Into the Wild
Clara ran.
Branches tore at her clothes, slapping against her arms and face, but she didn’t slow down. Her legs, trembling and sore, begged her to stop, but she pushed harder. Her breath came in short, desperate gasps. The night air was thick, damp, and cold against her skin, stinging like invisible needles. The forest loomed in every direction—endless and dark but she kept running.
Her feet pounded against the uneven forest floor, crunching over dried leaves and broken twigs. Every sound made her flinch—the shrill cry of an owl, the sudden rustle of bushes behind her, the howl of a distant wolf. But she couldn’t stop. She didn’t dare.
She had no idea where she was anymore. Every tree looked the same, every path twisted into another, and the deeper she went, the more unfamiliar everything became. She was lost. Terribly, hopelessly lost.
Still, Clara kept running.
The scarf tied around her head slipped down her neck, releasing thick strands of her long red hair into the cold night air. She reached back with one hand to tighten it, but her fingers fumbled. The knot loosened further. Panic flared in her chest.
She couldn’t let them see her hair. It was her mark—her curse, her giveaway. That red hair would betray her the moment the torches found her in the dark.
But worse than being recognized was being caught.
She pressed forward, ignoring the growing burn in her lungs. Tears clung to her lashes, blurring her vision, but she refused to let them fall. The betrayal she felt weighed heavier than her fear. Her own home—her step father—had led her to this.
Just a few days ago, life had been normal… or so she had thought.
She’d come back from the stream as usual, water droplets clinging to her skin, her scarf carefully wrapped around her hair. She remembered entering the compound, confused at the sight of black polished cars and men in armor. Guards. Royal guards. Her father’s estate was swarming with them.
“What’s going on?” she’d whispered to one of the maids.
The girl had looked at her with pity in her eyes. She hesitated but after a minute she spoke up “The Alpha… he sent a proposal.”
Clara’s heart had thudded. A proposal? What did that mean?
She had asked her dad but he said it was nothing.
“Nothing important,” her father said, brushing it off. “Just a formal visit.”
But Clara had seen the way her father wouldn’t meet her eyes. The way his hands trembled slightly as she smoothed down her dress. She’d smelled something in the air that day—secrecy. And lies.
She should have asked more questions. She should have listened to the maid when she’d whispered, “They want to take you.”
Clara’s thoughts scattered as pain exploded through her leg. A scream tore from her throat as she stumbled forward, in pain she stopped holding unto a tree thrunk about to move furtger she fell to the ground.
Something had snapped around her ankle.
