Page 73 of To Carve A Wolf

Another twist, sickening and painful—

Lexa stood frozen, soaked by the cold rain that poured relentlessly, her gaze hollow, empty, fixed on a small muddy hut. She stepped slowly inside, trembling, heart breaking with every step. The air was thick with sickness and decay. And there, lying pale and lifeless on a filthy mattress, was a woman. Beside her, a small child, shaking, terrified, wide-eyed, clutching his mother’s stiff hand. Lexa’s voice cracked as she whispered softly,

“It’s okay, little one. I’ve got you now.” But inside, her heart splintered apart, grief and terror gripping her as she lifted the child gently into her arms, feeling his tiny, cold fingers cling desperately to her, trusting her despite everything. Then came the image of days later, when the rain stopped and she returned to the hut to give Dains mother a decent grave.

The images crashed violently together, blending, swirling, folding into each other—a vortex of pain and sufferingthat overwhelmed me, dragged me beneath its dark waters, drowning me in Lexa’s agony.

I tried to scream, but I had no voice. I tried to escape, but there was no way out. And then, mercifully, everything shattered to blackness.

I reached for her blindly in the dark, fingers seeking the familiar warmth of her skin. I wanted—needed—to feel her heartbeat, steady beneath my palm. Needed the reassurance that she was safe, breathing, here beside me.

But the instant my fingertips brushed her shoulder, something felt wrong.

Cold.

She shouldn’t be cold.

“Lexa?” I whispered softly, nudging her gently. She didn't move. Didn't even stir. A hollow dread coiled deep in my gut, stealing my breath.

“Lexa,” I said again, voice sharper now, panic rising swiftly in my chest. She still didn’t answer. Her breathing was barely there—shallow, uneven. Wrong.

I sat up fast, heart hammering wildly in my chest. I pulled back the furs, desperate hands searching her skin, touching her cheek, her throat—too cold. The bond was quiet, frighteningly still. Where her wolf had once been warm and alive, there was nothing. Silence.

I turned her over carefully, hands shaking, heart sinking lower. In the dim glow of fading firelight, the last rune across her back glowed faintly, flickering with sickly, pulsing magic, the dark lines trembling dangerously. She’d warned me, told me what would happen if they all broke too fast, if she wasn’t ready. I'd dismissed it then as the delirious threats of someone drowning in dark magic and fear.

I was wrong.

Gods, I was so fucking wrong.

Panic surged, violent and immediate. All those memories—her suffering, her pain—they hadn’t come randomly through the bond. They weren't dreams. They were her fucking life, flashing before my eyes because she was slipping away.

Because she was dying.

“No,” I growled, voice ragged with terror and fury. “No, you don't get to fucking leave me. Lexa, wake up. Open your eyes!”

She didn't.

My wolf roared awake within me, clawing violently at my chest, howling with rage. I stumbled from the bed, barely aware of pulling on clothes, hands trembling so badly I could hardly manage it.

I tore open the door, voice thundering through the outpost like the wrath of every god ever worshipped. “Wake the fuck up! All of you! Now!”

Doors slammed open, startled voices rising from sleep. Garrick appeared, half-dressed, face pale with confusion and sudden fear.

“Andros, what—?”

“Lexa's... she,” I snarled, barely holding back the flood of panic burning my throat. “The runes—she warned me. Gods fucking damn it, she warned me. We have to get her back to the citadel now. Get a carriage, blankets, horses. I want every fucking healer awake by the time we arrive. Go!”

No one dared hesitate. Garrick shouted orders, men scrambled in panic-driven obedience. Chaos erupted around me, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the fading heartbeat of the woman lying motionless in my bed, fighting for her life.

I returned to her side, lifted her gently into my arms. She was limp, cold, heavy with silence. My heart hammered in sheer terror as I carried her toward the door.

“You're not leaving,” I whispered fiercely against her skin.“Not like this. Not now. I won't fucking allow it.”

I stepped out into the cold dawn, holding Lexa’s silent, failing body tight against my chest, feeling like the world was cracking beneath my feet.

And for the first time in years, I prayed to whatever gods would listen.Please, don't take her now—not when I've just found her.

The storm had finally died, dawn breaking over the snow-dusted peaks like a breath held too long finally exhaled. The sun rose slow and golden, casting long beams of light across the quiet landscape. It should have felt peaceful. But my soul was anything but.

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