Chapter 73
After Lowell was taken to the camp, the old man’s son moves swiftly, his face set in quiet determination. He knows time is running out. Marco’s men will soon trace them if they leave loose ends. He tightens his grip on the knife in his hand, steps into the thick woods, and scans for prey. His mind is sharp. His heart heavy. He understands what is at stake — not just their lives, but the hope resting on Lowell’s survival.
A rustle in the bush draws his attention. Without hesitation, he throws the knife, pinning down a small deer. He moves in, ending its life cleanly. The animal’s warm blood stains his hands, but he does not flinch. He drags the body to a shallow part of the woods, stripping it quickly. He wraps it carefully with Lowell’s torn clothes, brushing Lowell’s hair strands around the area. Every move is deliberate. Every second precious.
He exhales, standing back and surveying the scene.
“This should fool them,” he murmurs to himself.
The scent is strong enough. Marco will smell it, see the blood, and believe Lowell has fallen prey to the forest.
He glances up, the camp hidden well beyond the thick trees. He knows his father is with the prince now, tending to his wounds. He clenches his fists.
“You deserve peace too,” he whispers, almost to the forest itself.
Then, he vanishes back into the shadows, retracing his steps to camp.
Inside the hidden camp, the atmosphere remains tense. Weeks have passed, yet the worry has not left their faces. Every day is a battle between hope and doubt.
Lowell lies on a makeshift bed of animal fur and thick wool, his breathing uneven. His body trembles occasionally, reacting to the silver poisoning his blood. The bullet had gone deep, and though the old man worked relentlessly to heal him, the process is slow. Silver is merciless. And combined with Lycan blood… it’s almost fatal.
The old man watches over him lIke a sentinel. His eyes rarely leave Lowell’s face. His hands are never far from the herbal mixtures he prepares. Each night, he grinds roots and mixes them with mountain honey and crushed leaves, forcing the mixture between Lowell’s lips even when he’s unconscious.
“He’s fighting,” the old man mutters under his breath, sitting by the fire. “His will is stronger than the poison.”
His son returns, his clothes marked by leaves and dirt. He sits beside his father in silence, both staring at the weak figure lying still.
“He won’t die,” the old man says firmly, though his voice betrays his worry.
The son nods but says nothing. He knows better than to argue.
Night falls. The camp becomes eerily quiet. The survivors keep their distance, whispering among themselves. Some fear. Some hope. All wait.
The old man gets up again, checking Lowell’s pulse, then dips a cloth in warm water and gently wipes the sweat from Lowell’s face. The young prince stirs faintly but does not wake.
“We cannot lose him,” the old man whispers to no one.
His son finally speaks. “I’ve done what you asked. Marco will think he’s dead.”
The old man nods, but the weight on his shoulders does not lighten.
“Good.” He clears his throat. “That will buy us time. But it won’t last forever.”
The son looks at Lowell. “Will he heal?”
A pause. The old man rubs his palms together, staring into the fire. “The bullet was poisoned… silver mixed with ground wolfsbane. It’s burning him from the inside.”
He swallows hard. “I’ve never seen anything like it. His body should have given up… but he’s holding on.”
The son’s voice drops low. “Why?”
The old man meets his son’s eyes. “Because he knows. He knows we’re waiting. He knows we still believe in him.”
The silence returns, heavy and thick.
Outside the tent, two of the younger men sharpen their blades, speaking in hushed voices.
“Will the prince live?” one asks.
“I don’t know,” the other replies. “But if he dies, we lose everything.”
The fire crackles. The old man’s son glances at them but says nothing.
Inside the tent, Lowell’s breathing hitches, a faint gasp escaping him. His body trembles, sweat pouring from his forehead.
The old man quickly moves to his side, pressing a damp cloth to his lips.
“Breathe… just breathe, boy,” he whispers.
Lowell settles again, though the fight in his body is far from over.
The old man exhales, leaning back.
“He’s strong,” he whispers again, more to himself than anyone. “Just like his father.”
His son sits beside him. They both stare at the young prince — pale, trembling, but still fighting.
The old man places a firm hand on his son’s shoulder.
“We’re going to protect him with our lives.”
“I know,” his son replies quietly.
He always wondered why his father believed the Lycan Prince would be their escape. Seeing the Prince with his eyes and how strong he is holding up, he understood he’s truly their only hope.
The night deepens, colder than before. The campfire crackles, but it doesn’t chase away the weight in the air. Everyone waits.
Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps breaks the stillness. One of the younger men, Elias, bursts into the tent, his face pale and breath short.
“They found the site,” he gasps.
The old man’s heart sinks.
“Are you sure?”
Elias nods quickly. “Scouts reported movement. Marco’s men are near the false trail.”
The old man rises slowly, his mind racing.
“And?” he presses.
“They’re suspicious. They’re not certain yet, but… they’re not fully convinced he’s dead.”
The old man’s son curses softly under his breath.
“I knew it wouldn’t hold them for long.”
The old man paces, thinking. The forest isn’t as safe as it once was. Marco’s men are more skilled than he gave them credit for.
“Double the sentries,” the old man orders.
His son doesn’t wait for another word; he disappears out of the tent to give orders.
The old man kneels beside Lowell again, his voice softer now.
“You need to wake up, boy… or at least get stronger. They’re closing in.”
Lowell’s face twitches, but his eyes remain closed.
Outside, the camp stirs. Men gather, weapons in hand, faces grim but focused.
The old man’s son returns quickly.
“We need to move him,” he says, voice urgent. “The forest won’t hide us for long.”
“We can’t move him yet,” the old man snaps. “It’ll kill him.”
His son runs a hand through his hair. “And staying here will kill all of us.”
The old man sighs. The decision weighs heavier than anything he’s carried before.
“I have an idea,” Elias speaks up. His voice shakes, but he continues. “There’s a cave… two valleys down. Covered with ivy, hidden from view. My father used to use it as a hunting shelter.”
The old man looks at him.
“Can we get him there without making it worse?”
Elias hesitates. “It’s rough terrain… but if we’re careful…”
The old man considers. His heart wants to protect the prince, but logic whispers they’re running out of time.
“Prepare a stretcher,” he finally says.
Elias nods and runs off.
His son watches him leave.
“We’re taking a risk,” he murmurs.
“We don’t have a choice,” the old man replies.
Minutes later, a simple stretcher is ready — thick ropes and firm wooden branches tied tightly.
Four men gather around Lowell, lifting him as gently as possible. The old man walks beside them, whispering prayers under his breath.
The night is quiet, too quiet. The weight of every footstep echoes in his head.
They move slowly through the forest, guided only by moonlight and instinct.
At one point, a branch snaps loudly beneath one man’s boot. Everyone freezes.
The old man holds his breath.
They wait… listening…
Nothing.
The group exhales quietly and continues.
Finally, after what feels like hours, they reach the edge of a steep ravine. The cave entrance is barely visible, hidden beneath thick ivy vines.
Elias steps forward, parting the vines carefully. The path is narrow, but it will do.
“Lower him slowly,” the old man commands.
They maneuver the stretcher into the cave with painstaking care. Inside, the air is cool, damp, but safe.
The old man kneels beside Lowell again, checking his pulse. Still faint… but still there.
His son sits by the cave’s entrance, eyes sharp, listening for any movement.
The old man rests his hand on Lowell’s chest, feeling the slow, steady beat of life.
“You’re still here,” he whispers. “Good.”
Outside, the wind howls again… but inside, for the moment, they are safe.