Chapter 35
Lowell’s breath comes in ragged gasps as he stumbles away from the last group of Marco’s warriors. His body aches, bruises and scratches covering him, but he’s still alive. Barely. The fever clings to his skin, sweat dripping down his back, making it hard to see straight, but the pain in his side is the least of his concerns right now.
He pushes himself forward, leaning against a tree for support. The world around him spins, the smell of blood thick in the air. His own blood, mixed with the stench of the forest. He feels the weight of every injury, but there’s something stronger pulling him forward.
Nana.
That pull is still there, sharp and insistent. The bond between them feels like a chain around his chest, pulling him towards her even though every instinct screams at him to turn the hell around and run far away.
“Fuck, what the hell am I supposed to do?”
He forces himself to move, taking a step, then another. Each one feels like eternity, his mind racing, thoughts tangled in a mess. If he keeps going, he’s only going to get himself killed. Marco’s men are getting more aggressive. He can feel it. Every one of them out there, hunting him down. They won’t stop until they drag him back, and they’ll do whatever it takes to keep him from getting near Nana.
But Nana… The pull is unbearable.
Lowell shakes his head, trying to clear the fog in his mind. His hand grips the trunk of a tree tighter as his knees threaten to buckle beneath him. The darkness in his vision is the fever, but the voice in his head is louder, clearer. She needs him.
He can’t leave her. Not again.
But staying this close is dangerous as hell. Every step he takes brings him deeper into enemy territory. Marco’s warriors are patrolling the woods. There’s no way they won’t spot him if he goes any further. If they catch him…
The thought sends a cold shiver down his spine. They wouldn’t just kill him. They’d make him suffer.
But Nana’s voice echoes in his mind, desperate, pleading. Lowell knows her pain all too well. He can feel it like it’s his own. Every moment she suffers, it’s as if his body burns in response. The bond between them is raw and real, pulling him in ways he can’t explain. And he can’t ignore it anymore.
The wind picks up, brushing through the trees and carrying the scent of the pack. He knows he’s getting closer, and the scent of Nana’s heat is thick now. It clouds his thoughts. Every step feels like he’s walking through a fog.
Lowell clenches his jaw, forcing himself to take another step, but his muscles are screaming for rest. He’s been running, hiding, fighting for too long. The adrenaline is wearing off, and the exhaustion is starting to hit him hard. But that pull—fucking hell, that pull—won’t let him stop.
He staggers forward, barely keeping his feet under him as he pushes through the trees. He’s not thinking straight. His thoughts are a blur, the bond with Nana consuming him. There’s nothing left in his mind except the overwhelming urge to get to her. To keep her safe.
“Damn it,” he mutters under his breath, trying to steady himself. He can feel his heartbeat hammering in his chest, his breath shallow and ragged. His body is betraying him, but he can’t stop.
The sound of a twig snapping behind him makes his heart race. He freezes, muscles tensing. He doesn’t need to look to know it’s Marco’s men. They’re out there, stalking him, waiting for him to slip up. He can’t afford to make a sound. Can’t afford to get caught.
But his vision is blurring again, the darkness creeping in from the edges of his sight. He’s losing his grip on reality. His thoughts are scattered.
“You’re fucked now,” a voice growls from the shadows, and Lowell doesn’t need to look to know who it is. It’s one of Marco’s warriors. Another ambush.
Lowell turns, fists clenched, ready to fight, but his body is sluggish, too weak to react the way he wants. The warrior charges, and Lowell swings a punch, but the strike is weak, and the warrior sidesteps him with ease.
Shit.
The warrior grabs him by the shoulder, spinning him around and slamming him into the ground. Lowell grunts as the air is knocked out of him, but he’s not done. Not yet. He thrashes beneath the warrior, his fists connecting with flesh, but the warrior is on top of him, holding him down with ease.
“You’re a fucking mess,” the warrior growls, tightening his grip on Lowell’s arms.
Lowell bares his teeth, a growl building in his chest. He kicks, thrashes, but the warrior doesn’t budge. His body is too worn out to fight back properly.
“You’re dead, Lowell,” the warrior hisses. “You can’t escape. Not this time.”
Lowell feels the weight of those words sink in, but he refuses to give up. Not when he’s this close. Not when Nana is out there, waiting for him.
With one final burst of strength, Lowell bucks the warrior off of him and scrambles to his feet. His legs shake beneath him, but he forces himself to stay upright. He has to keep moving.
The warrior stands, fury in his eyes, and charges again, but Lowell is faster this time. His claws come out, and with a swipe, he slashes through the air, raking the warrior’s chest. The warrior staggers back, blood pouring from the wound, but Lowell doesn’t stop. He slams his fist into the warrior’s face, sending him crashing to the ground.
“Stay the hell down,” Lowell growls, his voice hoarse.
But he doesn’t stick around to see if the warrior gets back up. He’s already on the move again, ignoring the way his body protests. He can’t stop. Not when Nana’s so close.
Every step feels like a battle, but Lowell forces himself forward, his mind locked on one thing—getting to Nana. He can feel her. Her presence is a constant pulse in the back of his mind.
And then, through the fog in his brain, he hears it. Her voice. Faint, like a whisper in the wind, but clear enough to cut through the darkness.
“Lowell…”
His heart skips a beat.
“Please…”
Her voice cracks, and it’s the last straw. The bond between them is screaming now, demanding that he go to her, that he not let her suffer.
Lowell stops dead in his tracks, his entire body trembling. The world around him fades. There’s only Nana. Her voice. Her pain.
“Don’t… don’t leave me,” she pleads, her voice fragile, desperate.
He’s so damn close. He can feel her, taste her desperation, and he’s ready to break. But the danger is real. Marco’s men are closing in, and if he keeps going, they’ll have him. They’ll kill him before he even gets close.
Lowell clenches his fists. His chest aches, his heart pounding, and the voice in his head is screaming at him to run.
But Nana’s voice, faint as it is, is louder than everything else.
He can’t leave her.
Not again.