Angel's POV
Darkness.
Thick, suffocating darkness pressed in from all sides.
I woke with a gasp, my heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape my chest. For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was. Couldn't remember anything except the crushing weight of shadows.
Then it all came rushing back.
Hawkins. The throne room. The knife.
The monster who wouldn't die.
I sat up so fast my head spun, nausea rolling through my stomach in waves. My hands fumbled in the darkness, searching for something - anything - that would orient me.
Fabric. I was surrounded by fabric. Canvas, maybe?
A tent.
I was in a tent.
Someone had tucked me in. Someone had laid me down carefully, covered me with a blanket, put me somewhere... safe?
No. Nothing was safe. Not anymore.
My breathing came faster, panic clawing up my throat. That monster. That scarred beast who I'd stabbed over and over and who hadn't even flinched. He'd taken me. Of course he'd taken me. And now I was here, wherever here was, probably being saved for whatever sick plans he had.
Just like Hawkins.
No. No, no, no.
I wouldn't let it happen again. I wouldn't be used, broken, degraded. I'd rather die. I'd rather run into the forest and let the wolves have me than submit to another man's cruelty.
My hands found the tent's zipper in the darkness. I pulled it down slowly, carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible.
Cold air hit me the moment I opened the flap.
Freezing cold. The kind that cut through clothes and bit into skin.
I was still wearing the same torn, filthy dress from Hawkins' castle. The material did nothing to protect against the night chill, hanging off my body in shreds that exposed more than they covered.
I didn't care.
Cold was temporary. Slavery was forever.
I crawled out of the tent on my hands and knees, my already ruined dress catching on the ground, accumulating more dirt and tears. The fabric ripped further as I moved, but I ignored it, focused entirely on escape.
Get away. Just get away.
The campfire was dying, reduced to glowing embers that cast barely enough light to see by. Bodies lay scattered around it - men sleeping, wrapped in bedrolls or simply stretched out on the ground.
I froze, my eyes scanning the group frantically, trying to identify which one was him.
There.
By the rock. Sleeping peacefully like he hadn't committed mass murder. Like he hadn't destroyed everything and everyone I'd ever loved.
The monster.
Rage surged through me, hot and vicious, temporarily overriding the cold and fear. I wanted to crawl over there. Wanted to find another knife. Wanted to try again and again until something finally worked, until he finally died, until I could watch the light leave his eyes and know that justice had been served.
But I had no weapon. And stabbing him eighteen times hadn't accomplished anything except exhausting myself.
Leave. Fight another day.
I tore my gaze away from him and started crawling again, my knees scraping against rocks and roots, my hands finding every sharp edge in the darkness.
I was almost past the fire when I saw him.
Another man, sleeping near the edge of the camp. But this one...
I stopped, frozen for an entirely different reason.
He was beautiful.
Even in the dim light from the dying embers, I could see the sharp lines of his face, the strong jaw, the way his dark hair fell across his forehead. He slept on his side, one arm tucked under his head, his features relaxed and peaceful.
Handsome didn't even begin to cover it. He was the kind of man maidens wrote songs about. The kind that girls in my village would have sold their souls to be near. And he was a werewolf - I could tell from the way he carried himself even in sleep, from the casual power in his form.
I stared longer than I should have.
Memorized the curve of his lips, the line of his nose, the way shadows played across his features.
Then I caught myself.
What are you doing?
My life was in shambles. My family was dead. I was escaping from a group of men who'd likely kill me if they caught me. And I was sitting here admiring a man's face like some lovesick fool?
Besides, a man like that would never look at someone like me. Men like him wanted thin, delicate women. Pretty women. Women who turned heads and inspired poetry.
Not fat, ugly girls who'd been passed around like property and bore the scars to prove it.
Even if by some miracle he did look at me, it would only be with pity. Or disgust.
Never desire.
Move. Stop being stupid and MOVE.
I tore my gaze away and started crawling faster, urgency replacing my momentary distraction. The edge of the camp loomed ahead - just a few more feet until I reached the tree line, until I could disappear into the forest.
The moment my hands touched grass instead of dirt, I stood and ran.
My bare feet hit the ground hard, finding every sharp stone, every broken twig, every thorn. Pain shot up my legs with each step, but I didn't care. Couldn't care.
I ran like the devil himself was chasing me.
Maybe he was.
Branches whipped at my face. My dress caught on bushes and tore further. The cold burned my lungs with each gasping breath.
But I was free. Finally free…
Strong hands grabbed me from behind.
I screamed and thrashed, throwing my weight backward, trying to break free through sheer desperation. My elbow connected with something solid. My feet kicked out wildly.
"Stop! I'm not going to hurt you!"
The voice was deep but gentle. Concerned, not angry.
I froze.
Slowly, the hands released me, though I could sense the person was ready to grab me again if I tried to run.
I spun around, fists raised despite knowing how useless they'd be.
And found myself staring at the handsome man from the campfire.
Up close, he was even more striking. Dark eyes that seemed to see straight through me. Strong features that would make any sculptor weep. A mouth that was somehow both firm and soft.
He held his hands up in a placating gesture, taking a small step back.
"It's okay," he said softly. "I'm not going to hurt you."
I stared at him, my chest heaving, my mind racing.
This close, I could see he wasn't just handsome - he was dangerous. Power radiated from him like heat from a fire. This was a man who'd killed, who'd seen battle, who'd survived things that would break normal people.
But his eyes were kind.
The contradiction made me dizzy.
"Who are you?" I managed to rasp out.
He smiled slightly, and the expression transformed his face from merely handsome to absolutely devastating.