Chapter 4: The Hunt in the Storm

The forest erupted into chaos.

Rain poured from the sky while Lyra raced between ancient trees, her lungs burning with exhaustion.

Behind her, the hunters continued their pursuit.

"Don't lose her!" one shouted.

"The heir belongs to Lord Varrick!"

The name meant nothing to Lyra.

But the hatred in their voices terrified her.

Branches whipped across her face.

Mud slipped beneath her boots.

Still she refused to stop.

Because stopping meant capture.

And capture likely meant death.

Lightning flashed overhead.

For a brief moment the forest became bright as daylight.

Lyra spotted a steep slope ahead.

She tried to change direction.

Too late.

Her foot struck a hidden root.

"Ahh!"

The ground vanished beneath her.

She tumbled down the hillside.

Rocks slammed against her body.

Pain exploded through her shoulder.

Finally she crashed into a fallen tree at the bottom.

Everything went still.

For several seconds she couldn't breathe.

"Get up..."

She forced herself upright.

Blood trickled from a cut above her eyebrow.

Her shoulder throbbed painfully.

But she was alive.

"There!"

One of the hunters appeared at the top of the slope.

Lyra's heart dropped.

"Found her!"

More figures emerged behind him.

There was no time.

Ignoring the pain, she ran again.

The forest gradually became darker.

Older.

The trees seemed enormous.

Twisted roots covered the ground like giant serpents.

Something about this place felt ancient.

Almost sacred.

Suddenly the glowing symbol returned.

The silver crescent moon appeared on her wrist.

Brighter than before.

"What are you?"

The symbol pulsed once.

Then again.

As if guiding her somewhere.

Without understanding why, Lyra followed it.

Minutes later she reached a hidden clearing.

At its center stood a stone altar covered in moss.

Ancient symbols decorated every surface.

The moment she stepped closer, the crescent mark blazed with silver light.

The entire clearing responded.

Glowing runes awakened across the stones.

A powerful wind swept through the trees.

"Impossible," Lyra whispered.

Then she heard the hunters approaching.

"She's here!"

"Surround the clearing!"

The men emerged from the darkness carrying silver blades.

There were six of them.

Lyra slowly backed away.

"Who are you people?"

A tall man stepped forward.

"We serve Lord Varrick Ashbourne."

"Ashbourne?"

"The rightful ruler."

"I don't know any Ashbourne."

"You carry his blood."

The hunter smiled coldly.

"And that makes you valuable."

Fear tightened around her heart.

"Stay back."

"You have no choice."

The men advanced.

Lyra's back hit the stone altar.

There was nowhere left to run.

"Please..."

"Take her alive."

The lead hunter reached for her arm.

The moment his hand touched her skin, everything changed.

The crescent mark exploded with light.

A shockwave burst from the altar.

The hunter flew backward.

"What the hell?"

The ground shook violently.

Silver energy erupted from ancient runes.

Trees bent beneath the force.

The hunters stumbled in confusion.

"Stop her!"

"Kill her if necessary!"

For the first time, genuine panic appeared on their faces.

Far away, Ronan Blackthorn suddenly felt the bond flare.

His wolf roared inside his mind.

"She's close," he growled.

"How close?" Marcus asked.

"Very."

Without slowing down, Ronan shifted.

Bones cracked.

Muscles expanded.

Moments later a massive black wolf exploded across the road.

Marcus cursed.

"That's my cue."

He shifted as well.

Together they disappeared into the storm.

Back in the clearing, chaos continued.

Silver light spiraled around Lyra.

She couldn't control it.

Couldn't understand it.

"Make it stop!"

The altar ignored her.

Ancient power continued flowing through the clearing.

"She's awakening!" one hunter shouted.

"Lord Varrick warned us!"

"Kill her now!"

A silver arrow flew toward Lyra.

Before it could strike, something crashed through the forest.

A giant black wolf.

The creature moved faster than sight itself.

One hunter barely had time to scream.

The wolf slammed into him.

The man flew several feet before hitting a tree.

"Werewolf!"

"Run!"

Panic spread instantly.

Another wolf burst from the darkness.

Then another.

Blackthorn warriors.

The hunters suddenly found themselves outnumbered.

The battle lasted less than a minute.

Steel clashed.

Men shouted.

Rain continued pouring.

Then silence returned.

The surviving hunters fled into the forest.

Lyra stood frozen beside the altar.

The largest wolf slowly approached her.

His golden eyes locked onto hers.

Recognition struck immediately.

"Ronan..."

The wolf shifted.

Moments later the Alpha King stood before her.

Rain soaked his dark hair.

His breathing remained heavy from the fight.

For several seconds neither spoke.

This wasn't how he imagined seeing her again.

"Lyra."

Just hearing her name on his lips hurt.

"Why are you here?" she asked quietly.

Ronan's chest tightened.

"I came to find you."

"You found me."

"Yes."

"Then what?"

The question carried more pain than anger.

And somehow that made it worse.

"I need to explain."

"Explain what?"

"What you heard."

Her eyes immediately hardened.

"I heard enough."

"No."

"You said you would never choose someone like me."

Every word felt like a knife.

"Lyra—"

"You don't have to pretend now."

"I'm not pretending."

"Really?"

Tears filled her eyes.

"Because it sounded pretty clear that night."

Ronan looked away briefly.

For the first time in years, he didn't know what to say.

Because she was right.

Those words had come from his mouth.

"I was wrong."

"Too late."

"Maybe."

"Definitely."

Silence followed.

Rain continued falling around them.

Marcus and the other warriors wisely remained distant.

"You hurt me," Lyra said softly.

"I know."

"You made me feel stupid."

"I know."

"And now suddenly you're chasing me across Scotland?"

"Because I learned the truth."

Lyra frowned.

"What truth?"

Ronan hesitated.

Then finally said the words.

"You're my mate."

The world seemed to stop.

"What?"

"My fated mate."

"No."

"It's true."

"This is some kind of joke."

"I wish it were that simple."

Lyra stepped backward.

Everything felt unreal.

The hunters.

The altar.

The glowing mark.

Now this.

"You're lying."

"I'm not."

"Then why didn't you know before?"

"The bond was dormant."

"Convenient."

Ronan couldn't argue with that.

Because if their positions were reversed, he wouldn't believe it either.

Before either could continue, a deep voice echoed through the clearing.

"How touching."

Everyone turned instantly.

A cloaked figure stood at the edge of the forest.

Several armed warriors surrounded him.

The stranger slowly removed his hood.

Silver eyes.

Dark hair.

A cruel smile.

"At last," he said.

"The final Ashbourne heir."

Lyra's blood ran cold.

Because somehow she knew this man.

Not personally.

But through stories.

Through secrets.

Through the bloodline itself.

Lord Varrick Ashbourne had finally arrived.