Page 26

26

SONYA

R oman’s eyes were the last thing she saw before he shifted back—coal-dark, glittering with satisfaction.

“This is your final warning,” he said, voice rasping like flint striking stone.

“There’s nothing I can do for you if you choose him, Sonya. Not when the time comes.”

His body cracked and shifted, sinew rippling as fur bloomed across his skin like ink in water.

Black as shadow, sleek and towering—his wolf form stood regal and ominous in the moonlight.

His muzzle curled into something like a smirk before he turned and padded back into the dark.

And Sonya…

Sonya stood frozen, breath caught tight in her chest like a bird too afraid to fly.

She could’ve sworn—just for a second—there’d been a whisper of sound behind the trees.

A sharp crack of twig beneath weight.

She’d whipped her head, half expecting a threat, but nothing had moved.

Just wind in the branches, she’d told herself.

Just nerves rattling like old bones.

But now, back at camp, that lie curled into acid in her gut.

The fire was cold. The blanket empty.

No trace of Landon. Not even his scent lingered long.

Her chest hollowed out.

“No,” she whispered, barely audible, the word pulled from her lips like a plea.

“No, no, no.”

She fell to her knees, palms sinking into the damp earth as if she could still feel the heat of him there.

“Landon,” she breathed.

“Dammit, Landon, where did you go?”

The woods were still.

Unforgiving.

That sound she'd heard— he had been there. Roman knew it. The smug twist of his mouth before leaving suddenly made sense. Roman hadn’t needed her answer aloud. He'd baited the moment so Landon would hear the half-truths, the twisted timing.

And Landon had run.

Of course he had.

She hadn’t said it—not out loud.

Hadn’t told Roman no.

Hadn’t shouted that she’d never hurt Landon.

That she’d never betray him.

That she— gods —she was starting to fall in love with him.

It had bloomed inside her slowly, quietly, like something wild and too precious to name.

It wasn’t as if she belonged to him, like Roman looked at her, but because she belonged with him.

The way his hands steadied her without chaining her.

The way he believed in her, even when she didn’t know if she believed in herself.

And now he was gone.

She shoved to her feet, heart pounding in her ears.

“No,” she growled, voice stronger this time.

“I’m not letting him go without telling him.”

She took off at a sprint, barefoot, dodging branches and ducking low pine boughs.

Her body moved on instinct, wolf senses sharp, tracking him the way she used to track prey with her father during the winter hunts.

But this wasn’t prey.

This was Landon.

And she was terrified she’d already lost him.

The air changed.

She felt it before she smelled them—three of them, closing in from the sides, and their scents hit her like a wall of rot and bloodlust.

Roman’s loyalists.

The same bastard breed that followed orders without question, the kind who didn’t need names because they weren’t given any.

Just fangs, claws, and blind allegiance.

She stopped cold, crouched low.

Her fingers curled, her bones shifting beneath skin, muscles tight and coiled, ready to snap.

“You should’ve stayed,” one of them called.

A female voice. Cold.

Familiar.

Lena.

Sonya didn’t wait.

She lunged .

She caught the first in the ribs, twisting midair, nails raking across skin and cloth.

Blood spattered the trees.

She hit the ground rolling, pivoted, and ducked under a swipe aimed at her throat.

The second one—a male, tall, lean, cruel—growled and came in from the right.

She kicked out, connected with his knee, and heard the satisfying crunch of something giving.

But there were too many.

She was outnumbered.

They hit her from behind before she could fully shift, slamming her face-first into the ground, her breath knocked from her lungs.

Her knee twisted under the weight.

She screamed, claws tearing, but someone yanked her head back by her hair and slammed her skull into the dirt.

“Roman said she was still valuable,” one of them panted.

“Didn’t say we couldn’t break her a little.”

“Don’t kill her,” another grunted, “but make her wish we had.”

Pain tore through her side.

A fist. Then a boot to her ribs.

She tasted blood, hot and sharp on her tongue.

Her vision swam, blurred with tears and fury.

She shifted part way finally, fur racing down her spine, teeth elongating—but the moment she tried to finish the change, they pinned her limbs.

Cowards. She would’ve called them that if her jaw hadn’t been too busy cracking back into place.

Her body sagged. She was slipping.

Her breath came shallow now, each one wet and rattling.

Landon… he couldn’t think she’d betrayed him.

He couldn’t .

Not when she had chosen him over everything.

Her pack. Her blood.

Her past.

Please, she thought, vision flickering at the edges.

Don’t let this be the end.