Page 100 of The Monster You Made
The decision holds.
***
That night, sleep does not come. I walk the edge of camp, sword heavy at my side, the forest pressing close. Declan’s voice curls in every shadow, whispering of leashes, chains, graves.
Then Vera comes. She does not speak at first, only walks beside me, her cloak brushing mine. At last, she says, “You choose again and again, even when he whispers. That is what makes you more than him.”
I shake my head, the weight crushing. “Every choice feels like his game.”
Her hand finds mine, firm, unyielding. “Then we play it together. And we win by refusing to break.”
Her fire steadies me.
***
At dawn, the compound rises before us, stone walls rimed with frost, smoke curling from its chimneys. Guards pace the ramparts, rifles glinting in the pale light. The rebels ready their blades, hunger and hope burning sharp in their eyes.
The storm has passed. But another storm waits in stone and steel.
***
The compound looms in the gray light of dawn, smaller than a military compound yet no less menacing. Its walls are thick with frost, its gates iron-bound, guards pacing with rifles at the ready. Smoke drifts from chimneys, the scent of bread and salted meat taunting those who march with hollow bellies.
We wait in the trees, breath steaming, blades drawn. The rebels crouch low, eyes burning. The freed tremble, too weary to fight but unwilling to turn away. Elira’s grin gleams, feral and fierce. Rourke mutters curses, checking his rifle, though doubt clouds his eyes.
I raise my hand. Silence falls. The storm is gone, but its weight lingers in my chest.
Declan whispers, close as a chain on my throat.Strike, Wolf. Feed them. Bind them tighter. Every life lost will echo in your name.
I clench my jaw and give the signal.
***
The rebels surge. Arrows whistle, rifles crack, blades flash in the gray. The first guards fall before cries can reach the ramparts. Elira smashes through the gate, breaching axe biting iron, splinters flying. Rourke fires until smoke blinds him, then swings the butt of his rifle into the nearest skull.
I drive forward, sword carving a path. Prisoners stumble from sheds within the yard, wrists raw with chains. Their eyes widen as rebels cut bonds, their cries torn between disbelief and fury. They seize weapons from the fallen, striking with desperation born of hunger.
The compound erupts into chaos.
***
But horns sound, deep, shuddering, rolling across the hills. Riders appear on the ridge, black banners snapping.The Crown has found us. Soldiers pour down the slope, rifles gleaming, boots pounding the frozen earth.
“Faster!” I roar, voice raw. “Take what you can! We break away now!”
Rebels scramble, dragging sacks of grain to sledges, thrusting weapons into freed hands. Elira cuts a path through the yard, her breaching axe dripping. Rourke curses, blood streaking his face, dragging a wounded comrade. Vera gathers captives, Marta’s satchel clutched tight.
The riders thunder closer. Bullets crack through the snow. Rebels scream, bodies falling. I carve a path through the press, fury and desperation blurring each strike.
Declan’s laughter rises with the horns.Yes, Wolf. Lead them. Watch them fall one by one, and know it is your leash that drags them to their graves.
***
We break from the compound, sledges heavy, freed staggering beside us. The riders crash into the yard behind, rifles roaring, blades flashing. Snow drinks blood as we flee into the trees.
Hours later, we collapse in a hollow deep in the forest. Rebels slump, gasping, clutching grain like treasure. Freed lie trembling, some weeping, some silent. Wounds are bound with shaking hands. Abigail clings to her doll, her laughter gone.
We live. We have food. We have weapons. We have more souls freed. Yet the cost is written in the blood-soaked snow we left behind.
