Page 21 of To Carve A Wolf

I stepped toward her, slow and deliberate. Her breath caught, just once, as I leaned in, my voice a whisper against her skin.

“I want to watch the magic unravel. See if your wolf crawlsback to the surface—or if the weight of what you’ve done finally destroys you.”

She stumbled back a half-step, genuine fear flashing in her eyes now. Not for the guards. Not for me. For what she might become.

“It could kill me,” she whispered. “You don’t understand—dark magicalwaystakes something. If the bindings break all at once, if it comes back too fast—” She swallowed hard. “It couldreallykill me.”

I studied her. The fragility in her voice. The way her chest heaved. The smallest tremor in her hands. And still, she stood tall. Still, she didn’t beg. So I leaned closer.

“If it does,” I said coldly, “then that will be your punishment.”

“For what?”

I let my eyes slide over her body, then back to the runes, those cruel scars etched in defiance.

“For what you did toyourself.”

CHAPTER 8

Andros

The fire crackled low, spitting embers like sparks of old fury. Shadows moved across the stone walls, long and jagged, like claws raking through the dark. I sat in silence, the weight of her still clinging to me, her scent—faint and buried—like a bruise in the air.

She shouldn’t have mattered. And yet I could still feel the shape of her in my arms. My goblet sat untouched. I wasn’t thirsty. I was starving—but not for wine.

For answers. For control. For her.

My wolf hadn’t stopped pacing, a restless pressure clawing beneath my ribs since I left her locked away. Not because she was beautiful. Not because she was defiant.

Because she waswrong. Broken in a way that was intentional. Carved into silence. Unnatural. The runes weren’t just blasphemy. They were a curse—a crime against our kind..

The door creaked open behind me. Garrick entered with his usual lack of ceremony. The scent of frost and stone followed him in. He stayed quiet, waiting for me to break the silence.

“Did she fight?” I asked, voice like a blade left too long in the cold.

He moved to the table, poured himself a drink before answering. “No. Not this time.”

I glanced at him.

“She looked scared,” he added.

I leaned back in the chair, the firelight dancing across my hands.

“She should be.” He smirked, but didn’t comment. He knew better than to mistake my words for mercy.“She say anything?”

Garrick shook his head. “Not a word. But… I asked here where she came from. Was not expecting an answer, but she told me.”

He crossed to the massive map on the wall, the one where every inch of this territory was marked in red and ash. He pointed low, far south—beyond any borders that mattered, beyond where most wolves dared to go.

“She came from here.” The land he tapped wasn’t even named. Dense. Untamed. Old. “She was fifteen when she left. Walked nearly two thousand miles to get here.”

I didn’t move. But the words struck something deep.Two thousand miles. Alone. Carrying those runes. My wolf stopped pacing.It lifted its head.

Listened.

“She was running from something,” I muttered, eyes fixed on the flames.

Garrick grinned, slow and amused. “Or maybe…” he said, sipping his drink, “she was runningtowardsomething.”

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