But the look in Ash’s eyes when she told me to run was like a punch to the gut, sharp and brutal. Ash is the strongest person I know—fierce, unyielding, always ready for a fight. If she didn’t think we stood a chance . . .
The thought twists in my chest, threatening to paralyze me with doubt, but I can’t afford to let it take hold. Not now. Not when Ash is lying broken in that clearing. My teeth grind as I shove the feeling down. Therewill be time to dwell on it later, but right now, I need to focus. She needs me.
I weave between the trees, my paws thudding softly against the forest floor. Every instinct in me screams to go back, to stay by her side, to protect her from whatever is out there, but that’s not what she asked. She needs blood—life force—and I have to find it for her.
I slow my pace, forcing myself to be quiet, my senses flaring as I tune in to the sounds of the forest around me. The wind rustles through the trees, the scent of damp earth fills my nostrils, and everything feels eerily still. The creatures in these woods are good at hiding—too good.
Come on, focus.
I push aside my frustration and let my instincts take over, feeling that oppressive magic weigh down on me, the one that wants me to completely surrender to my animal.
A faint rustle catches my attention, barely audible over the wind. My ears perk, and I snap my head toward the sound. Something is there. I crouch low, stalking closer, my paws silent as I glide over the rough terrain. A scent reaches me just before I spot the source—nestled in the underbrush, a large rabbit scratches at the dirt. Its muddy-brown coat blends in seamlessly with the earth around it.
Perfect.
The rabbit is unaware of my approach, its small movements careless. I creep forward, every muscle coiled, waiting for the right moment. When I’m close enough, I pounce, my jaws closing around it in one swift motion. The rabbit struggles, kicking wildly, but I hold firm, careful not to crush it. I need it alive.
Clamping the rabbit in my jaws, I turn and race back toward the clearing, my heart pounding. Every second away from her feels like a risk. The rabbit continues to kick, doing its best to escape, but I tighten my grip, a low growl rumbling in my chest as I run faster.
Themoment I step into the clearing, Ash’s onyx eyes snap open. Her gaze is sharp, alert, and focused directly on me—or rather, the rabbit clamped between my teeth. The shadows around her seem to swirl sluggishly, mirroring the depleted energy in her body.
The rabbit goes completely still in my mouth, as if sensing its fate.
“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice hoarse and barely above a breath. She reaches forward, her fingers brushing against me as I lower the rabbit to her. I release my grip, letting the frightened animal fall into her grasp, and with more effort than should be required, I shift back to my human form.
I stand there, watching her. The rabbit lies stiff now, as though it’s resigned itself to what’s coming. Ash’s fingers hover over its fur, hesitation flickering in her dark eyes. There’s a heaviness in the air, thick with the unspoken weight of what she has to do.
But she doesn’t move.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, crouching down next to her. I can see the internal struggle playing out on her face, the way her lips press together and her brows furrow.
“Can you . . . can you turn around?” she finally asks.
I frown, confusion creeping into my expression. “Why?”
She swallows hard, avoiding my gaze. “I don’t want you to see this.”
I blink, taken aback by the request. After everything we’ve been through, this is what she’s worried about? I’m not naïve to her needs. I know what she is, what she has to do.
Reluctantly, I nod and turn my back to her, giving her the space she’s asking for. The rustle of her movements is soft behind me, almost imperceptible. I try not to focus on the sounds as she feeds, or the rise of dark magic that fills the air, prickling at my skin.
Instead, I let my mind drift, keeping my senses alert for any sign of danger.
Ashwhispers “I’m sorry” behind me, almost too low to catch. I don’t think she’s talking to me.
A few more moments pass in silence, and I hear her take a deep, steadying breath. When she speaks again, her voice is stronger. “You can turn around now.”
I do, and she’s sitting there, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. Her eyes, still dark as night, gleam with a small measure of renewed strength. The rabbit lies lifeless at her feet, its body unnaturally still, drained completely.
“I had to,” she says softly, her voice defensive yet tinged with sadness, like she’s trying to justify the necessity to herself as much as to me.
“I know,” I reply, stepping closer. “You did what you had to do, Ash. I’m just glad you’re okay.”
She shakes her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m not okay, but I’m alive. That’s something.”
I reach out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face, and her shoulders sag slightly, as if the weight of everything she’s carrying has finally gotten too heavy. We both know this fight is far from over, and that thought gnaws at the back of my mind. But for now, the most important thing is keeping her on her feet.
“Let me look at your injuries.”
