the back of her neck. A pulse in the air that didn’t belong to the trees or the wind.
Her wolf stirred restlessly beneath her skin.
And suddenly she knew.
He was here.
Caius.
He wasn’t chasing her. He was hunting her.
And he was close.
She turned and ran again, forcing herself back into the trees, heart screaming as loudly as her lungs. The forest blurred once more, and now every footstep behind her sounded louder, heavier.
Closer.
She could feel him.
And he wasn’t stopping.
She broke through another wall of branches—and ran straight into him.
Caius.
He stood bare-chested, steam rising from his skin, dark hair damp with sweat. His chest heaved with the effort of the shift, muscles flexing like coiled rope. He was massive. Towering. Wild. His eyes burned with the last remnants of his wolf, and there was blood on his skin—some his, some not.
But gods, he was beautiful.
Feral and ruined and breathtaking.
He wore nothing. The shift had shredded what little he'd had on, leaving him bare under the moonlight. His body was carved from something savage and divine—muscle stacked over muscle, chest slick with sweat, and his manhood thick, erect, and unapologetically hard. There was nothing shy about him. Nothing human in the way he looked at her. He wasn’t hiding his desire. He was claiming her with his eyes before he ever touched her.
He grabbed her.
Pinned her.
Her back hit a tree, bark biting into her spine. His hands were at either side of her head, his body caging hers in. He leaned in, his lips at her throat, breathing her in like salvation.
"Mine," he growled.
And then he kissed her.
Wild. Possessive. Like he could devour her in one breath and still never get enough.
She froze—then fought.
Her knee came up fast, sharp, slamming into his groin.
He stumbled back with a grunt, caught off guard.
Eira didn’t wait.
She shoved off the tree and ran.
But she only got a few feet before his hand wrapped around her wrist, yanking her back into him with the force of a tide reclaiming its own.
She kicked and screamed, pounding her fists against his chest, her breathing sharp and fast, spinning toward panic. Her eyes were wide and unseeing, her mouth open in a silent cry.
He didn't speak. He just moved.
In one swift motion, Caius hauled her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing. Her fists beat against his back, her voice rising in frantic protest, but he didn’t flinch. He stalked toward the sound of rushing water in the distance, his steps purposeful, relentless.
The river emerged from the trees in a glimmer of moonlight.
And without warning, he tossed her in.
The freezing water slammed into her like a wall. She surfaced with a gasp, sputtering, arms flailing in shock. Her breath caught in her throat as the cold hit her lungs, the panic shattering into instinct.
A second splash followed.
Caius was in the river with her, chest deep, eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight.
He moved toward her slowly, hands up, voice low.
“Breathe, little wolf,” he said. “I need you to breathe.”
She backed away, trembling.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmured, catching her gently. “I’m your mate. And you’re mine.”
Eira stared at him, water streaming down her face, hair clinging to her cheeks. Her eyes were wide—not with awe, but disbelief.
She let out a shaking breath, half-laugh, half-sob. "You’re not my mate."
Caius blinked, as if the words didn’t register.
But they did.
He froze.
His wolf howled in his chest—loud, angry, confused. The bond sang so loudly it made his skin itch, made his jaw clench. She was wrong. She had to be.
"I felt you," he said, voice hoarse, wild. "I’ve never been more certain of anything."
She opened her mouth to argue, to push him away again, but he surged forward, cupping her face and crushing his mouth to hers.
The kiss was different this time—no less intense, but aching, desperate. His soul reaching for something that refused to reach back.
And when their lips met, something stirred deep inside her.
Something ancient.
Something lupine.
Her wolf shivered to the surface like it had been asleep all this time.
And it opened its eyes.