Page 59 of To Carve A Wolf

It wasn’t much. Barely deep enough to block the wind, but it would have to do.

I stripped the saddle, rubbed down the mare’s flanks with a threadbare cloth, whispered another round of soft lies, and then turned to the fire. My fingers barely worked, but I managed it—twigs, dry moss, the edge of a torn shirt soaked in oil. Sparks caught, flared, held. A flickering circle of warmth.

I sank down beside it, teeth chattering, cloak pulled tight around me. My skin was burning.

Too hot.

I shoved back the layers of fur and linen and stared at my arms. No marks. No wounds. But the heat pulsed beneath the skin, deep and steady like a war drum. My whole body was aching, not from the cold but from something else entirely.

Then I felt it.

The third rune.

It had been silent for days—cold and still, like a frozen brand carved between my shoulder blades. Now it flared, sharp and liquid, as if something molten had been poured beneath my skin.

“No,” I whispered. “No, not now.”

The pain twisted suddenly, violently, cutting through my spine. I collapsed forward onto my hands, breathing ragged,eyes wide and blind with agony. It was worse than the first. Worse than the second. This one didn’t just burn—it tore.

I screamed into the snow-packed earth, muffled and shaking. My nails gouged at the dirt. My body bucked once, then again. My jaw locked. It felt like something was clawing its way out of me. Not the wolf. Not entirely.

Just me—fracturing.

Sweat rolled down my temples even as frost gathered at my lashes. My heart was pounding too fast. My limbs convulsed. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t— And then itcracked.

The sound wasn’t real, but I heard it. Like shattering glass deep inside my skull.

And the silence that followed?

It was worse than the pain.

CHAPTER 19

Andros

We searched all morning. From the citadel walls to the edge of the ridge trails, through the pine-choked woods and frostbitten slopes. Half the Blood Night guard was tearing the land apart for her, and it wasn’t enough.

I barked orders until my voice was hoarse, threatened the gate commander twice, nearly ripped a stablehand’s throat out when he stuttered something about not noticing a missing horse.

By midday, I was losing my mind.

She was gone—a ghost on the wind, faster and bolder than I’d expected. And I should’ve expected it. I should’ve known she’d try something like this the second I turned my back.

I kicked over the supply crates at the last outpost we searched, fury chewing through me like acid.

Then it hit me. Like a blade driven through the back of my skull. The bond flared and shattered.

I staggered, grabbing the side of the outpost wall as the pain punched through my spine. My knees buckled. I saw her—no, felt her—screaming. Writhing. Her body convulsing with it, the sound of her voice raw and wild and real in my head. Her pain poured through the bond, white-hot and endless. She couldn’t block it this time. Not with the third rune breaking.

“Fuck,” I hissed, gasping.

Garrick was at my side in seconds, eyes wide. “Alpha?”

“She’s close.” My voice came out rough, ragged. “She’s breaking.”

The pain dulled, but it didn’t fade. Not fully. It throbbed beneath my skin like an echo of her scream. I tasted blood in my mouth and didn’t remember biting my tongue.

I grabbed a horse, didn’t wait for a saddle. Just rode.

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