Chapter 76: The Wolves of Iron Hollow

I came back to the sound of boots.

Crunching through frost. Steady. Unhurried. The kind of steps that didn’t rush for anyone—not even death.

Then the voices.

Low, clipped. All male. Three at least. One sharp with authority, one older and rough-edged, one younger—too eager.

“Here,” the first said. “Scent trail ends here.”

I didn’t move.

A breath. A silence. Then: “That’s a body.”

“She alive?”

“She’s warm.”

Pause.

“She’s bleeding.”

Another pause. “Shit. She’s not rogue.”

“No, she smells… wrong. Not like ours, but not wild either.”

“She’s not from Hollow.”

“Not from anywhere I recognize,” said the older one, gravel in his voice. “Not any of the southern packs either. Her scent's mixed. Blood and ash. Something else.”

“Could be bait,” the young one muttered. “You know they’ve been trying to draw us out of the border. That raid last week—”

“She doesn’t look like a trap,” said the first. “She looks like someone tried to gut her and leave her to rot.”

“She’s breathing,” he added, closer now. I felt the scrape of his fingers at my throat, pressing into my neck to find the pulse. “Faint.”

“She could still be useful,” the elder said after a moment. “Alpha’ll want to see her before we bury her.”

“And if she wakes up and turns teeth on us?”

“Then we deal with it.”

A hand gripped my shoulder.

I stayed still. Limp.

I let my lips part just slightly, let my head roll with the movement. I’d done it before—when rogue scouts had tried to pass me over as dead. Sometimes the illusion of weakness was your last weapon.

“Her wolf’s not active,” the second one said. “But I feel something under the surface.”

“Faint,” said the elder. “Dormant. She’s halfway to the veil already.”

“She smell like a Luna to you?” the young one asked suddenly, suspicion sharpened in his tone.

“She smells like war,” came the reply. “And grief.”

Talon whimpered.

Just once.

Small. Faint.

The movement around me froze.

“What was that?”

“Sounded like—”

The older one cut him off. “No. That wasn’t her. Might’ve been an owl.”

“An owl doesn’t sound like that.”

“You hear pups crying in the wind all the time, boy. Doesn’t mean they’re real.”

A beat of tense silence passed.

“You sure?”

“She’s alone,” came the answer. Dismissive. “You smell another heartbeat?”

“No.”

They didn’t notice him.

Or they didn’t care.

Talon had gone still again, pressed tight against my chest beneath the blood-crusted edge of my cloak. His wolf was nearly nothing—undeveloped, quiet, tucked deep in his tiny bones. It made him invisible. For now.

Rough hands grabbed my arms. Lifted me.

The pain knifed through my side like fresh fire. I almost screamed. Almost.

But I didn’t.

Not yet.

“Lift her legs,” one muttered. “Don’t bleed on me.”

“She’s already bled through everything.”

“Then watch your damn grip. She’s leaking like a stuck deer.”

“She’s light.”

“She’s dying.”

The scent of iron and pine thickened as they moved. I let my head hang, let my arms dangle limp, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from wincing as the jostling reignited every broken thread in my body.

The younger one spoke again, lower now. “Should we really be bringing her back?”

“You want to be the one who leaves a bleeding she-wolf on Hollow territory?” the older one snapped.

“I’m just saying—”

“She’s on our land. If we don’t deal with her, Roran will. And you know how he gets when things fester.”

That shut him up.

We moved.

Up a trail. Down a slope. Through a narrow crevice between boulders that reeked of old power and reinforced scent lines. The territory felt like a living thing—breathing, waiting, judging. My wolf shifted uneasily in my bones, but I kept her still.

They carried me deeper.

Through the hush of the border wilds into the heart of something colder. As we passed a dense outcropping, I felt it—ancient wards etched in the stone, charged with silent energy. This place wasn’t just guarded. It was sacred in its own brutal way.

At some point, the darkness gave way to torchlight. Orange flickers danced over cold gray stone. The walls closed in. We were underground now. A stronghold carved from rock and rage.

The air here was thinner. Harsher.

My bare feet brushed rough floors.

The hallway narrowed.

And then—steel.

A door creaked open on old hinges.

“Put her in the lower cells,” the older one said. “Alpha’s not back until dawn.”

“She makes it that long?”

“Not our problem.”

The cell was damp and stank of moss and old blood. My body hit the floor hard—too hard. Pain flared so bright I almost gasped aloud. My teeth clacked together from the force.

A moment later, Talon whimpered. Quieter. Just a rustle of fabric.

Still, they didn’t notice.

Or didn’t care.

“Let her rot in here if she wants,” the young one muttered.

A grunt. “Alpha’ll know what to do with her.”

Another voice—one that hadn’t spoken yet—grumbled from behind them. “You hear what they’re calling her out there?”

“What?”

“Widow Wolf.”

A pause.

“Bullshit.”

“That’s what the border traders say. Black wolf with the fire eyes. Mate died in the war. Took a chunk of rogues with her.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s her.”

“Still. Alpha should be told.”

“You tell him. I’m not waking him over gossip.”

“Not gossip if it’s true.”

The door slammed shut.

Bootsteps receded.

Stone swallowed them.

Silence.

I waited until I was sure they were gone.

Then I cracked my eyes open.

The cell was dark. Rough stone. Low ceiling. No windows. Only a narrow slit in the door where the torches from the corridor bled in. It stung my eyes. Everything stung.

I didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

My whole body felt like bruised glass—shattered, held together by threads of will and grief.

But I was alive.

Barely.

I turned my head just slightly—enough to see Talon.

He was curled beside me, still tucked in the cloak. His tiny face was nestled against my collar, flushed with cold but breathing. His cheeks were too pale. His skin too still. I didn’t know how long it had been since he’d fed.

I wanted to sob.

But instead, I stayed still.

Still a corpse.

Still a ghost.

They thought I was dying.

Maybe I was.

But they hadn’t taken my son.

Not yet.

And as long as I could draw breath—no matter how shallow, no matter how ragged—I wasn’t done.

I was still here.

Still fighting.

Even if no one knew it but me.

Even if I had to survive this, again, from the bottom.

Again.

Let them think I’m broken.

Let them think I’m bleeding out.

Let them bring me to their Alpha.

They had no idea what they’d dragged into their den.