Chapter One
Daciana
The night air cuts like glass. Cold, thin, merciless.
My breath forms bursts of steam as I tear through the mountain pass. The terrain tilts steeply downward—rocks slick with ice, roots jutting like claws from the earth. Behind me, shouts bounce off the cliffs, echoing from peak to peak.
They’re hunting me. No, us.
My hand presses against my stomach, against the fragile curve beneath my torn gown. The child moves—a faint flutter that shreds me open from the inside.
“I’m not dying here. You’re not dying here.” I whisper the words between ragged breaths, a prayer and a promise.
The moon is high and pitiless, its light spilling silver across the snow. Every tree seems to reach for me. Branches grab fabric, ripping seams and lace. The veil that once crowned me like a blessing now chases me like a curse.
I stumble. Catch myself. Keep going.
Somewhere behind me, steel strikes stone. Laughter follows—low, cruel, confident. They think I’ll fall soon. Maybe I will.The cold is already biting into my feet, numbing my toes to nothing. The air smells of pine, snow, and blood.
My blood. Always mine.
The forest blurs around me. Branches whip my face and tear at the veil tangled in my hair. The white silk clings heavy and wet to my legs—no, not white anymore. It’s red. Soaked through. I can taste iron in the air, in my mouth, on my tongue.
“Run. Just keep running.”
The command hammers in time with my pulse. The earth shifts beneath me, loose rock tumbling down the slope. I lunge forward, arms flailing, trying to stay upright, but my dress catches on a root. I hit the ground hard—knees first, palms scraping across frozen dirt. Pain shoots up my legs. My shoulder slams into stone.
For a heartbeat, I can’t move. My body screams at me to stop, but instinct won’t let me. I push up onto my hands before clutching my stomach protectively. “Shh, little one,” I rasp, barely able to breathe. “Mama’s got you. I’ve got you.”
A hiss slices through the air. Then—impact.
An arrow buries itself in my shoulder. The force spins me around, and I collapse onto my side, a cry ripping from my throat. The cold seeps in instantly, numbing the fire that spreads from the wound.
Footsteps crunch closer.
“No,” I whisper. “Not yet. Not here.”
I drag myself forward, fingers clawing the ground. Snow mixes with my blood, a trail too easy to follow. My vision swims, but I keep crawling—over roots, over rock, through pain that makes my breath come in shallow gasps.
“Stay with me,” I whisper to the child. “Please.”
The trees thin. The moonlight grows brighter, silvering the clearing ahead. I pull myself into it, collapsing against the base of a giant pine. My body shakes so violently that my teethchatter. The air feels charged, alive—like something ancient is watching.
I tilt my head back and scream. No words, just sound. Raw, wild, desperate.
Then, a howl erupts from my chest and climbs into the night air, echoing through the mountains. It’s not remotely human. It’s older, deeper, filled with a plea even I don’t understand.
The forest answers.
Eyes ignite between the trees—amber, gold, silver. Shapes materialize from the shadows. Wolves. Huge, silent, their breath fogging in the frigid air.
I press my good hand over my belly. “Please,” I whisper. “Protect us. Please.”
One wolf moves closer, fur black as the night itself. It sniffs my blood, my stomach, then looks straight into my eyes. There’s something eternal in that gaze—recognition, pity, promise.
And then, without a sound, it turns and heads into the trees. The others follow.
The forest explodes in chaos behind me—snarls, screams, the crack of bones. I don’t look. I start to crawl again, every inch a battle against the dark closing in.
