As we walk, their gazes burn into my back, watching, waiting for my next move. The breeze stirs the leaves around us, and from the tree line, the vólkins appear.
My heart pounds when I see Theron, leading the group of at least a dozen warriors. I haven’t seen him all morning, and for some strange reason, I feel my body needing to be closer. Theron is a handsome wolf. So big and strong, with unnatural muscles. But then I seeGregor.
He hangs over one of the vólkin’s massive shoulders, his body slack like a rag doll. He looks worse than when I last sawhim. His ribs are visible beneath his torn tunic, blood crusted around his mouth and eyes, his skin pale and splotched with bruises. He looks like a man who’s been to the edge of death and clawed his way back. My stomach churns at the sight. What happened to him?
Seeing him like this, so small and fragile among the giant vólkins, makes me... need to protect him. He’s human. He’smykind.
Theron’s eyes soften as his gaze meets mine. There’s something magnetic about him, a pull that I can’t seem to resist. Half a day apart feels like too long.
Will this connection ever weaken?
When Mother would leave for days, I’d throw myself into preparing for her return—cleaning the house, tending to her roses, cooking her a warm meal. That ache of missing her, the joy of her return, it felt overwhelming back then. But this... of course this is different.
Am I falling for him?
The question is so out of place. Right now, it’s the last thing I should be thinking about.
When Theron’s gaze shifts to Gregor, all tenderness vanishes. His face hardens with distrust. It’s in the way his jaw tightens, in the way his broad shoulders stiffen. He despises Gregor, sees him as someone who shouldn’t be here. Not in Ávera. Not near me. His face says it all.
Theron made it clear before that sparing Gregor was a mistake. And yet, Gregor is here, barely clinging to life, surrounded by beings we were told to hate.
I understand that fear. I remember it from the first time I saw Theron, and then Ávera. The feeling of being so small, so out of place, fragile among powerful wolves. Walking into Ávera for the first time, surrounded by deadly beasts.
It overwhelmed me then, and I see that same fear in Gregor now. His eyes, wide with terror, flick back and forth between the vólkins as if he’s trying to determine which one might kill him.
Ívar, the warrior who holds him, unceremoniously drops Gregor to the ground at my feet. The sound of his body hitting the dirt makes me jolt, and a flash of anger burns within me at the roughness of it all. He’s already suffered enough.
Beside me, Theron crosses his arms. He doesn’t trust Gregor. Not one bit.
Gregor groans in pain when he hits the earth but doesn’t stay down long. Shivering, he crawls toward my feet, his bloody hands leave streaks in the dirt as he drags himself forward. The sight of it makes my heart clench.
“P-please...” His voice is so weak. “Please, you have to listen to me.”
Oh, poor thing.
I crouch and offer him a gentle smile. “It’s alright, Gregor. You’re safe here.”
But as I speak, the tension rises around me. Some vólkins grunt, their eyes dark and judgmental. Theron’s irritation radiates off him, his gaze never leaving Gregor.
I take a slow breath and focus back on Gregor. “What happened to you?” My voice is calm, but I can’t ignore the knot forming in my stomach. I need to understand.
Gregor hesitates, his eyes on mine as his pupils dilate. His lips quiver as he speaks. “I-I was captured.”
I frown. “Captured? By whom?”
His eyes lower to the ground, and I can see him trembling. “They tortured me.”
What?
I was expecting something harsh, considering his state... but not this.
“Tortured?” I repeat. I instinctively reach out to touch his shoulder. “Gregor, who did this to you?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know... I don’t know who they were. I only heard them call themselves the Shadow Guild.”
I frown again. The Shadow Guild? I’ve never heard of them.
“Who are they?”
