The Chase - Austin

The Chase - Austin
I know this land better than any wolf behind me—better than Taylor, better than his rogues, better than anyone who dare chase me. The forest bends to me like an old friend, whispering shortcuts and hidden paths as my feet strike earth. I duck beneath a low-hanging branch, vault a fallen log, and shoot left toward the rock outcropping that rises like a jagged spine across the ground. It’s impossible to climb, even for a wolf in full shift. That’s what makes it perfect.

If I go right and skirt along its curved edge, I can loop them around. Twenty minutes if I push, maybe less with adrenaline drowning my lungs and fire buzzing in my blood. If I can buy Leo and the others time, even a sliver, it might be enough.

Behind me, their footsteps crash like thunder. They’re gaining—not all of them, but enough that the hair on the back of my neck pricks. I can feel Taylor’s presence like a heated brand, dark magic threading through his energy, twisting it into something feral and wrong. But the others… they’re struggling. Their breath is erratic, their strides uneven. Good. Let them break before I do.

My pulse hammers. But under all of it—fear, strategy, survival—something else pulses.

Elara.

At first it’s just the soft hum of her emotions through our bond. A shimmer of reassurance, a quiet warmth threading through my chest like sunlight cresting a horizon. Then it swells—full and vibrant—comfort, strength, determination. I nearly stumble.

She’s okay.

And not just okay—focused.

The closer I get to finishing the loop, the more her presence strengthens. Then something sharp flicks across my mind like a spark catching dry tinder.

A picture.

Then another. Quick flashes—like memories but not mine.

The practice grounds.
The west entrance.
A map of lines drawn in her mind—traps marked, places circled, routes highlighted.

Elara isn’t just watching. She’s directing.

“Smart girl,” I pant under my breath, teeth bared in a grin. Even now, she’s helping turn the field, using every advantage we’ve set in place.

I burst from the tree line into the second clearing. This marks the halfway turn of my loop. The rogues behind me snarl, their pace staggering. Sweat and desperation cling to them like a rotten stink. Only Taylor’s steps stay measured. Calculated. Wrong. The magic inside him coils like a serpent.

My calves burn as I push harder, sweeping along the edge of the outcropping. The forest thins. Grass starts thickening beneath my boots. My lungs claw for air but the images Elara keeps sending sharpen my movements.

She’s being specific—too specific—for this to be coincidence.

West side.
Line of snares.
Area of wolfsbane.
Trap depth.
Trip lines camouflaged with dried grass.

Every detail drops into my mind like an instruction manual written in her handwriting. I grit my teeth and race forward, knowing exactly where to go.

Ten more seconds.

Five.

Then—the trees part.

The practice grounds stretch open before me, the earth hard-packed and clear. I hear shouts—my men. Leo’s voice barks orders from the north ridge. Marcus calls out positions. They’re ready.

And then—

Elara’s voice slams into my skull.

“Now, Austin! Go through the left lane—avoid the center!”

I pivot sharply just as Taylor emerges from the trees behind me—and it’s like I’ve crossed a threshold.

The battlefield ignites with movement. My wolves roar from the ridges, weapons in hand, waiting for the signal. My boots hit the ground with precision as I weave through the invisible maze Elara mapped out.

My path is clear, open—because it’s the only space without traps.

The rogues barreling behind me don’t have that luxury.

I hear the first snap behind me—a cord whipping upward. A choked shout. Then a second snap. Then screaming.

The scene erupts.

Bodies rocket into the air as hidden snares cinch around their ankles, hoisting them upside down. Their legs flail, claws scraping at the air. The sound of ropes hissing through pulleys is sharp enough to slice through the chaos. Leaves whirl. Dirt sprays. Beyond that, the unmistakable sting of wolfsbane hits the air—so pungent I taste metal.

Rogues howl in agony as the coated wires burn their skin.

I skid to a stop and whip around.

One rogue hangs ten feet up, twisting like a caught fish. Another dangles from a tree branch, already foaming from the wolfsbane burn spreading across his ankle. A third tries to claw through the rope only to shriek as the toxin sinks deeper.

But through all of the chaos…

Taylor never slows.

He bursts into the clearing with the force of a charging bull. The dark magic inside him pulses at his heels, wreathing him in a faint sheen of power that crawls over my skin like icy needles.

He dodges one snare.
Jumps a second.
Shoulders through a third like it’s made of twine.

His eyes lock onto me, blazing with fury.

“You think this will stop me?” he snarls, voice distorted by whatever witchcraft coils in his veins.

I stand my ground. “No. But it’ll slow your men.”

As if summoned, a fourth trap snaps.

This one is different.

Hidden deep beneath a layer of dug-out soil and grass—the metal jaw gleams for only a split second before it slams shut.

Taylor’s howl shreds the air.

The bear trap clamps around his calf with brutal force, the wolfsbane-coated teeth burying themselves deep into flesh. Blood spits across the dirt in a hot spray. The magic flickering around him sputters, warping like heat haze.

He falls to one knee, hands clawing at the metal, but the more he touches it, the faster the wolfsbane spreads. His veins darken, spider-webbing up his leg.

Leo and two of our warriors erupt from the ridge, descending on the clearing with renewed strength as the tide shifts.

For the first time since this chase began, Taylor looks small.

I draw a breath—shaking, relieved, furious—and straighten.

“This is our land,” I tell him, voice low. “And you’re done here.”

His lips peel back, blood dripping over his chin.

“You don’t get it… Alpha.” His voice cracks. “You can’t stop what’s already in motion.”

“I don’t need to stop it,” I say. “I just need to end you.”

Behind me, my wolves form a protective line. The rogues thrash in the air, helpless. Taylor’s magic sputters like a candle drowning in wax.

And through the entire field, I feel Elara’s presence—steady, fierce, and alive.

The tide has turned.

The battlefield is ours.