Chapter 3 - Into the Frozen Wilds
That very night, Lena stopped crying and started planning.
Survival became her singular focus. While the palace slept, she squirreled away chunks of dried meat and bread from her meal trays beneath the loose floorboards near her hearth. She stole a pair of heavy, dark wool trousers and a thick fur-lined cloak from the laundry baskets meant for the guards. She memorized the changing rotations of the sentries outside her window by watching the shadows shift across the stone wall.
Three nights later, the new moon swallowed the stars, plunging the northern mountains into absolute, ink-black darkness.
Using a heavy iron fireplace poker, Lena forced open the rusted latch of the narrow servants' ventilation chute hidden behind her wardrobe. It was a tight, agonizing squeeze, especially with her slightly thickened waistline, but adrenaline and maternal instinct pushed her through. The metal scraped her skin, and the dust choked her lungs, but she kept crawling until she dropped out into the damp, cold corridor of the lower service levels.
From there, she slipped through the scullery doors out into the blinding, freezing fury of a northern blizzard.
The wind hit her like a wall of ice. Snow lashed at her face, instantly soaking her hair and freezing to her eyelashes. She wore only the stolen cloak, sturdy boots, and a fierce, unyielding will to live. She ran into the vast, unforgiving expanse of the northern pine forest, leaving the glittering prison of the palace behind her.
Less than an hour later, the deep, resonant sound of the palace alarm horns shattered the night air.
Ahooooooooooo!
Then came the answering howls—dozens of them, deep, feral, and closing in fast. Dominic’s personal tracking pack had picked up her scent.
Lena pushed herself past her physical limits. She ran through deep snow drifts that threatened to swallow her legs, her boots quickly filling with freezing slush and her own blood as sharp stones cut through the leather. Low-hanging pine branches whipped across her cheeks, leaving bloody trails in the moonlight, but she didn't dare stop.
Behind her, bobbing torchlight flickered between the dark silhouettes of the pine trees.
"Spread out! Find the omega!" Commander Victor’s voice bellowed through the storm, echoing off the canyon walls. "The Alpha King wants her alive, but an arm or a leg missing won't stop the ritual!"
Lena’s lungs felt like they were coated in crushed glass. Every breath burned her throat. Her muscles screamed for mercy, and the weight of her unborn child felt suddenly heavy and agonizingly vulnerable.
Just a little further, she chanted mentally, stumbling over a hidden root and crashing hard into the snow.
She forced herself back up, but her legs betrayed her. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she collapsed against the trunk of an ancient, moss-covered cedar tree. She curled inward, wrapping both arms protectively around her belly, tears freezing instantly on her cheeks.
"I'm sorry," she whispered into the dark, listening to the crunch of heavy paws drawing closer through the snow. "I tried."
The torchlight illuminated the trees just yards away. The snarls of the hunting alphas filled the air.
And then, the forest changed.
It wasn't just the wind dying down; it was a sudden, absolute shift in the atmosphere. A growl rolled through the darkness—not the high-pitched, frantic barking of domestic tracking wolves, but something infinitely deeper, older, and more resonant. It vibrated in the marrow of Lena's bones, silencing Victor’s pack instantly.
Lena lifted her head, her breath hitching.
Stepping out from between two massive snow-laden firs was a wolf of legendary proportions. His fur was pure, immaculate white, glowing faintly against the dark woods like fallen starlight. But it was his eyes that stole her breath away—they were not amber, nor gold, nor common yellow. They were silver. Liquid, piercing silver, like moonlight reflecting off a drawn broadsword.
Every fireside tale Lena’s grandmother had ever told her rushed back in a single wave.
The White Wolves.
Ancient guardians of the northern peaks. Creatures of myth, said to walk the earth only once every few generations, possessing power that even Alpha Kings feared. Some tribes worshipped them as protectors; others feared them as omens of doom.
Dominic’s hunters clearly believed the legends. The pack of trained alphas froze in their tracks, whining nervously, their tails tucked between their legs as they stared at the white beast.
The silver-eyed wolf did not charge. He didn't bare his teeth in a snarl. He simply stood majestically between Lena and her pursuers, radiating an aura of terrifying, primordial dominance.
Slowly, one by one, Victor’s wolves turned tail and bolted back toward the safety of the palace, ignoring their commander's furious shouts.
When absolute silence returned to the clearing, save for the whistling wind, the white wolf turned his massive head. He locked those piercing silver eyes on Lena. He held her gaze for a long, unblinking moment, then turned and trotted a few paces into the deeper brush.
He paused, glancing back over his shoulder.
May you like
Follow me.
Lena didn't hear a voice, yet the command echoed clearly inside her mind. Trust bloomed where terror had been. Pushing herself up from the snow, she stumbled after the glowing white form.
