Into the Wild

Lilian's POV

The trap had been meticulously planned and elegantly simple: Flush the traitors from their hiding places, expose them before their venomous strike could land again, and end their treachery once and for all. It should have worked flawlessly.

I stood on one side of the Great Hall, Cash mirroring me on the other, projecting an air of casual indifference. We pretended not to watch as the Council members filed into the room, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. But beneath the surface, every nerve ending was screaming. Tension thickened the air, a palpable pressure that vibrated against my skin, raising gooseflesh on my arms. The dagger Cash had gifted me, a masterpiece of dark steel and ancient magic, was strapped securely to my thigh, concealed beneath my worn leather breeches. I could feel its comforting weight, a subtle pulse of heat radiating against my skin, a silent promise of swift retribution.

We'd baited the trap with false information, a carefully crafted rumor about a vulnerable convoy laden with vital supplies destined for the war-torn southern borders, easy pickings for the greedy. We believed the traitor wouldn't be able to resist such a tempting prize. Their avarice would betray them, revealing their allegiance to the shadows.

Or so we'd thought.

The first explosion ripped through the West Wing, a deafening roar that shook the very foundations of Blackstone. Before the echoes could fade, a second blast tore through the Northern battlements, sending chunks of stone spiraling into the courtyard below. Raw and primal screams echoed across the fortress, a symphony of terror that chilled me to the bone.

Across the room, Cash and I locked eyes, a silent understanding passing between us. *Diversion*. It was too coordinated, too widespread to be anything else.

We moved as one, sprinting toward the main doors, desperate to reach the source of the chaos. But before we could break free of the Great Hall, armed figures clad in black cloaks poured into the room, a tide of darkness that threatened to engulf us all.

The Hollow Crown.

Here.

Now.

Too many.

*Shit.*

I drew my dagger in one fluid motion, the polished steel glinting in the flickering torchlight. Beneath my skin, my wolf howled, a primal scream of rage and defiance. We were trapped, cornered like prey in our own home.

Cash reached me just as the first blade swung for my head, aimed with deadly precision. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron, and yanked me behind him, his body a shield against the onslaught.

"We have to get out of here!" he snarled his voice a low growl that vibrated against my ear.

I didn't argue. There was no time for pride, no room for debate. Survival was the only imperative.

Together, we fought our way toward the servants' corridor – the narrow, twisting passages that snaked through the bowels of Blackstone, known only to rogues, rats, and those who preferred to remain unseen. Blood sprayed the ancient stones, painting the walls in grotesque patterns. Steel rang against steel, a discordant symphony of death. The world narrowed to a primal focus – fists, fangs, survival.

Cash's hand never left mine as we tore through the chaos, dodging enemies and ducking beneath falling debris. Blackstone was burning again, the acrid smell of smoke stinging my nostrils, the heat of the flames licking at my skin. And this time, I didn't know if it would survive. I didn't know if *we* would survive.

We burst out of a hidden postern gate and into the forest beyond, the cool night air a welcome balm against the inferno we'd left behind. The trees swallowed us whole – thick, ancient sentinels, their branches intertwined, dripping with mist and the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. We didn't stop running until the fortress was a distant blur of smoke against the horizon, a dying ember in the encroaching darkness.

Only then did Cash pull me into a dense thicket of thorny bushes, his chest heaving, his eyes wild and bloodshot. I stumbled against him, my legs trembling uncontrollably, the adrenaline crashing through my veins, leaving me weak and nauseous.

Cash caught me instinctively, one arm wrapping possessively around my waist, the other cradling the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair. For a moment, we just stood there, pressed together in the shadows, breathing each other in, desperate for the reassurance of shared survival.

Alive.

Together.

Safe – for now.

"You hurt?" he rasped, his voice raw and strained, roughened by smoke and fear.

I shook my head, unable to speak, my throat tight with emotion.

His hands roamed my body, checking for wounds with practiced efficiency – efficient, clinical. Until it wasn't. Until his touch lingered, his fingers tracing the curve of my jaw, the line of my throat. Until his fingers brushed the bare skin just above my hip, where my tunic had ridden up during our desperate flight, and my body jolted as if I'd been struck by lightning.

We froze, suspended in a moment of shared vulnerability.

The bond between us roared to life, a living thing, a primal force simmering beneath the surface for years. It was hungry, demanding, a desperate plea for connection.

Cash's hand fisted in the fabric of my shirt, his knuckles white with tension. He dragged in a harsh breath, his forehead dropping against mine, his eyes burning with an intensity that both terrified and thrilled me.

"I can smell you," he whispered, his voice wrecked with need. "Your fear, your pain… your *desire*."

"Good," I breathed back, my voice barely audible, a husky invitation.

He shuddered violently, every muscle in his body locked with restraint, a visible struggle against the forces that threatened to consume us both. His thumb brushed slow circles over my bare skin, sending shivers down my spine and igniting a fire that threatened to consume me.

I *should* have pulled away, pushed him back, and reminded him of the danger that still surrounded us and the mission that lay ahead.

Instead, I fisted my hands in the front of his shirt, anchoring myself to him and drawing strength from his presence—his presence—to us.

"Not now," he muttered, his voice thick with longing, but he didn't move. Couldn't.

"Later," I promised, my voice a husky whisper against his lips. "When this is over."

And gods help me, I meant it. Because there *would* be a later. There *had* to be.

We pulled apart reluctantly, the bond thrumming between us like a wire strung too tight, threatening to snap. Cash ran a hand through his dark hair, his jaw clenched tight, his eyes still burning with a primal hunger.

"We have to move," he said roughly, his voice strained. "They won't stop looking for us."

I nodded, forcing my legs to steady, willing my mind to focus on the task. The Hollow Crown wouldn't stop. They would hunt us relentlessly, driven by their twisted ideology and insatiable lust for power. They would tear Blackstone apart stone by stone until nothing remained but ashes and ruin.

Unless we stopped them first.

We traveled fast and quietly, moving deeper into the woods, seeking refuge in the heart of the ancient forest. The trees were older here, thicker and darker, their branches intertwined to form a canopy that blotted out the sky. It felt almost sentient, as if the forest was watching us, judging us. I could feel the old magic humming through the ground, soaking into my boots, crawling up my spine, awakening something primal within me.

Wolves were born from these woods. Not the polished, pampered wolves of royal bloodlines, bred for show and political maneuvering. The wild ones. The true ones. The ones who answered to no one but their own instincts.

*Mine.*

Cash kept close, his steps silent despite his size, his senses alert to any sign of danger. Occasionally, his hand would brush mine – not grabbing, not pulling, just a fleeting connection, a silent reassurance.

Just checking.

Making sure I was still there.

And every time it happened, something inside me clenched tight, a mixture of longing and fear, a desperate hope that this wasn't all a dream.

By nightfall, we found a hollow beneath the gnarled roots of a massive oak – hidden, defensible, dry. A place to rest, to plan, to survive.

Cash built a small fire, his hands steady despite the tension crackling between us. The flames cast dancing shadows on his face. I watched him from the shadows, exhaustion dragging at my limbs, my wounds aching, and my mind racing with possibilities and fears.

But I didn't sit. I didn't rest. Not until I was sure he was real. Not until I was sure this wasn't another nightmare I'd wake from, alone and bleeding, the echo of his voice a cruel reminder of what I'd lost.

Cash caught me staring, his eyes meeting mine across the flickering flames. He smiled – small, tired, devastating.

"Come here, little wolf," he said softly, his voice a low rumble that resonated deep within my soul.

I crossed the clearing in three steps, falling into him without hesitation, burying my face against his chest. He caught me, his arms wrapping around me, his body a fortress against the darkness.

I breathed him in – smoke, leather, pine, home.

We sat like that in the dirt, tangled together, the fire crackling low and soft between us, the silence broken only by the rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl.

For a while, there were no words. Just breathing. Just being. Just the reassurance of shared warmth and the knowledge that we were still alive.

And gods, it was enough. More than enough.

Later, when the fire had burned to embers and the stars wheeled high overhead, painting the sky with silver light, Cash tilted my chin gently, his fingers feather-light against my skin. His thumb brushed my cheekbone, slow and reverent, as if he couldn't believe I was real.

"You're my mate," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Not a question. A statement of fact. A truth that had been etched into our souls long before we were even aware of it.

A vow.

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering against my ribs, threatening to break free.

"I know."

He pressed his forehead to mine, his breath trembling against my lips, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that stole my breath away.

"I'm going to make you love me," he whispered, his voice a raw plea.

It wasn't a threat or a command. It was a prayer, a promise, a desperate hope that the bond between us was strong enough to withstand the darkness that threatened to consume us.

I closed my eyes, letting his warmth soak into my skin, letting his presence fill the void inside me.

"I already do," I whispered back, the words a fragile confession, a secret I'd guarded for so long.

And it was true. Terrifying. Impossible. Real.

Cash let out a sound, half laugh, half sob, a release of pent-up emotion that resonated deep within my soul. He kissed my forehead, my nose, and the corner of my mouth, each touch a feather-light caress, a silent promise of tenderness and devotion.

Not taking. Not demanding. Just there. Loving me the only way he knew how.

Wild. Broken. Whole.

We watched the stars burn together, their ancient light a beacon in the darkness.

And for the first time in my life, I burned with them.