Karmella's P.O.V
The cold hit me like a punch to the lungs. Winter was in full effect and the temperature was dropping by the seconds.
Branches tore at my arms. Mud slicked my boots. My vision strained in the darkness. My legs burned with every step, but I didn't stop. I couldn't.
Dean's satchel bounced against my hip, filled with stolen rations, a few flask filled with water, a thin cloak, and a rusted knife I barely knew how to use. Not much, but enough to survive the first few days. Maybe.
If I lasted that long.
I didn't know where I was going. I didn't know whose territory was whose. Where was safe. Only thing that I understood was that I couldn't go back.
Every time I blinked, I saw the fire behind me. Heard the screams. Saw the blood dripping down the walls. The clash of teeth and claws. I didn't know if Dean made it out. I didn't let myself think about it. Because if I did, I'd freeze—and freezing certainly meant dying.
And if my father found me before the rogues did... death would be mercy I would pray for.
A root caught my ankle and I went down hard. My palms scraped raw against the jagged rocks that were partially buried in the ground. I bit down on a cry, tasting blood where my teeth split my lip.
Get up, I told myself.
But the ground was so cold. And I was so tired, having pushed my body beyond its abilities.
My wolf should've come by now. I should've felt her rage. Her strength. Her whisper. Something. Anything.
Instead, I felt hollow. Like a shell made of skin and pain and shame.
I curled my fingers into the dirt. Dripping blood causing it to cake against my hands.
"Moon Goddess," I whispered to the dark, "if you're real—if you ever looked at me—I'm not asking for power. Or vengeance. I just want to live long enough to find out how the world really is, just to soak in the light of the sun and the glow of a full moon. Just a simple taste of freedom"
The wind rustled in answer. Empty.
No light broke through the trees. No warmth stirred in my bones. No magic appeared in front of me.
But I pushed myself up anyway. Shaky. Bleeding. Alive.
For now.
The forest turned colder as the night deepened, and every gust of wind felt like a knife peeling my skin from the bone.
My hands were numb. My legs barely obeyed. I'd lost count of how long I'd been running—how many hours or miles stretched between me and the Shadow pack's land. But I did feel it—the moment I broke free from their lands. My boots were soaked, my breath fogged the air, and my ribs ached where Father's last blow had cracked them just a day ago.
If I didn't find shelter soon, I was going to die out here.
The thought wasn't dramatic—it was quiet. Heavy. Real.
I stumbled against a tree trunk, sagging to my knees. The shadows twisted around me, cold fingers reaching from every corner of the woods. Wolves lived out here—real ones. Packless ones. Not every rogue was human anymore.
I forced myself upright again.
One step. Another. I didn't let myself think.
Then I heard it.
A distant howl.
Then another.
Far at first. Then closer.
Not a call. Not a mournful cry. A hunt.
Organized. Not rogues—pack wolves.
My father's wolves.
They had noticed I was missing.
They'd found my scent.
Panic lit a fuse in my chest. I pushed my body harder, pain forgotten in the blur of instinct. Trees whipped past me. My breath came in short, broken gasps. My blood left a breadcrumb trail with every torn branch and muddy footprint.
They were gaining.
I staggered through the darkness, dragging myself forward until the trees opened into a sharp, dimly moonlit slope.
Another howl—this one closer than the last.
I wasn't going to make it.
I threw myself down the slope, feet skidding, vision blurry with cold and fear. I didn't think. Couldn't.
That's when I heard it—the rushing.
Water.
At the bottom of the hill, cutting through the forest like a dark scar, was a wide river. Thick with winter runoff. Ice crusted the edges and shattered into jagged chunks with each surge.
A death trap.
I didn't hesitate.
If they caught me, death would be slower.
I ran straight into the water.
The last thing I heard before hitting the water was the sound of paws slowing… stopping…
Not because they'd turned back.
But because I had crossed into another territory.
And whatever power ruled here—they didn't dare follow.
The cold hit like lightning—every nerve screamed. My breath vanished. My limbs locked as the current dragged me under. I fought, but my strength was nearly gone. My arms felt like stone. My lungs begged for air.
No... no, not like this...
The river threw me into a jagged rock, then pulled me under again. My world spun. Darkness closed in—
And then, somehow, I surfaced.
Coughing. Gasping. Half-sobbing.
I clawed at the bank, fingers finding jagged ice chunks, mud and roots in complete desperation. My nails tore as I pulled myself up inch by inch. My body shook so violently I couldn't tell if I was breathing or breaking.
But I was alive.
Barely.
I dragged myself forward, half-crawling, half-blind.
That's when I saw it.
The willow tree.
It stood alone on a rise beyond the river, glowing faintly in the moonlight. Its long silver branches hung like curtains, swaying gently despite the still air. Something about it felt safe. Sacred.
I didn't question it. I moved toward it like a drowning girl toward the shore.
And as I passed beneath its sweeping arms, the world shifted.
The air warmed. The howls behind me stopped.
I collapsed at the base of the tree, my wet clothes freezing against my skin. My breath rasped. My body trembled. My vision tunneled.
And then silence.
But for the first time in my life…
I felt something like peace.
Then everything went black.