Chapter 138
Elara's POV
Twenty minutes into the riverbed route, Cole's fist shot up. I dropped low instantly, my knees hitting soft moss as I followed his gaze through the dense undergrowth.
Fifty meters ahead. Tree sentinel. Back turned, scanning the opposite direction.
Cole's hands moved in quick signals—right flank approach, I provide cover. I nodded once, pulling the knife from my thigh sheath. The weight felt good in my palm. Familiar.
He moved like smoke through the trees. I tracked his progress, counting his steps, watching the sentinel's posture for any sign of alertness. The guard remained oblivious, his attention fixed on something in the distance.
Cole reached the tree base. Three seconds. He launched himself up the trunk with inhuman speed, caught the sentinel's head mid-turn, and twisted. The snap was barely audible. The body went limp.
I scanned our surroundings. No movement. No sounds of alarm. Cole's kill technique was still flawless—efficient, silent, perfect.
He dropped to the ground and gave me the all-clear signal. We moved forward.
The next hour was a blur of calculated violence. Second sentry post—mine. I came up behind him while he urinated against a tree, drove my blade through the base of his skull before he could finish. He dropped without a sound.
Third post—two wolves patrolling together. Cole and I exchanged a glance, no words needed. We'd done this dance a thousand times in the Northern Territories. I took the left, he took the right. Simultaneous strikes. Both targets down in under three seconds.
Fourth post—an older wolf, senses sharp as razors. He turned toward us twice, nostrils flaring. I grabbed a stone, threw it hard to his right. The moment his head swiveled, Cole's arm wrapped around his throat from behind. I watched the light fade from his eyes.
"You're still good at this," Cole murmured as we dragged the body into the bushes.
"Muscle memory," I said. But it was more than that. Lynette's instincts were bleeding through again, taking over when I needed them most.
The forest opened up abruptly. One moment we were threading through dense pines, the next we were crouched at the edge of a clearing, staring at what looked like a refugee camp masquerading as a military outpost.
Rough shelters made of logs and animal hides. Maybe fifteen, twenty structures scattered across the cleared space. Wolves moved between them—I counted quickly. Twenty-three visible. All male. All armed with worn but deadly weapons.
"That's not enough," Cole whispered. "Wild Hunt operates in cells of fifty minimum."
I studied the camp layout. The central area had wooden cages—empty. Supply crates stacked near what looked like a command tent. Injured wolves clustered near a fire pit on the eastern edge.
"No high-value targets," I said. "This is a skeleton crew."
Cole's jaw tightened. "Which means the main force is somewhere else."
Doing what? Chasing Lynette? My chest constricted. I forced myself to breathe slowly, to think tactically instead of emotionally.
"We circle around back," I decided. "See if we can overhear anything useful before we make a move."
The camp's rear was less organized—storage sheds, waste pits, a makeshift latrine. We found cover behind a stack of rotting lumber, close enough to hear conversations but concealed by shadow.
Two wolves stood maybe ten meters away, smoking hand-rolled cigarettes. The acrid smell drifted toward us.
"Can't believe she took down Gareth," the shorter one was saying. "Dude was a beast."
My pulse spiked. She. They were talking about Lynette.
"Bitch hid in the mine tunnels for three days," the taller wolf replied. "We thought she'd starve in there. Then tonight she broke out—went straight for Gareth's throat on the eastern ridge. Ripped it clean out."
Good girl, I thought fiercely. Fight them. Stay alive.
"Captain's pissed we let her slip past us," Short Wolf continued. "Took the main squad after her an hour ago. Said they'd bring her back tonight, dead or alive."
Tonight. That meant Lynette was still out there. Still running.
Cole's hand found my shoulder, squeezed once. I knew what he was thinking—we had a window. Small, but real.
We moved in perfect sync. Cole went low and fast, his hand chopping into Short Wolf's neck at the pressure point. The man crumpled without a sound. Tall Wolf's mouth opened to shout, but my blade was already at his throat, the edge kissing his skin hard enough to draw blood.
"Make a sound and you're dead," I hissed.
His eyes went wide. He froze.
"The woman," I said quietly. "Which direction?"
He swallowed, the movement pressing his throat harder against my knife. "I—I don't—"
I increased the pressure. A thin line of red appeared. "Try again."
"North!" The word burst out of him in a terrified whisper. "Through the river valley! And then... I don't know."
"How many went after her?"
"Fifteen, maybe twenty—the captain took everyone who could fight—"
Cole appeared beside me with a cloth soaked in something chemical-smelling. He clamped it over Tall Wolf's face. The man struggled for maybe three seconds before going limp.
We dragged both bodies deeper into the trees, out of sight. Cole pulled out a length of cord, binding their wrists and ankles tight. I knelt beside Tall Wolf, my knife ready.
"Leave them," Cole said quietly. "Bodies get found faster than sleeping drunks. Buys us an extra hour."
He was right. A corpse would trigger immediate alarm. Two passed-out wolves might be dismissed as lazy guards until someone checked more carefully.
"Through the river valley," he said. "That's not far."
"And the main force is already out there. We move now," I said. "Fast and quiet. If we're lucky, we'll reach her before they do."
Cole nodded. "And if we're not lucky?"
"Then we improvise," I said.