Chapter 29

Chapter 29
Larisa’s POV

I found myself staring at this strange carving on the tree, my heart racing like crazy. It was a spiral, freshly done, with claw marks that spiraled outwards. Honestly, I’d never seen anything like it—not with the Red Moon warriors, and definitely not with rogues like Damien. It felt… old. Almost like some kind of ritual.
I picked up the silver chain, feeling it tremble in my fingers. The cool metal felt sharp against my clammy skin. Damien never, ever took this off. My wolf was howling in my head, pushing me to move, to find him.
I shoved the chain into my pocket, my breath coming in shallow gasps. Everything around me felt colder all of a sudden, and the shadows seemed to thicken. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, casting these long, jagged shapes across the forest floor. Every little sound felt magnified—the rustling leaves, the distant hoot of an owl, the wind whispering through the branches.
Was I too late?
I forced myself to take a step, each one stiff and cautious as I followed a faint trail of blood. It wasn’t much, but it led deeper into the woods, away from the river. My escape route. My only chance to vanish.
But I couldn’t just leave him behind. Not Damien. Not now.
I crept forward, my hand resting on the hilt of the dagger strapped beneath my coat. The forest felt different, almost like I was stepping into a whole other world. I ducked under a low branch, my boots crunching on the pine needles, every instinct on high alert.
The trail led me to a rocky clearing, a spot I didn’t recognize. There was a stone altar in the center, covered in moss and etched with more spirals. The smell of blood was stronger here. Not just Damien’s—others had bled here too. Recently.
Suddenly, the wind howled, sending a chill racing down my spine. My wolf was restless, growling low. This place isn’t right, she warned. We shouldn’t be here.
But I couldn’t turn back. Not yet.
I scanned the area and my eyes landed on something behind the altar. A boot. Partially hidden under a cloak.
I rushed forward, but then stumbled back, my breath catching in my throat. It wasn’t Damien.
It was one of Killian’s warriors—Bran. His neck had been slashed open, and his eyes were wide in terror. The smell of death was suffocating. Whoever did this hadn’t bothered to cover it up. They’d left a message.
My heart was pounding as I turned, scanning the tree line for any sign of movement. Something had gone horribly wrong. I could feel Damien nearby—like a tug on an invisible thread—but he wasn’t safe.
I started toward the other side of the clearing when something sharp whizzed past my cheek, just grazing my skin.
I dropped to the ground immediately, rolling into cover behind the altar. My fingers flew to the wound. Just a scratch, but it felt like a warning.
Someone was watching me.
I heard a faint rustle from the trees to my left. Staying low, I searched for the source. Then I spotted it—a figure cloaked in dark green, crouched high in the branches, bow in hand.
Definitely not Red Moon.
Another arrow was notched.
I bolted.
My legs were moving faster than I thought possible, branches whipping at my face as I sprinted through the woods, dodging trees and fallen logs. The wind roared in my ears, and my wolf surged forward, lending me her strength.
I didn’t stop until the arrow fire faded and the forest fell silent again.
I dropped behind a boulder, gasping for air. My heart raced, blood pounding in my head. Thoughts swirled around—what was that altar? Why was Bran dead? Who were these new enemies?
And most importantly—where the hell was Damien?
I reached into my pocket and pulled out his chain again, squeezing it tightly. The silver felt warm now, almost like it held a piece of him.
I had to keep moving. Hiding wasn’t an option anymore.
No more hesitation. No more pretending. I’d spent too long in the shadows, letting others fight my battles. If this was a trap, I’d spring it. If it was a game, I’d play it—but on my terms.
I straightened up, my breathing steady now.
Killian thought he was the only predator hunting me.
He was wrong.
Then, a low whistle echoed through the woods—three short notes.
I froze.
It was a signal.
One only Damien and I knew.
I turned around, my heart racing with hope—only to see a figure emerging from the mist. But, it wasn’t Damien. It was a little girl. She wore a ragged red dress that looked like it had seen better days. And in her tiny hands, she clutched
Damien’s jacket, stained with blood.