Escape Before Dawn

Marcy’s POV

I stare at the cloaked figure in stunned disbelief.

"Beatrice? What are you doing here?" I whisper, my voice cracking dryly. My mind struggles to process her presence. Just hours ago, her lies condemned me to a brutal death.

She shoots a frantic glance over her shoulder toward the dark corridor. "Shh! Lower your voice," she hisses, stepping forward. She reaches deep into her heavy cloak and produces a ring of rusted iron keys. They clink softly in the freezing dungeon air.

Without a single word of apology, she jams the largest key into the thick padlock securing my bruised wrists. The heavy iron mechanism groans, clicking open. The biting chains drop from my hands, clattering against the damp stone floor. She moves quickly to my bleeding legs, freeing my ankles next. Pain shoots up my stiff calves as blood rushes back into my numb limbs.

"You’re not here to help me escape, are you?" I breathe out, rubbing my raw skin.

Beatrice doesn't look at my face. "We are running out of time. We have to get out of here right now. Unless you prefer to stay in this cell and let them behead you at sunrise."

Before I can formulate another question, she grabs my forearm. Her grip is bruising. She drags me out of the cell and into the labyrinth of dark, silent palace hallways.

We move on the balls of our feet. Every shadow makes my heart hammer against my ribs. Beatrice navigates the twists and turns with practiced precision, pausing at intersections to listen for the heavy boots of night patrols, then yanking me forward when the coast is clear.

Finally, we reach the far edge of the castle walls. A concealed wooden door blends seamlessly into the stone masonry. Beatrice pulls a smaller key from her ring and slides it into the hidden lock. Her fingers tremble slightly.

"This passage leads straight into the old storage tunnels," she whispers, pushing the heavy timber open. "They haven't been used in years. They will get you past the palace grounds unseen."

She reaches into the dark alcove and shoves a heavy canvas duffel bag hard into my chest. I stumble back, clutching it.

"When you exit the tunnel, take the first right. Keep moving straight, and you will hit the pack borders," Beatrice explains, her tone deadpan. She digs into the bag and pulls out an aerosol can of chemical anti-scent spray, followed by a folded parchment map.

"This map is already marked. Follow the trail directly to the territory of Rhyfel. That is where you will find your deceased mother's original pack. Your uncle and grandmother reside there. They will accept you. They will keep you safe."

My mind reels. A turbulent storm of confusion and deep-seated anger bubbles up in my chest. Just hours prior, this same woman looked Alpha Vance in the eye and swore I murdered Beta Valerius. Now she hands me a lifeline?

As she turns to leave, I drop the map and grab her wrist. My grip is tight, refusing to let her step back into the shadows.

"Why?" I demand, my voice raw. "Why are you risking your life to help me escape? You lied to the Alpha! You framed me for Valerius's death!"

Beatrice looks down at my fingers wrapped around her arm. She gently but firmly peels my hand away. Her eyes meet mine, holding a sorrow I cannot decipher.

"You won't understand right now, Marcy. But I swear on my life, when we meet again in the future, I will explain everything to you."

With that cryptic promise, she pulls her hood up. She turns her back on me and vanishes into the pitch-black corridor without a single backward glance.

Left standing alone in the dark, I have no choice. Survival kicks in. I clutch the duffel bag and step through the hidden door.

The old storage tunnels are damp and claustrophobic. The air smells of rotting earth and mildew. I navigate the pitch-black twists exactly as Beatrice instructed, trailing my hand along the slimy stone walls to keep my bearings. After what feels like hours of agonizingly slow progress, the tunnel slopes upward. I push against a heavy iron grate, stepping out into the biting night air.

I am outside the heavily guarded palace grounds.

I break into a sprint. The official pack border markers loom ahead—tall wooden totems carved with Alpha Vance's crest. I slip past them, crossing the invisible line into the wild, untamed woods.

Once I am a few kilometers deep into the neutral forest, I duck behind the massive, sprawling trunk of an ancient oak tree. I drop the duffel bag and pull out the chemical anti-scent spray. Pressing the nozzle, I vigorously douse my clothes, my hair, and my skin. The harsh, unnatural stench burns my nostrils, masking my natural wolf scent to throw off the inevitable tracking hounds.

I shove the empty can into the dirt. I check the marked paths on Beatrice's map under the pale moonlight. Rhyfel is a long journey on foot. Too long for a human.

The freezing night air bites at my skin as I quickly strip naked. I fold my clothes and shove them into the duffel bag.

It is time. Since receiving my wolf, Sable, on my eighteenth birthday, I have never once shifted. I have never seen her form. For the past two years, the pack dismissed me as a weakling. I believed them. But I know I possess werewolf traits. I can summon my claws. I heal faster than a human. If I want to survive tonight and outrun the Alpha's executioners, I need Sable's speed.

I close my eyes. I focus all my nervous energy inward, pushing my mind toward the change. I wait for the familiar sound of bones cracking, the tearing of muscle reshaping into fur and claws.

Nothing happens.

I try again. I grit my teeth, straining my muscles until sweat beads on my forehead despite the freezing wind. I try surrendering complete control over to my wolf.

My human body remains rigid.

Panic claws at my throat. I drop to my knees in the dirt, shivering wildly. "Sable, what is going on? Why can't we shift?" I ask aloud, my voice echoing into the empty woods.

Sable paces frantically in the back of my mind. *I don't know, Marcy,* she replies, her tone dripping with sheer disbelief. *I can feel the instinct. I want to burst out. But something is blocking us. It feels like a dark, suppressive magical force pressing down on our bond, stopping the physical transformation.*

Before we can even begin to decipher this terrifying biological failure, the ground beneath my bare knees vibrates.

*Thud. Thud. Thud.*

Heavy, rhythmic stomping echoes through the trees. A border guard's boots crunching over dead leaves.

I snap my head toward the noise. Through the thick brush, the silhouette of a massive guard marches steadily in my direction. He carries a silver-tipped spear, his eyes scanning the tree line.

Fear floods my veins. I scramble to my feet, dragging my dress out of the duffel bag. I pull the fabric over my head with trembling hands, barely managing to zip it up. I grab the bag and bolt blind into the dense, thorny forest.

My sudden movement rustles the dry bushes.

"Hey! Stop right there!" a deep voice bellows behind me.

I ignore him. I push my aching legs to sprint faster, tearing through the underbrush. Sharp thorns slice across my bare arms and cheeks. I ignore the sting, letting pure adrenaline fuel my escape.

I run relentlessly. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Forty minutes. I do not look back. I push my muscles until they scream in protest, running until my lungs burn with every gasping breath.

Finally, the heavy sound of pursuit fades into the natural ambiance of the crickets and wind. I slow to a heavy limp, my chest heaving. I lean against a mossy boulder, clutching my side to catch my breath.

Feeling safe enough for a brief pause, I reach into the bag for the map. I need to ensure I am still heading toward Rhyfel.

Suddenly, a sharp, piercing sensation strikes my right forearm.

"Ouch!" I wince, grabbing the limb. I squint in the dark, but nothing is there. No bug bite. No thorn.

Before I can even process the strange phenomenon, another stabbing strike hits my left arm.

"What the hell..." I whisper.

Then, the true agony begins.

In brutal, quick succession, a tearing, excruciating pain rips straight through my abdomen. It feels as though hot knives are carving my organs apart. I gasp, choking on air, as a secondary wave of agony slams into the back of my skull. It moves to my chest, crushing my ribs inward.

The relentless, blinding torment shatters my balance. I fall to my knees, dropping the bag. My hands clutch my stomach as a guttural scream tears from my throat. I have never felt anything like this. It feels like my very soul is being shredded.

My body tilts. The ground drops away. I realize too late that I am kneeling on the precarious edge of a steep, jagged rocky ridge.

I tumble forward.

Gravity takes hold, sending my battered body pitching head over heels down the slope. Sharp rocks bash against my ribs. Thick tree roots clip my shoulders. I somersault through the dark, the impact knocking the air from my lungs again and again. The physical trauma mixes with the inexplicable, agonizing internal fire ripping through my chest.

I crash brutally onto a flat, open dirt plain at the bottom of the ridge.

"AHHHHH!" I scream at the top of my lungs, curling into a tight fetal position to minimize the unimaginable pain radiating through every nerve ending.

The agony crests, overwhelming my breaking point. A heavy, suffocating darkness floods my vision, pulling my consciousness under.

***

A brutal, crushing kick to my stomach yanks me back to the waking world.

I gasp, my eyes flying open as I cough up a mouthful of dirt. I hunch forward, wrapping my arms around my throbbing ribs to block another attack.

"She's not dead, just unconscious," a gruff, menacing voice rumbles above me.

"Yep, she's very much alive," a second voice adds. A heavy steel-toed boot nudges my thigh. "Who are you, rogue? And what are you doing in Valoria? Answer now, before I kill you for trespassing."

Pure, freezing dread paralyzes my spine. The air leaves my lungs.

Valoria.

The name alone makes my blood run cold. It is the legendary, blood-soaked territory of the most cruel, unforgiving Alpha King across all the wolf kingdoms. A ruler known for slaughtering trespassers on sight.

I scramble backward across the dirt, frantic tears spilling over my bruised cheeks. I refuse to meet their eyes, remembering how my own father used to brutalize rogues who dared look him in the face.

"Please! Don't kill me. I mean no harm!" I plead, my voice shaking uncontrollably.

I had no idea I crossed into Valoria. Beatrice's map showed no major cities on the path to Rhyfel. The fall down that ridge must have knocked me completely off course. If I am in the Alpha King's territory, I am as good as dead.

A massive hand grabs the collar of my dress. He hauls me roughly to my feet.

"P-please, w-where am I?" I stammer, trembling in his unyielding grip.

"What is going on here?" a cold, authoritative male voice interrupts.

Through my blurred vision, I watch a high-ranking pack member step forward. He is flanked by two heavily armed guards. His face is an emotionless mask as his calculating eyes sweep over my battered form.

The guard holding me bows his head respectfully. "We found this rogue in our territory this morning as we were about to start our patrol, sir."

The high-ranking member studies me for a long, agonizing moment. "Have you reported this to the Alpha King?"

"No, sir. We just found her."

"Take her to the Alpha King for judgment." The man orders coldly, turning on his heel and walking away.

"No! Please don't take me to the King!" I sob, struggling weakly against the massive guard. "I lost my way! I fell off the ridge trying to reach my mother's pack! Please!"

The guard ignores my desperate tears. He ruthlessly drags me by my arms, my boots dragging through the dirt toward the towering, imposing obsidian palace in the distance.

As we approach the massive stone steps, he yanks me up by the hair, forcing my face close to his. The cold steel of a hunting blade presses flat against my throat.

"Let me hear your voice one more time, and I will slice this neck and make sure you never talk again," he threatens.

I slap both hands over my mouth, swallowing the terrified sobs fighting to break free. I stumble along in silence, my heart hammering a chaotic rhythm against my ribs.

The guard shoves the heavy, gilded court doors open. The massive hinges groan, echoing through the sprawling hall.

"Your Highness. We found this rogue close to the border this morning," the guard announces loudly, his voice booming through the cavernous space.

As he forcefully pushes me inside the massive throne room, my senses are immediately hijacked.

The most intoxicating, overwhelming aroma washes over me, stealing the breath from my lungs. It is the crisp, fresh scent of a deep forest right after a heavy rainfall, sensually blended with warm, musky amber and a tingling hint of spice that sets my nerves on fire. It wraps around me, demanding my undivided attention.

MATE! Sable screams triumphantly in my mind, her previous weakness vanishing in a surge of primal possessiveness.

I freeze, my eyes wide as I stare toward the front of the room.

Is the Alpha King my mate? My second chance?