Claire woke to the sound of something moving outside.
It was a quiet sound—so subtle it could've been a figment of her imagination—but the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She had become attuned to the night, to the little shifts in the air and the distant howls that were now as familiar as the beating of her own heart.
Lucian was awake, too. She could sense it. There was a quiet tension in the cabin, a stillness that filled the air like static before a storm.
She pushed herself up from the couch, her body stiff and sore from the long journey and the anxiety that had followed her every step. The cabin was small, tucked in the heart of the forest, but it felt like a fragile fortress, as though the world outside could shatter it at any moment.
Lucian was already by the window, peering out into the woods. His profile was dark against the pale morning light, sharp and haunting.
"You feel it too, don't you?" Claire's voice was low, a whisper she barely recognized as her own.
Lucian nodded without turning, his eyes scanning the treeline. "They're closer than I thought."
She joined him at the window, squinting into the distance. The forest was still, too still, but she knew the peace wouldn't last. The Broken Fang pack was relentless. They would find them.
"Do you think they've figured out where we are?" Claire asked.
"They've known for days," Lucian said, his voice steady but tinged with frustration. "But we've been moving fast, staying ahead. It's only a matter of time before they catch up."
Claire's heart hammered against her ribs. She didn't want to think about it, didn't want to picture the horrors they might bring with them, but she couldn't ignore the gnawing fear inside her.
"What do we do now?" she asked, voice shaking just a little.
Lucian's gaze shifted to her, his eyes dark but soft, as if he were holding back something powerful, something dangerous. For a moment, the intensity of his stare made her feel like he could see right through her—into the very core of her being.
"You train," he said. "We're not running anymore."
The next few days were a blur of movement, survival, and quiet instruction. Claire had never been the type to pick up weapons, or to fight in any capacity, but Lucian was patient. He started with the basics, teaching her how to wield a blade, how to read the terrain around them, how to move silently through the trees.
At first, it was clumsy. She was awkward with the knife, fumbling as it slid through her fingers, and her body didn't move with the fluidity of someone born for battle. But Lucian was always there, steadying her, showing her the proper grip, the right posture.
"You're not fighting to win, Claire," he would say, his voice calm and low, almost a growl. "You're fighting to survive. That's all that matters."
She didn't know how to feel about that. Part of her wanted to fight back against the fear, the instinct to hide and run, but she couldn't afford that luxury anymore. The stakes were too high.
The nights were the hardest. Lucian would patrol the borders of their small camp, always on alert, always watching, while Claire stayed inside, waiting. She learned to listen to the wind, to the subtle creaks of the trees, to the unnatural quiet that preceded danger.
But even in the darkest moments, she found solace in Lucian's presence. She could feel the bond between them growing, stretching between their hearts like a thread of light in a sea of darkness. He was always there, a constant in her life that she never expected, but now couldn't imagine living without.
One night, after another tense patrol, Lucian returned to the cabin. His face was grim, his eyes shadowed with the kind of exhaustion that came from fighting a war within and without. Claire was sitting by the fire, wrapped in a blanket, her heart heavy with unspoken words.
He sat beside her, not saying anything at first. The silence between them felt heavy, but not uncomfortable. After everything that had happened, their bond had grown into something unspoken—a language of shared experience and understanding.
Finally, Lucian broke the silence. "They're getting closer. They'll attack soon. I can feel it in my bones."
Claire didn't say anything at first. She had been bracing herself for this. Every day, every night, every training session had led up to this point, the inevitable clash that she knew was coming.
"What does that mean for us?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"It means you're going to have to fight. With everything you've got."
Claire swallowed hard, her heart racing in her chest. "I don't know if I can. I'm not… I'm not like you."
Lucian turned to her, his eyes fierce with a fire she hadn't seen before. "You are. You just don't know it yet."
His words hit her like a wave, crashing over her, and for the first time in days, Claire allowed herself to believe it. To believe in herself.
The morning of the attack arrived with a silence that was too still, too perfect. It was as though the world was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable.
Claire had spent the night preparing—packing her things, checking her weapons, trying to steady her nerves. Lucian was already outside, standing at the edge of the cabin, his eyes scanning the horizon with an intensity that made her heart race.
She joined him quietly, standing side by side, the air thick with anticipation.
"Are you ready?" Lucian asked, his voice low and steady.
Claire took a deep breath, her hand tightening around the handle of her knife. She nodded, even though her stomach churned with nerves.
"I'm ready."
Lucian's lips curved into a smile, a rare, fleeting thing that softened his harsh features. "We'll do this together."
And just like that, she knew—no matter what happened, no matter how hard the fight, they wouldn't face it alone.
The first wave came just before dusk, emerging from the trees with an eerie, almost unnatural speed. The Broken Fang pack was relentless, their eyes glowing with predatory hunger as they charged toward the cabin.
Lucian was already in motion, his body a blur of power and speed, cutting through the first attackers with a ferocity that took Claire's breath away. She followed him, adrenaline surging as she darted through the trees, her movements awkward but gaining confidence with every step.
The pack was larger than she had anticipated, their faces twisted in primal rage, their fangs bared. But they were nothing compared to Lucian. Claire saw the way he moved, the way he fought—with purpose, with precision. He was the embodiment of everything she had been learning.
And as they fought side by side, Claire realized something: she wasn't just fighting for survival anymore. She was fighting for the people she loved, for the world she wanted to protect.
Her knife felt different in her hand now—less like a foreign object and more like an extension of herself.
But the battle was far from over. The air was thick with the stench of blood and the growls of the pack. Claire's heart raced, but she kept going, driven by a single thought:
She wasn't running anymore.