She had no name anymore.
The forest had stripped it from her, the same way it had stripped her of everything else.
Cold air clawed at her bare skin as she ran, branches tearing shallow lines across her body, thorns biting wherever she slowed. The ground was unforgiving—wet soil, sharp stones, roots waiting to trip her. Behind her, the sounds followed. Not footsteps. Breathing. Too many breaths. Too close.
They did not speak.They never did.
Shadows moved between the trees, tall and crooked, their forms bending unnaturally as they kept pace with her. She could feel their eyes on her back, on her legs, on the fear that made her stumble. Hunger radiated from them—not the hunger for food, but something worse. Something that made her chest tighten and her throat burn.
She ran until her lungs screamed.
And then she fell.
Her knees hit the ground first, pain exploding upward, stealing the little strength she had left. Mud coated her hands as she tried to push herself up, but her body refused. The forest went quiet.
Too quiet.
That was when the wolf stepped out of the darkness.
At first, she thought it was just another shape—another nightmare come to finish her. It was enormous, its fur dark as the night itself, eyes reflecting a cold, unnatural light. It did not rush her. It only watched.
The figures behind her froze.
Fear shifted in the air. She felt it change, like a storm turning directions. The shadows retreated without a sound, melting back into the trees as if they had never existed.
The wolf's gaze never left her.
Her body shook, not from cold alone. She had learned what predators looked like. This one was different. Older. Heavier. As if the forest itself had taken form.
Then the wolf changed.
Bones cracked. Flesh twisted. The sound was wrong—too close, too real. She crawled backward, dragging herself through the mud as the creature rose, reshaping, stretching upward until a man stood where the beast had been.
Naked. Scarred. Unashamed.
His eyes were still the same.
They stared at each other, the silence thick enough to choke on. She could feel his gaze move over her, slow and assessing, lingering in a way that made her arms curl inward instinctively. Not gentle. Not cruel. Something restrained by effort.
He tore a strip of fur from his own skin and held it out.
She hesitated only a second before taking it, wrapping it around herself with trembling hands. The warmth was immediate, heavy, almost suffocating. When she looked up again, he had already turned away.
Toward the cave.
She followed because there was nowhere else to go.
The cave swallowed them whole. Bones littered the floor—old, clean, picked dry by time. The air smelled of ash and something metallic. A sudden movement made her gasp as a severed limb flew from the darkness, landing near her feet.
She screamed.
The man moved instantly, placing himself between her and the sound. From the shadows came a strange, playful noise—clacking, scraping, almost cheerful.
A small dragon emerged, no larger than a dog, batting a skull across the stone floor as if it were a toy. Fire flickered in its throat, lighting its eyes with innocent menace.
She laughed.
The sound startled her more than anything else that night.
They slept by firelight, the man on one side of the cave, her on the other, the dragon curled between them. Flames consumed old wood and things she refused to identify. Shadows danced along the walls.
She woke to breathing.
Too close.
Her body froze as she realized he was awake. Watching. The restraint she had sensed earlier was gone, replaced by something raw and unfamiliar. His presence pressed against her, heavy and unavoidable.
She did not fight.
Not because she wanted this—but because she had learned that resistance only prolonged pain. She stared at the stone ceiling and let herself go still, empty, distant. When it ended, she felt nothing at all.
Morning came without apology.
They walked toward the town in silence.
The guards saw the man first and drew their weapons. The dragon hissed. Hands grabbed. Chains clinked. Eyes lingered too long on her torn fur, her exposed skin.
The wolfman moved.
Blood touched the dirt before she could blink.
Later, in the quiet that followed, he stood beside her, his presence different now. Watchful. Possessive in a way that no longer felt hungry—but deliberate.
She did not know his name.
But she knew one thing as they walked forward together.
The forest had let her go.
And something far worse had chosen to stay.