"Ursik, Falla," I turn to my closest allies with urgency that makes both straighten with alert attention. "You're with me."
"Wouldn't miss it," Ursik replies with grim satisfaction that promises significant violence for whoever thought they could steal from Frostfang territory.
"Someone needs to patch you up when you get her back," Falla adds with a practical assessment that somehow makes the situation feel more manageable. "Might as well be me."
Their immediate loyalty steadies something wild in my chest, rage cooling into focused determination that will serve me betterthan blind fury. Saela needs me thinking clearly, not acting on pure emotion.
But beneath the tactical planning and resource allocation, terror claws at my throat with vicious persistence. Because I know what the Stonevein want with her, what kind of ritual purpose her blood might serve. And every minute we waste on preparation is another minute they have to get her somewhere I might never find her.
The thought of losing her—truly losing her, the way I lost Lyanna—makes something break apart in my chest. Not again. I won't survive it again, won't be able to live with myself if political obligations or clan expectations or simple bad luck tears away another person I've allowed myself to care about.
This time, I'm fighting back. This time, I'm not letting tradition or duty or anything else stop me from protecting what matters.
This time, I'm bringing her home.
16
SAELA
The world tilts back into focus through a haze of throbbing pain that radiates from the base of my skull. Cold seeps through my clothes from whatever rough surface I'm lying on, and the acrid smell of smoke mingles with something metallic that makes my stomach clench with recognition.
Blood. Old and dried, but unmistakably human.
I force my eyes open despite the way light sends spikes of agony through my head, taking in stone walls that weep moisture and crude torches that cast dancing shadows across surfaces stained dark with things I don't want to identify. This isn't like the Frostfang longhouses with their warm wood and carefully tended fires. This place feels deliberately harsh, designed to break spirits rather than shelter them.
The memory crashes back—the guard that said he was taking me to Kai. Only he led me away from the festivities and grabbed me so I couldn’t run. The way panic flooded my system as understanding hit, followed by something striking the back of my head hard enough to send me spiraling into darkness.
"Awake at last."
The voice makes ice crystallize in my veins, deep and rough with cruel satisfaction that I remember from the worst day of my life. I push myself upright despite the way movement makes nausea roll through my stomach, muscles protesting as I force my body into a defensive position against the stone wall.
The massive orc stands in the torchlight like something carved from granite and malice, broader than any Frostfang warrior but somehow less solid, as if brutality has replaced the strength that comes from protecting rather than conquering. His small dark eyes study me with calculating hunger that makes my skin crawl with the memory of watching him kill Nia.
"I was beginning to wonder if Sera hit you too hard," he continues with mock concern that doesn't reach those pitiless eyes. "Humans are so fragile. One moment you're running through the woods like rabbits, the next you're bleeding out in the snow."
The casual reference to my friend's death makes rage bloom in my chest, hot and consuming despite the terror trying to claw its way up my throat. "You bastard."
"Now, now." He steps closer with deliberate menace, each footfall echoing off stone walls that seem to press inward. "That's no way to greet an old friend. Especially not when I've gone to so much trouble to retrieve you."
"We're not friends," I spit, pressing harder against the wall as if I could somehow disappear through solid rock. "You murdered an innocent girl."
"Innocent?" His laugh carries genuine amusement that makes my stomach turn. "Nothing about your kind is innocent. Parasites feeding off a world you don't deserve, spreading like disease wherever you touch."
The words dredge up every moment of helplessness I've ever felt, every time I've watched someone I cared about suffer because humans no longer had the power to protect themselves.But beneath the fear, anger burns steady and bright—the same fury that kept me alive when our settlement was attacked, that drove me to warn others even when it meant risking my own safety.
"At least we don't sacrifice children for power we're too weak to claim on our own," I snap back, lifting my chin despite the way my hands shake against the cold stone.
Something flickers across his expression—surprise, perhaps, that I know about their magical experiments. "Clever little thing, aren't you? I wondered what you'd managed to piece together before your dramatic escape."
He moves closer still, near enough that I can smell the metallic scent clinging to his leather armor, see the dark stains that speak to recent violence. This close, the sheer bulk of him feels crushing, designed to make me feel small and helpless and completely at his mercy.
"Tell me," he says with a conversational tone that somehow makes the threat more terrifying, "what exactly did you share with your Frostfang protectors about what you witnessed?"
My throat constricts with the effort of keeping my voice steady. "I don't know what you mean."
"Of course you don't." The mocking disbelief in his voice makes heat climb my neck. "You just happened to stumble into their territory by coincidence. Just happened to get swept up in their territory through pure chance."
He leans down until his face is level with mine, close enough that I can see the network of scars crossing his thick features like a map of every violent encounter he's survived. "I know you saw what we were doing in the clearing that day. I know you understand what your blood represents to us."
