“W–we should leave…” one of the Halflings muttered, fear creeping into the woman’s voice.

“What about Brienna?!” The second one shot back, her tone sharpened with panic. Her eyes darted toward the trees where their companion had vanished, dragged into the dark. “We can’t just abandon her.”

Ruelle remained where she was in shock. She had seen it too close. The wolf’s fangs had sunk deep into the Halfling’s leg, blood spilling under the weak light before she was torn away into the treeline. Her shrieks had already gone silent.

Even Alanna’s face had turned pale. She hadn’t expected the enormous and feral beast, prowling in Sexton’s shadowed woods.

“I don’t want to get bitten by that thing! What do you think, Al—” one Halfling’s words were interrupted at the sound of paws thudded against wet earth, fast and closing the distance.

Without a word, Alanna bolted first. She didn’t so much as glance at her underlings, abandoning them to the dark as if they were nothing more than scraps of bait.

The adrenaline in Ruelle’s veins rushed. She forced her body to stand, her limbs trembling with the ache of torn muscle and the sting of fresh wounds. The raindrops streaked across her cheeks as she started to run.

“AHHHH!!!” another Halfling screamed, who got bit by the wolf. The other Halfling scrambled quicker, such that Ruelle, Alanna and the Halfling scattered in three different directions.

Ruelle ran through the forest, not knowing where exactly she was headed. The raised roots on the ground felt nothing less than traps beneath her feet. Her arm throbbed where the Halfling’s claw had cut her, blood soaking her sleeve.

Don’t stop. Don’t stop.

She was sure that the soles of her shoes were going to tear for good today!

As the rain fell, she blinked furiously, straining to see, but the forest was a maze. For one dizzying moment she thought she was alone—until the growl ripped through the dark again, closer this time.

Her legs wobbled, her body threatening to fold, but she pushed harder.

Should she climb the tree? Ruelle asked herself, not knowing if wolves knew how to climb one. Had the others escaped already? Was she the only one still trapped in this nightmare?

“So this is what they mean—out of the pan, into the fire?” Ruelle’s breath came ragged, and her footsteps slowed down when she couldn’t find the edge of the forest.

The rain finally stopped, leaving the forest quiet except for the drops of water dripping from the branches. Water dripped from Ruelle’s lashes, strands of hair plastered to her face, her clothes clinging heavy against her skin. Each step sank into the mushy ground, her shoes squelching as if announcing her presence to whatever still prowled in the dark.

Ruelle wanted to get back to her room. Back to light, to walls, to anything but this endless nightmare of trees.

But suddenly a sharp snap was heard not too far behind her and she froze.

Slowly, she turned, and her eyes met with a pair of golden eyes emerging from the bushes. They were bright and unblinking, pinning her in place like nails.

Blood drained from her face, turning her paler than she already was.

Ruelle and the wolf stared at one another. She held her breath, as if even the smallest exhale might break the fragile distance.

Maybe if she made it believe she was a tree or a statue, the wolf would let her go, she thought to herself. But the wolf didn’t seem to look away.

Squelch! Her heel slipped back on the wet ground. The sound was small, but it shattered everything.

The next moment, the beast lunged.

It came at her with the raw violence of thunder, paws hammering against the ground, its snarl tearing through the silence. Ruelle’s arms jerked up on instinct, useless against the brute force that slammed into her. The impact had her down on the wet floor of the forest.

Ruelle felt her head ring at the collision and her vision turned blurry for a second. And then she felt it.

The weight of the wolf and its paws pressing against her. Its growl vibrated through her bones, low at first. Her hand twitched sideways, fingers brushing something jagged and wet—a stone. The wolf’s snarl deepened instantly, fangs gleaming inches away from her face. The sound rattled her so much that she let go of the stone. Her chest heaved against the weight of the wolf, lungs dragging in shuddering gasps.

The wolf drew closer, and she squeezed her eyes shut, as though the darkness could shield her from the pain that was about to come. Its muzzle dragged along her cheek, wet fur brushing her skin.

Ruelle’s heart slammed against her ribs so violently she thought it might burst.

This was how she was going to die, her mind whispered.

Seconds passed, but Ruelle didn’t feel any pain, nor did the weight on her chest lift. The wolf was still there. Heavy, looming, its hot breath rolling over her skin.

Ruelle’s lashes quivered as she slowly opened her eyes.

She expected to see the wolf’s jaws, ready to rip into her throat. Instead, a quiet whimper brushed past her ear. The sound was so out of place that it barely seemed real.

The wolf’s golden gaze wasn’t fixed on her throat anymore. The next second, its tongue swept across her cheek, coarse and warm. She flinched, but the wolf only shifted lower, sitting on her with its front paws on her chest, watching her.

Huh? Ruelle’s fear quickly turned into confusion.

Ruelle pretended to be a stone. She didn’t dare to move. She hoped the wolf would grow bored and would leave her alone. But the question was for how long she was supposed to stay in this position.

She had started counting the seconds to calm herself—one, two, three, steady—but somewhere after sixty her numbers blurred. Had it been five minutes? Ten?

And still the wolf sat on her.

Maybe it wasn’t hungry right now. Maybe it was saving her for later when it would grow hungry again?

Maybe if the ground hadn’t been so wet, if its fur weren’t dripping cold against her skin, she would have drifted off in the forest’s silence. Her body begged for it.

She flinched when a throb of pain shot up her arm. That small movement broke something. The wolf stirred and rose, stepping on the ground. The sudden absence of its weight was so startling that Ruelle sucked in a ragged gasp—air flooding her chest, her ribs free for the first time in what felt like hours.

Then came a rustle from the bushes. The wolf’s head whipped around, a guttural growl rumbling deep in its chest.

Ruelle sat up, just in time to see a rabbit dart out from the shadows. The tiny creature bolted across the clearing, vanishing into the wet black woods as quickly as it had appeared.

Her breathing had barely steadied when the wolf looked back. Not toward the rabbit. Toward her.

It padded closer before lowering its head near her hand. Ruelle turned nothing less than a statue. She carefully tried to pull her hand back, only for the wolf to nudge it, pressing her trembling fingers against its head. She couldn’t help the words that slipped out of her lips,

“…you want me to pat you?”

In response, a small howl rose from the wolf’s throat. Ruelle’s hand moved on its own, scratching lightly between its damp ears. To her disbelief, the wolf’s eyes slipped shut, lashes lowered as though in quiet delight.

“Am I going crazy, or are you…?” She whispered, staring at the creature that had hunted her. “Weren’t you planning to kill me earlier?”

But the wolf wasn’t listening. It had gone still with its nose lifted toward the dripping branches as it enjoyed the scratches.

Once the wolf had its fill, Ruelle pulled her hand back to her side and said, “I should go back now.”

The only problem was that she didn’t know which direction to take. Her eyes lifted to the moon, faint and silver through the tangle of branches. She picked a direction at random, hoping it would lead her out of the forest.

When she began to walk, she couldn’t take the third step, as something tugged on her dress. The wolf’s muzzle was buried in the fabric, teeth clenched just enough to tug but not tear.

“You want me to stay?” Ruelle asked, her voice fragile.

For a fleeting moment, the wolf’s ears straightened, as though it considered the idea. Then came a low rumble deep in its chest. Its golden eyes held hers before it looked in the opposite direction of her steps.

Moonlight caught on its silver-black fur as it circled behind her. A nudge at her back, the press of its cold, damp muzzle, left no room for argument.

At least one of them knew the way.

“Alright… I’ll follow you,” Ruelle murmured. The wolf’s posture turned relaxed.

As she followed it, she couldn’t help but wonder what it did to the Halflings it had dragged with it. Each time her pace faltered, the wolf stopped, turning back to wait for her.

She was only glad that the wolf hadn’t turned her into its dinner. At the thought of food, her stomach growled loudly. She placed her hand on her stomach and grumbled softly,

“Damn those vampiresses for not letting me have a decent meal. Now there won’t be any food.”

The wolf’s ears twitched, and the next second, it howled loudly as if they were sharing the same grievance. The sound was so fierce that Ruelle jumped, clutching at her chest. Birds burst from the trees, scattering. Whatever smaller creatures had lingered nearby fled.

Before she could think what just happened, the wolf darted off into the darkness.

“Wait! You—where are you going?!” Ruelle asked, staring at the darkness. Was she supposed to walk straight? She stood there contemplating for a minute, when the wolf reemerged, padding toward her. In its mouth hung the limp body of a rabbit, still warm from the hunt.

Ruelle’s eyes widened. “You brought that for me?”

The wolf dropped the rabbit at her feet, its tail giving the smallest, proudest wag. Its chest rumbled with something very close to satisfaction.

Ruelle just stood there, staring at the offering. She pointed at herself, then at the rabbit. Her voice cracked, “You—you want me to eat that?”

The wolf gave a short, pleased huff and nosed the rabbit closer to her shoe.

Her face drained the little amount of blood that was there after all the earlier running. The wolf had got it because she said she was hungry… She couldn’t help but be surprised by its behaviour.

The wolf sat, ears flicking, gaze steady. As though waiting for her to take it.

“That is… very kind of you. Thank you. But I think you should eat it. Really,” Ruelle spoke to the wolf. “I am fine. In fact,” she cleared her throat, “As a thank you, this is yours,” she offered the dead animal back to it.

The wolf had just begun to nose back toward the limp rabbit when a voice cut through.

“What are you doing?”

Startled, Ruelle turned her head and her eyes fell on Lucian. Unlike her, he wasn’t drenched. His clothes were dry, his dark hair untouched, as though the storm had never dared to touch him.

Ruelle opened her mouth—ready to explain about what happened, but then she realised Lucian wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were locked on the wolf. The wolf’s ears flattened as if chastised.

“You know the wolf?” she asked in surprise. “Is he yours?”

Lucian’s gaze shifted to her, his dark red eyes noticing her wet hair, her clothes clinging to her frame, and a faint scent of her blood. His eyes subtly narrowed in silence.

Ruelle could feel him judging her already. Silently weighing what reckless mess she had landed in this time. She shifted on her feet.

“He was left in my care as the original owner wasn’t in a position to keep him. So in a way, yes. He is–” Lucian’s voice was low, as his eyes fell on her arm “–mine.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep