Page 5 of The Moonborn's Curse

"This was a stupid plan!" Veyr hissed, his breath ragged.

"Not now, Veyr!" Hagan snapped.

"WHEN?" Dain shot back, panic threading his shaking voice. "WHEN HE'S RIPPING OUT OUR THROATS?"

Hagan risked a glance back.

Too close.

The Forsaken was too close.

Panic curled, sharp and icy, in his gut. They had always been stronger, always been faster—but this wasn't a game anymore.

"Shit," Dain cursed, glancing back. "He's gaining—Hagan, what do we do?"

Hagan's mind raced, but there was no way out. Help was too far. The enforcers wouldn't make it in time.

For the first time in his life, cold fear gripped his throat.

Then—a snarl. A flash of movement.

Something slammed into the Forsaken male, claws ripping, tearing. The impact was brutal, sending their pursuer crashing into the earth with a howl of rage.

The Forsaken snarled, stumbling back, but the enforcer was already towering over him, a deadly growl curling from his throat. The Forsaken knew when he was outmatched. His yellowed teeth bared, but he backed away, slipping into the shadows, disappearing like a ghost into the night.

For a heartbeat, all was still.

Then—thunder.

A new storm of rage and fury came barrelling toward them, faster than the wind, stronger than a crashing wave.

Hagan barely had time to flinch before a massive hand clamped down on his shoulder, yanking him around like a pup caught where he shouldn't be.

"What in the name of the Highclaw were you thinking?!"

The voice was thick with fury, deep and biting like a winter wind.

Uncle Garrik.

One of the Highclaw's fiercest enforcers.

And right now, he looked like he was deciding whether to shake them or skin them alive.

Hagan instinctively shrank back, ears flattening in his half-shifted form. Dain and Veyr weren't much better—both stiff, tails tucked low in submission.

"You little fools!" Garrik snarled, his sharp, icy blue eyes sweeping over them, taking in their dirt-streaked clothes, their heaving chests. "You could have been slaughtered! Do you have any idea—any idea—how this could have ended?!"

No one answered.

Garrik exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring, trying to rein in his fury.

"Forsaken do not play," he growled. "They do not challenge—they kill. They would have skinned you, left your corpses at the border as a warning." His eyes darkened, his voice dropping lower. "Do you think your fathers will like it when they hear of this?"

Dain winced. "Do they... have to hear about it?"

Garrik's gaze snapped to him.

Dain shut up immediately.

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