Page 19 of To Carve A Wolf

The words tasted like ash on my tongue. I reached out, slowly, almost against my will, and traced the edge of one of the runes with my fingertip. Her skin flinched under my touch, but she didn’t pull away. She just stood there. Breathing. Burning.

“Iknewsomething was wrong with you,” I whispered.“But this…”

This was war. This was blood. And now I needed answers more than I needed air. My fingers brushed the runes again, tracing the jagged symbols cut deep into her back. They pulsed with something ancient—foul and silent, like the heartbeat of a corpse that never stopped dying. The power in them wasn’t just dark. It was deliberate. Intentional.

A wolf trying to carve herself into something else. Something unrecognizable. Someone had done this to her. Someone powerful. Someone dangerous.

“Who did this to you?” I asked, voice low and taut with restrained fury. “What enemy carves chains into a wolf’s flesh and leaves them half-alive?”

I expected a name. A rival. A plot to poison us from within. I expected betrayal—treason—something I could bury my claws into and tear apart.

But when she turned to look at me, eyes aflame, I saw no fear. Only hatred. And then she said it.

“I did.”

My breath stopped.

“What?” The word left me like a curse.

She ripped free from my hold—not with strength, but with fury—and spun to face me, bound hands trembling, chest rising fast with ragged breaths.

“I did this to myself,” she spat, voice cracking like dry earth. “Because I’d rather bleed every damn month carving these things into my back than beone of you.”

I stared at her, my wolf rising, snarling, raging.

“You did this willingly?” I growled. “You carved your soul apart just to hide from what you are?”

Her voice was a whip. “Ihatewhat I am. I hate what you are. I don’t want your power. Your pack. Your rules. Your blood-drenched legacy of war and dominance—”

She moved to hit me. I caught her.

Even bound, she fought like fire. Wild. Reckless. Desperate. But desperation burns fast, and I had the patience of a predator that always gets what it wants. She twisted, teeth bared, trying to bring her knee up. I blocked it. She clawed for my face. I let her graze me. I wanted to feel it.

“You think you're free,” I snarled, gripping her wrists and twisting her body until she was pinned to the edge of the war table again. “But you’re just broken. And you did it with your own hands.”

I should have thrown her. Shoved her back into her cell and locked the door. Instead, I pulled her close. My mouth at her throat. Her pulse thundered beneath her skin, trembling against my lips.

Ibreathed her in.

And beneath the stench of runes and blood and rage, I found it.Her. Pure. Subtle. Devastating.

Not wolf. Not rogue.

The word formed in my mouth before I could stop it, a curse dragged from instinct and truth.

“Omega.”

Her whole body went rigid.

Like I’d spoken a spell that shattered the last of her control. Her breath hitched. Her knees faltered for a second. I felt the denial ripple through her. Saw it in her eyes. Felt it in the way she swallowed a sob she didn’t want to give me.

“No,” she breathed. “Don’t.”

But it was too late. I knew. She knew I knew.

And now the whole game had changed.

“Omega,” I repeated, quieter this time, like a secret I meant to ruin her with.

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