Seren had never felt so hunted.
The Hollowlands weren't just dangerous—they were alive. The woods whispered in a language she couldn't understand, but the threat behind it was clear. Everything out here watched you, weighed you, and decided whether you were worth the effort to kill.
And now she knew the Council was watching, too.
The hunter who had tracked her wore the silver mask of the Silent Order—a death squad the Council sent only when they didn't want questions asked. That meant Lucan hadn't just rejected her.
He wanted her erased.
Her. And the baby.
She sat near the dying embers of her fire, wrapping her arms around her knees. Her clothes were still damp from the mud. Her heartbeat was too loud. She hadn't slept more than a few hours since the attack.
And the wolf… still hadn't come back.
She wasn't sure he would.
Or why he had helped her in the first place.
But she knew this much: if she stayed in one place too long, she'd be found again.
Next time, he might not be there to stop it.
By midmorning, Seren was back on her feet.
She packed what she could—what little Cael, or whoever he was, had left for her in that strange, quiet shelter. A skin of water. Some jerky. Threadbare gloves. She stole nothing. She didn't have the energy for guilt on top of everything else.
The sky was gray when she left the cabin behind.
A thick mist rolled over the forest floor as she pushed deeper into the wilds. There was no path. No markers. Just trees that grew too tall, too close together. Roots as thick as snakes. Fungi that glowed slightly when touched.
Both packs and vampire lords had abandoned this land after the war. Left untouched. Too cursed. Too wild to tame.
She'd grown up hearing stories about monsters in these woods.
Now she was one of them.
By late afternoon, the pain started again.
It wasn't sharp. Not like cramping. It was pressure—pushing outward from her lower belly. Her baby wasn't kicking. It was… reaching. Her magic flared every time it happened. Her fingertips buzzed like she was holding static. Visions flickered behind her eyes. Faces she didn't recognize. Names she'd never heard.
She fell to her knees behind a ridge and screamed into the dirt.
Not because of the pain.
Because she was scared of what was growing inside her.
Whatever it was, it wasn't just a mix of vampire and seer blood. That didn't explain the strength of the bond forming between her and the child. It didn't explain the pull she felt east, through the forest, toward something she couldn't name.
The Council wasn't scared of her.
They were scared of her baby.
And that meant it was more important than she ever guessed.
She moved again as the sun began to dip behind the trees.
Her body ached. Her limbs were heavy. Every sound made her flinch. At one point, she thought she saw another masked figure behind a tree—but it vanished when she blinked.
By dusk, she found a shallow cave tucked between two fallen stones. She pulled herself inside and collapsed on her side, her breath ragged.
Her hands trembled as she pulled her knees to her chest.
A single tear slipped down her cheek.
She hated crying.
She hated being the girl who cried.
But tonight, there was no one to hear her.
When she woke, it was to heat.
Not fire—magic.
Her skin was glowing faintly in the dark. Her breath steamed in front of her face. Her hands sparked like a short circuit.
Then a voice echoed in her skull.
Not a voice, exactly. A thought. Not hers.
Soon.
She jolted up, eyes wide.
The cave was empty.
But the magic lingered.
She wasn't alone in her body anymore.
She didn't know if the baby was speaking to her. Or if something else had attached itself to her pregnancy.
Either way, she was done running blind.
She needed answers.
The next day, she moved toward the eastern edge of the Hollowlands.
A whisper kept pulling her that way. Not a literal sound, but a feeling in her bones. Like a dream she couldn't shake. She passed through strange ruins—fallen statues, crumbling arches, bits of old wards that still flickered faintly under moss and ivy.
Then she saw it.
A standing stone. Covered in carvings.
And in front of it, a fire pit.
Freshly used.
Someone was nearby.
She crept forward quietly, hand near her knife.
And stopped.
The wolf stood at the far edge of the clearing.
Watching her.
Still not speaking.
But this time… he didn't leave.
He tilted his head toward the fire and sat down on a flat stone.
An invitation.
Seren didn't speak. She just walked slowly toward him, dropped her bag beside the fire, and sat down opposite him.
His eyes never left her.
Up close, he looked even more dangerous. Not just strong—scarred. One along his jaw. Another down his wrist. And his scent was wrong. Not rogue. Not pure wolf either.
Something older.
"You're not just a wolf," she said softly.
Still no answer.
"You saved me."
Nothing.
But he watched her belly now. Not in fear. Not in disgust.
In curiosity.
He knew.
"You feel it, don't you?" She asked,"
He blinked.
"I don't know what this baby is," she whispered. "I don't know what it means. But I think it's drawing things to me."
The wind shifted.
He sniffed once.
Stood.
Tensed.
Then, he turned his head slightly toward the trees.
They were being watched again.
He didn't shift into a wolf.
He didn't roar or threaten.
He just stepped in front of her and growled low in his throat.
A warning.
To whatever—whoever—was near.
And in that moment, Seren understood one thing:
She wasn't just prey anymore.
She was a target.
And he had just made himself her protector.