The Chase

Matilda gasped, the metallic scent of blood filling her nostrils and making her stomach churn.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, every breath like fire in her lungs, sharp and painful.

Behind her, the growls of her pursuers echoed through the dark forest, a chilling reminder of the danger closing in.

Her legs burned from the relentless spring, her bare feet stinging as they struck against sharp twigs and uneven ground. The thin dress she wore clung to her damp skin, torn at the hem from running through the thick underbrush.

"Run, Matilda, run!" her mind screamed, the panic coursing through her veins like ice.

For ten long years, she had lived in fear of this moment, her uncle's warnings replaying in her head: "When the time comes, don't think. Just run. Never look back."

Uncle Jasper had prepared her for survival. He had taught her simple self-defense, how to hunt, and how to escape, but nothing...nothing...could have braced her for this.

Reality wasn't a training exercise. It was cruel and merciless.

Just a few yards behind her, Uncle Jasper's body lay crumpled on the ground, still and lifeless. His last words echoed in her mind, raw and painful.

"Run, Matilda. Never look back."

A lump formed in her throat. Tears blurred her vision, but she forced them back. She couldn't afford to break especially not now. Her breaths came in ragged gasps as she willed herself forward, her arms pumping, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.

Suddenly, she tripped over a hidden root, crashing to the ground, the impact rattling her bones. The snap of a twig under her weight felt like a gunshot in the stillness of the night.

A guttural roar split the air, sending a violent shiver through her. They were getting closer. Too close.

"Damn it, she's too fast for her age," one of the rogues muttered, frustration lacing his voice.

"Don't worry. She can't keep this up forever," another sneered, his voice dripping with malice.

Panic surged within Matilda, tightening around her throat. She clenched her jaw, her hands pressing into the dirt as she pushed herself up, her legs trembled under her weight.

Panic surged, squeezing her lungs. She darted to the side, barely dodging a low-hanging branch that still managed to scrape across her arm. The sharp sting was a cruel reminder that she was running out of time, yet a welcome distraction from her fears.

The heavy footfalls of her pursuers grew louder, the sound of snapping branches echoing in her ears.

She stumbled again, her ankle twisting painfully. A sharp jolt shot up her leg, and a whimper escaped her lips, but she pushed through the pain. She couldn't stop. She wouldn't.

A quick glance over her shoulder sent her heart racing. They were too close for comfort.

Three hulking figures loomed behind her, their faces hidden in the dark night. One of them raised a hand, revealing a wickedly curved knife that glinted ominously in the moonlight.

Her breath caught in her throat. Was this it?

Just then, a blur of movement shot past her. Two werewolves with glowing eyes tackled the lead rogue, sending him crashing to the ground. Snarls and the sound of tearing flesh filled the air.

But Matilda didn't stop to think. She kept running, her body screaming for rest, her legs trembled with exhaustion, but fear and grief drove her forward.

But before she could take another step, a strong grip clamped down on her arm.

She struggled, panic rising within her. "Let me go!" she gasped, her voice raw with terror.

But the grip was unyielding. When she looked up, her heart sank.

A group of imposing werewolves surrounded her, their eyes sharp, and assessing. One of them, a towering figure; tall and broad-shouldered, held her firmly in place.

His expression was fierce, his dark eyes flickered as he studied her. He wore a simple black shirt, the fabric stretched across his muscular frame, and dark pants tucked into heavy boots, a stark contrast to her torn, dirt-streaked clothes.

Behind them stood a massive oak tree, and beyond it, nestled in the distance, a sprawling structure stood under the moonlight sky...a pack house.

She had unknowingly crossed into another pack's territory.

"Who are you, rogue? What are you doing on our land?" the wolf holding her demanded, his voice rough and edged with suspicion.

Matilda parted her lips to answer, but the world around her began to spin. Her body, drained beyond its limit, finally gave in.

She collapsed onto the porch, her world fading to black.

"What the hell…" the wolf snarled, frustration evident in his tone.

"Stop it, Joel," another voice interjected, his sharp gaze settling on him with quiet authority. His jaw remained firm, unreadable, but the slight narrowing of his eyes warned against defiance. "If you scare her too much, we might never get an answer. Take her to the dungeon."

Joel let out a low growl but obeyed, hoisting Matilda's limp body over his shoulder.

As they disappeared into the night, the only sounds left behind were the rustling wind and the lifeless bodies of the three rogues.