Matilda gasped, the metallic scent of blood filling her nostrils and making her stomach churn.
Every breath felt like fire in her lungs, sharp and painful.
Behind her, the growls of her pursuers echoed through the dark forest, a chilling reminder of the danger closing in.
"Run, Matilda, run!" her mind screamed, the panic coursing through her veins like ice.
For ten long years, she had lived in fear of this moment, her uncle's warnings replaying in her head: "When the time comes, don't think. Just run. Never look back."
Under his guidance, Uncle Jasper had taught her simple self-defense, how to hunt food, and how to escape from danger, but nothing could have prepared her for this nightmare. Reality was sour and bitter, but practical.
Just a few yards behind her, Uncle Jasper's body lay crumpled on the ground, still and lifeless. His last words echoed in her mind, a haunting reminder of the stakes.
"Run, Matilda. Never look back."
The thought of him made her heart ache. Tears blurred her vision, but she fought them back, forcing herself to concentrate on the sound of her feet pounding against the forest floor.
Suddenly, she tripped over a hidden root, crashing to the ground. The snap of a twig under her weight felt like a gunshot in the stillness of the night.
A guttural roar split the air, sending a jolt of fear through her. They were getting closer. Too close.
"Damn it, she's too fast for her age," one of the rogues muttered, frustration lacing his voice.
"Don't worry. She can't keep this up forever," another replied, their voices dripping with malice.
Panic surged within Matilda, tightening around her throat. She darted to the side, narrowly avoiding a low-hanging branch that scraped her arm. The sting was a welcome distraction from the terror threatening to swallow her whole.
The heavy footfalls of her pursuers grew louder, the sound of snapping branches echoing in her ears.
She stumbled again, her ankle twisting painfully. A sharp jolt shot up her leg, and a whimper escaped her lips, but she pushed through the pain. She couldn't stop. She wouldn't.
With a quick glance over her shoulder, her heart raced. They were too close for comfort.
Three hulking figures loomed behind her, their faces hidden in the dark night. One of them raised a hand, revealing a wickedly curved knife that glinted ominously in the moonlight.
Her breath caught in her throat. Was this it?
Just then, a blur of movement shot past her. Two werewolves with glowing eyes tackled the lead rogue, sending him crashing to the ground.
Matilda didn't stop to think. She kept running, her legs trembling and her body screaming for rest, driven by grief and fear. But before she could take another step, a strong grip clamped down on her arm.
She struggled, panic rising within her. "Let me go!" she gasped, her voice raw with terror.
But the grip was unyielding. When she looked up, her heart sank.
A group of imposing werewolves surrounded her, their eyes piercing and fierce. One of them, a towering figure, held her firmly in place.
Behind them stood a massive oak tree, and beyond it, a sprawling structure loomed...a pack house.
She had unknowingly crossed into another pack's territory.
"Who are you, rogue? What are you doing on our land?" the wolf holding her demanded, his voice rough and gravelly.
Matilda opened her mouth to respond, but darkness began to creep into her vision. Her body, exhausted and trembling, finally gave in.
She collapsed onto the porch, her world fading to black.
"What the hell…" the wolf snarled, frustration evident in his tone.
"Stop it, Joel," another voice interjected, calm yet commanding. "If you scare her too much, we might never get an answer. Take her to the dungeon."
Joel let out a low growl but obeyed, hoisting Matilda's unconscious body over his shoulder.
As they disappeared into the night, the only sounds left behind were the sonant wind and the lifeless bodies of the three rogues.