The Hunt

They're going to catch me.

The thought hits me clean and final as I crash through the underbrush, branches lashing my arms, my face, my already-shredded jacket. My lungs burn. My legs scream. Two years of running, and it ends here, in some nameless forest in the northern territories, with three hunters on my trail and nowhere left to go.

I vault over a fallen log, stumble, catch myself. Keep moving.

Behind me: boots on frozen ground. The crack of a branch. A low whistle, communication signal.

They're flanking me.

I veer left, aiming for the river I scented half a mile back. If I can make it to the water, I can mask my trail. Buy myself time. Figure out my next move.

If I can make it.

My wolf stirs beneath my skin, a shadow of awareness I haven't felt clearly in two years. Since the plague. Since everyone I loved died while I stood there, watching, useless, somehow immune to the sickness that took every other female in our pack.

Run, I tell her. Help me run.

Silence. Like always.

I push harder.

The trees thin ahead. I can hear the river now, rushing water, cold and fast. Twenty feet. Ten. Five.

A body slams into me from the side.

I hit the ground hard, the air punching out of my lungs. The hunter pins me face-down, one knee in my back, his hand fisting in my short hair.

"Got her." His voice is rough, satisfied. "Told you she'd head for the water."

I twist beneath him, trying to throw him off. He's bigger, heavier, and he laughs at my efforts.

"Easy, little wolf. You're worth more alive than dead."

Worth more. Because of what's between my legs. Because I can breed.

Two years of this. Two years of being hunted, traded, bargained over. I've escaped three packs who thought they had a claim to me. Killed one wolf who cornered me in an abandoned den. Maimed two others badly enough that they stopped following. Left a trail of broken negotiations and burned bridges across five territories.

I'm so tired.

The other two hunters emerge from the trees. One is young, barely out of adolescence, with the hungry look of someone who's never had power and desperately wants it. The other is older, scarred, calculating.

The older one crouches beside me, tilting his head to study my face.

"Rhea Silverthorn." He says my name like he's tasting it. "The last she-wolf. Do you know how much the Greyhaven pack is paying for your capture?"

"More than your life is worth," I spit back.

He smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. "Probably. But I'm not the one face-down in the dirt."

The young one shifts nervously. "We should move. We're in Ravenscar territory. If their patrols find us..."

"The Ravenscars won't move against Greyhaven," the older hunter says. "Not over one female. They need the alliance too badly."

"Still." The young one scans the trees. "There are stories about these woods. About the brothers who run them."

"Stories." The hunter holding me down snorts. "Three Alphas sharing a territory. It's unnatural."

"Unnatural or not, I don't want to meet them."

The scarred hunter stands. "Then stop whining and help me secure her. We've got a long way to Greyhaven."

They drag me upright. My wrists are bound before I can react, silver-threaded rope that burns against my skin, dampening what little wolf strength I have left. The scarred hunter grabs my jaw, forcing me to meet his gaze.

"You can cooperate, or you can make this difficult. Either way, you're coming with us. But difficult means I let my boys here sample the goods before delivery."

The young one's expression flickers with something between eagerness and shame.

Every muscle in my body went rigid.

"Cooperation it is," the hunter says. "Smart choice. Now let's..."

He stops. His head turns, nostrils flaring.

I smell it too. Something on the wind. Something that makes my dormant wolf surge against my skin for the first time in months.

Pine resin. Forge-hot iron. Old blood.

Alpha.

The thought crashes through me with the force of a physical blow. Not one Alpha. Three. Their scents layered and distinct, the first like cold steel held too long, the second like a banked furnace, the third like wet soil after rain.

"Move," the scarred hunter snaps. "Now."

Too late.

They come out of the trees like shadows made solid. Three men, three wolves barely contained in human skin.

The one in front is tall, lean, with dark hair silvered at the temples and pale blue eyes that gave away nothing. He moves with precise control, every motion economical, dangerous. When he speaks, his voice is quiet, measured.

"You're on Ravenscar land."

"We're just passing through." The scarred hunter shoves me behind him, as if I'm something to protect rather than prize. "We don't want trouble."

"You brought trouble with you." The second brother steps forward, massive, built like a mountain, amber eyes bleeding gold at the rims. His voice is a growl, barely human. "That female isn't yours."

"She's not yours either. We have a claim..."

"No." The third brother moves to flank them. He's slighter than the other two, with sandy hair and watchful green eyes. "You don't."

The tension in the clearing ratchets up. Three Alpha wolves against three hunters who suddenly realize they're outmatched.

The scarred hunter's hand drops to his knife. "Greyhaven won't..."

"Greyhaven can take it up with us directly." The first brother's attention shifts to me. He catalogued me in a single sweep. Wrists raw. Ribs showing. Jacket shredded. "Can you walk?"

"I'm tied up." My voice comes out steadier than I expect. "So that depends on whether you're planning to untie me."

The corner of his mouth lifted. Barely.

"Cut her loose," he says to the green-eyed brother.

The scarred hunter makes one last desperate move. His knife comes up.

The massive brother intercepts him before the blade clears its sheath. One hand closes around the hunter's wrist. I hear bone crack. The hunter screams.

It's over in seconds. The young hunter bolts into the forest, running for his life. The third hunter puts his hands up in surrender, backing away slowly until he can turn and flee. The scarred hunter is on his knees, cradling his shattered wrist, all his arrogance replaced by animal fear.

"Go back to Greyhaven," the first brother says, cold as the winter wind. "Tell Alpha Grey that Rhea Silverthorn is under Ravenscar protection now. If he wants to dispute it, he can come do it himself."

The hunter staggers to his feet and runs.

The gentle-faced brother approaches me, pulling a knife to cut my bonds. The silver rope falls away, and I feel my wolf stir again, clearer now, closer to the surface than she's been since the plague.

I don't thank them. I don't trust them.

"Under your protection," I say, rubbing feeling back into my wrists. "What's the price?"

The first brother studies me. "We'll discuss it."

"I don't go anywhere without knowing the terms."

"You're in no position to negotiate."

"I'm always in a position to negotiate." I meet his gaze without flinching. "I'm the last she-wolf on the continent. You need me alive, which means you need me cooperative. And I don't cooperate with anyone who won't tell me what they want."

Silence.

The massive brother makes a sound that might be a laugh. "She has teeth."

"She'll need them," the gentle one says softly.

The first brother doesn't look away from me. That cool assessment hasn't warmed, but there's something new in it now. Interest. Calculation.

"Come with us," he says finally. "We'll explain everything at the compound."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you can walk back to the hunters. I'm sure Grey's wolves aren't far behind."

He's right. I know he's right. The hunters were just the advance team, there will be more coming, and I'm exhausted, half-starved, out of options.

But I've been cornered before. I've made desperate choices before.

This feels different.

I look at each of them in turn. The cold strategist with his glacier eyes. The warrior with violence barely leashed beneath his skin. The healer watching me with an expression I can't read.

My wolf pressed forward against my ribs. Not frightened. Not wary.

Hungry.

"Fine," I say. "But I want to hear those terms before sunset."

The first brother inclines his head. An agreement. Or maybe just an acknowledgment that I'm not the prey they expected.

"This way," he says, and turns toward the deeper forest.

I follow three Alpha wolves into the unknown.

I'm tired of running.

And the scent of them clings to me like smoke, seeping into something I thought the plague had killed.