She rolled off him instead, forcing her breathing to steady as she put space between them. Her back hit the forest floor, and she stared up at the fractured canopy above, trying to let the cool air cut through the heat simmering under her skin.
She might be getting more comfortable in this form, but that feral desire reminded her too much of what Thorn had made her. Of the part of her that was corrupted. Wrong.
Rell sat up beside her, brushing leaves from his shoulder. “Alright,” he said, voice casual but laced with energy, “my turn.”
She blinked at him, confused for a beat.
“Roles reversed,” he clarified, tossing her a sharp look. “Hunting’s only half the skill. If you’re going to survive, you need to learn how not to be found too.”
The thought of being hunted twisted something inside her. She was already being hunted every day.
But when she looked at Rell, he was watching her with something softer in his eyes. No pressure. Just an open challenge.
And she realized… she trusted him. Enough to try.
She nodded slowly. “Fine,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “But don’t gloat when I suck at it.”
Rell grinned. “No promises.” Then he stood, stretching with a wolfish yawn. “You’ve got five minutes to hide. Run fast. I’m good at this.”
She shot him a glare, but there was a twitch of a smile at the corner of her mouth as she turned and vanished into the woods.
∞∞∞
Rell
Rell waited. Exactly five minutes.
He counted each breath, leaned casually against a tree, arms crossed, but his eyes were closed—not to relax, but to sharpen. He was listening. For the flutter of movement, the rustle of a branch, the faintest displacement of air. Elora was fast and clever, especially in her shifted form, but she was still new to this. And he had years of practice.
He drew his dagger—not to use, but to feel the familiar weight in his hand—and began moving.
Silent.
Measured.
Each step was calculated, avoiding brittle leaves and low-hanging branches. He dropped low, using the terrain to his advantage, slipping from tree to tree, vanishing into shadow.
He found Elora’s first footprint at the edge of the stream, a faint imprint against the soft earth.Too careless, he thought with a smirk,Oh, but this will be fun.Several more prints followed, leading into the woods and angling uphill. Her trail was easy to pick up once he knew where to look, and he moved faster now, anticipation sparking in his chest.
She’d learn soon enough that he was an expert at this particular game, and he wasn’t about to go easy on her just because she was new at it or because he got a kick out of seeing her so wild, free, and determined.
His eyes scanned the path ahead, searching for the next sign of her passing, each hint of her presence making the chase all the more exhilarating. She was keeping him sharp. It was a damn good feeling. She wasn’t the only one who thrived on the thrill of pursuit; his blood was alive with it, heart thundering, his whole world narrowing to the hunt.
Then he felt it. A shift in the air. A presence.
He froze behind a boulder, crouching low, and watched.
She was close.
Rell crept forward, rounding the tree where her scent was strongest.
There—just a flash of brown fabric. Her cloak.
He smirked.
Too easy.
He stepped around the trunk, only to find—
