The servant's passage is narrow and pitch black. I feel my way along rough stone walls, moving as fast as I dare without light. My fingers scrape against damp rock. Cobwebs catch in my hair.
Behind me, distant shouts echo. "Fire! The armory's burning!"
Isla's distraction works.
The passage slopes downward, twisting through the bowels of the pack house. I've never been down here before, but Sera described it when she first came through. Straight for fifty paces, then left at the fork, then down the stairs to the exit near the stables.
I count steps. Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty.
My hand finds empty space on the left. The fork. I turn and immediately hit stairs. Almost fall. Catch myself on the wall, scraping my palms raw.
Down. Faster now. My feet know these are the last stairs between me and freedom.
The exit is a wooden door, warped with age. I push. It doesn't budge. Push harder. Still nothing.
Panic claws at my throat. I slam my shoulder against it once, twice—
It flies open. I stumble out into cold night air behind the stables. The smell of horses and hay. Moonlight so bright after the darkness it hurts.
I shift without thinking. My wolf form takes over, instinct driving out hesitation. Four legs are faster than two.
I run.
Through the stable yard, past the paddocks, toward the northern gate. It's closed, but I don't need the gate. I veer east where the wall dips lowest, gather my legs beneath me, and leap.
My claws scrape stone. I land hard, stumble, recover, and run harder.
Behind me, a horn blows. Long and loud.
"Luna's escaped!"
"She went north!"
"No, east!"
Good. Let them argue.
I run through the forest, following paths I memorized during weeks of patient observation. North. Always north. Toward the grain mill.
The forest blurs around me. Trees. Rocks. Streams I leap without slowing. My lungs burn but I don't stop.
Two miles. The mill is two miles north.
Behind me, wolves howl.
I push harder. My paws pound earth in steady rhythm. Branches whip my face.
The forest opens into a clearing. The old grain mill sits abandoned, its wheel broken. Moonlight paints everything silver.
A figure emerges from shadows near the entrance. Tall. Golden eyes.
Kieran.
He sees me and his entire expression cracks open. Relief and disbelief war across his face. "You're—"
I shift mid-run, human form stumbling the last few steps. "Trap!" I gasp, grabbing his arm. "Beta Ashrock planned this. They're coming!"
"How many?"
"Twenty warriors. Hidden in the—"
The whistle of arrows cuts me off.
Kieran moves. He shoves me behind him as arrows slice through the air. One cuts across his shoulder. Another buries itself in the mill's wall behind us.
Then a third arrow hits.
It punches into Kieran's side. He staggers, hand flying to the wound. Blood wells between his fingers.
"No!" I catch him as he drops to one knee.
Horses thunder through trees. Dozens. Warriors in Ironvale colors pour into the clearing, circling us with weapons drawn.
Beta Ashrock rides at the front. "Luna. How convenient. Saved us the trouble of hunting you down separately."
I shift. My wolf form places itself over Kieran, teeth bared, snarling.
Warriors pull horses up short. Some look uncertain.
I stand between Kieran and the warriors. "I'm your Luna! Stand down!"
Silence falls. Warriors look at each other. At Ashrock. At me.
"She's not Luna anymore," Ashrock says. "She's a traitor. Kill them both."
"No!" One warrior steps forward. "We can't kill Luna. It's forbidden."
"She gave up that title when she betrayed her mate."
"The Alpha should decide—"
"I command this operation. I decide."
Warriors hesitate. Three seconds of doubt.
Three seconds is enough.
I grab Kieran's arm with my teeth. He shifts despite the wound, his wolf form massive and golden. Blood mats his fur.
We run.
Arrows fly past us. One grazes my haunch. Another hits a tree inches from Kieran's head. We dodge between trunks.
"After them!" Ashrock roars.
Kieran runs beside me but I can see him flagging. Blood marks every step.
I veer left, toward the rocky terrain where horses can't follow as easily. He follows without question.
We scramble over boulders, through narrow gaps. Behind us, horses scream as riders are forced to dismount.
On foot, we're faster.
But Kieran is slowing. His breathing comes in ragged pants. The wound in his side hasn't closed. Should have closed by now if he shifted. But it's still bleeding, still open.
Silver-tipped. The arrow must have been silver-tipped.
"Keep going," I tell him through the bond.
"Can't. Losing too much blood."
"You can. You will."
We burst through trees and suddenly—
The border creek.
"Water will hide the blood trail," I say.
We plunge in. The current is strong. I fight it, swimming for the far bank. Kieran struggles beside me.
My paws hit rocks. I scramble up, turn back. Kieran is still in the water, fighting the current.
I shift to human, grab his scruff. Haul with all my strength. He shifts to human mid-water, grabs my arm. Together we pull him onto the bank.
We collapse on muddy ground, gasping. Kieran's side is a mess of blood.
His breathing is shallow. His skin is too pale. The wound is deep, flesh blackened from silver.
"Kieran. Look at me."
His eyes focus with effort. "You came. You actually came."
"Of course I came."
"Thought you might be smart. Stay safe." He coughs. Blood flecks his lips. "Guess I was wrong about the smart part."
"Save your strength. I need to get you somewhere we can treat this wound."
"Silver. It was silver."
"I know. We'll deal with it." I stand, trying to pull him up. "Can you shift? Walk?"
"Not sure. Head's fuzzy."
"Then I'll carry you."
He almost laughs. Almost. "You're half my size."
"Watch me."
I shift, position myself beside him, and let him drape his arm over my back. His weight nearly crushes me, but I lock my legs and start walking.
One step. Then another. Then another.
North. Toward Nightshade. Toward help.
Behind us, Ironvale territory sits silent and watching.
Ahead, the forest swallows us whole.