Chapter 32 – Hollow Bones
Eli
Everything hurts.
My ribs scream the second I draw breath, and the snow burns against my skin, wet through my shirt and crusted with my own dried blood.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been out. An hour? A day? The light filtering through the trees is gray and wan, bleeding into dusk. At least the bond is mercifully quiet.
I’m cold. So cold. And yet sweat clings to my skin like oil.
I try to sit up and my muscles seize. A strangled noise escapes me before I bite it back and blink through the blur.
The forest surrounding me is too quiet. Like something large and threatening is hanging around, disturbing the normal order of things.
No. I have to stop summoning bad omens. He’s not here. If he was, I’d be halfway back to camp by now. Or dead.
I dig my hands into the frozen earth and force myself upright, every movement a fresh agony.
My side is soaked in blood, sticky and half-frozen. The wound will heal if I can get somewhere safe.
If I don’t get out of this clearing, I’ll be carrion though. The Redmaw wolves will smell me if I stay out in the open like this.
And if Ronan finds me...
Don’t think about him.
I press my palm to a tree trunk and stumble forward, half-blind, using instinct and sheer desperation to push through the undergrowth. My vision swims. My wolf is silent now, curled in on itself like a kicked dog. It doesn’t know what to do anymore.
Neither do I.
The forest shifts around me. Shadows bending, trees too close, and just when I think I’ll collapse again, I see it.
A rise of moss-covered rocks, half-swallowed by vines and snowdrifts. Tucked behind it, nearly invisible until you’re right on top of it, is a crumbling hunter’s cabin.
I stagger to it like a drunk, nearly collapsing at the threshold. The door’s missing. The roof sags. Half the back wall is caved in, letting in a draft so cold it slices through me like a blade. But it’s shelter.
Inside, it smells of rot and dust, old pine and something else. Something faint, metallic and ancient. Symbols are carved into the beams, faded but unmistakable.
Wolf magic. Protective runes.
This place was sanctified once. Not anymore. But maybe just enough power still lingers to keep me safe.
I drag myself to a corner where the wind doesn’t hit quite so sharp and collapse again. I tear my shirt into strips, hands shaking, and press them hard against my ribs. The fabric soaks fast. My vision goes white at the edges.
It doesn’t matter. I have to stop the bleeding. That’s all that matters.
Fever hits with teeth.
I don’t remember falling asleep, but I wake sweating, shirtless, my body shivering one minute and burning the next. My side is on fire. My skin slippery with sweat. My breath ragged.
The bond pulses in my chest like a wound. And worse, it’s not quiet anymore.
I feel him.
Not just the pull. Not just the ache. I feel Ronan like a ghost crawling beneath my skin. Like his teeth are still on my throat. Like his scent is soaked into my marrow.
I press the heel of my hand into my sternum, trying to banish it. But then the dreams start.
He’s here.
Not physically, in some hidden corner of my head I know that, but my heat-drunk mind doesn’t care.
He’s in the room, stalking toward me, golden eyes lit with hunger and fire. He kneels at my side, his hands rough and reverent, gliding up my thighs like he owns me.
Because he does, doesn’t he?
“Mine,” he growls, voice gravel and thunder.
“No,” I whisper.
But I let him touch me.
Because his mouth is hot and cruel and perfect, his teeth grazing my mark with dangerous intent. Like a promise of what my future holds. His hand is at my throat, squeezing hard enough to cut off my air. Reminding me of the facts.
That I’m his.
That I’ll never be free.
I’m hard. My cock pulsating between my legs with painful throbs. Shame burns hotter than the fever now.
He spreads me with brutal tenderness, mouthing the inside of my thigh, and when he sinks his teeth in, I scream and wake up sobbing.
The sound tears out of me before I can stop it, raw and cracked, echoing in the ruined cabin like it doesn’t belong to me. I slap a hand over my mouth, panting through it, trying to make it stop.
Fuck. Fuck.
My body is still hard. I’m shaking. I want to tear my own skin off.
I curl up, breathing through my nose, trying to forget the heat in his touch. The weight of him. The way my body responded like it’s already his.
Like it wants to be.
“No,” I whisper. “I will never be your fucking pet.”
My voice breaks.
I lie there in the dark, alone and wrecked, until the sweat dries and the shame hardens into resolve.
Night falls heavy, bringing even lower temperatures. My teeth chatter and hunger claws at my stomach.
The wind outside howls low through the trees, but it’s not the wind that makes me freeze.
I hear footsteps crunching softly in the snow outside.
I sit up fast, every muscle locking. My ribs scream, but I don’t dare hiss in pain. I don’t move. My hand closes around the knife at my side, the hilt sticky with dried blood.
Is it the same men who hunted me before? They must be furious and eager to exact their revenge.
Outside, the footsteps pause and I hear a low murmur, then a second voice joins it.
I can’t make out the words, but they’re close, so fucking close, I can hear the creak of leather, the jangle of a buckle, the sound of one of them sniffing the air.
I flatten myself to the floorboards, pulse pounding. My scent is everywhere. I’ve been bleeding in here for hours. They won’t even need a tracker, I’d be able to smell me.
Please. Please. The wind shifts and one of them growls low. “He was here.”
The other one sniffs the air. “Not now. Trail’s cold.” The cabin must still hold some level of protection.
A pause follows, then I hear their footsteps retreat.
Minutes pass before I move again. My hand is still clenched around the knife, white-knuckled. My breath saws through me, every inhale a sharp spear in my ribs.
They’ll come back. I know it. But I can’t run. Not yet.
I glance around the ruin, eyes adjusting to the dark, heart still racing. I’m not safe, but I’m not dead either.
I press my forehead to the floor and close my eyes. “Please don’t find me,” I whisper.
I don’t know if I mean the Redmaw wolves.
Or Ronan.