Chapter 2 - Into the Wolfswood
The iron bars bit into Giselle’s skin as the wagon lurched violently over the rocky mountain pass. For three days, she endured the biting frost and the mocking jeers of Lord Sterling’s mercenary guards, who poked at her cage with long pikes whenever she dared to shift her cramped limbs.
"Careful with the merchandise," one guard grunted, tossing a crust of moldy bread onto the filthy floor of the cage. "The Lord wants her pristine when we reach the eastern slave markets. She’ll fetch a fortune from the foreign princes."
Giselle ignored the bread. Her crimson eyes stared blankly out into the swirling grey fog of the northern frontier. They were entering the Wolfswood—ancient, towering pines that seemed to claw at the bruised twilight sky. Humans whispered that the forest was cursed, a forbidden wasteland ruled by savage Lycans who ripped trespassers limb from limb. To Giselle, the monsters in the woods felt far safer than the monsters who had birthed her.
As midnight approached, the wind died down entirely. An unnatural, suffocating silence fell over the caravan.
The horses pulling the wagon suddenly shrieked, rearing onto their hind legs with bulging eyes. The guards cursed, scrambling for their swords as the trees around them rustled violently.
"Ambush!" someone screamed.
From the dense shadows of the pines, massive shapes emerged. They were not wolves of ordinary size; they stood taller than horses, their fur shimmering like moonlight on frost, their eyes glowing with a feral, intelligent fury. Before the mercenaries could even draw their blades, the beasts descended.
Chaos erupted in a symphony of tearing flesh, terrified screams, and heavy thuds. Lord Sterling scrambled from his riding carriage, screaming in blind terror as a massive silver-grey wolf blocked his path. Sterling tripped over his own expensive furs, scrambling backward into the mud.
Inside her cage, Giselle pressed herself against the back bars, watching the massacre with wide, unblinking eyes. She expected the beasts to turn on her next. She expected to be ripped apart in the carnage.
Instead, the enormous wolves paused. They sat back on their haunches, their ears perking forward as a deep, resonant rumble vibrated through the earth itself.
The trees parted. A silence heavier than death blanketed the clearing.
Stepping out from the deep mist was a creature so majestic and terrifying that even the lesser wolves bowed their heads instantly. He was a colossal beast with coat as white as fresh snow, scarred across his massive shoulder, radiating an aura of absolute dominance.
The White Alpha King.
Stellan Bennett.
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The beast walked slowly toward the wagon. His glowing golden eyes locked onto the iron cage. Giselle stopped breathing. The sheer pressure of his presence made the air feel heavy, thick with raw power.
Then, in a flash of shifting bone and muscle, the colossal wolf began to transform.
