The roar came again.
Closer.
Closer than it should have been.
Ayra felt it in her bones. That sound did not belong to an ordinary wolf. It carried authority. Fury. Command.
Vincent.
The man behind her swore under his breath.
"You've caused trouble," he muttered.
Ayra struggled against his grip. "Let me go."
He only tightened his hold.
The blade pressed harder into her side. She could feel the point now, sharp even through fabric.
Leaves rustled violently in the distance. Branches cracked.
Vincent was moving fast.
Too fast for a normal patrol.
The attacker shifted his position, dragging Ayra backward toward thicker trees.
"You were supposed to be alone," he said.
Her stomach turned cold.
Supposed to be.
This was planned.
"You won't escape him," she said, trying to sound braver than she felt.
He leaned closer to her ear.
"I don't need to."
The meaning hit her too late.
The blade drove forward.
There was no warning.
No slow build.
Just sudden, violent pressure.
Metal tore through fabric.
Through skin.
Through muscle.
For a second, her mind refused to understand what had happened.
Then the pain came.
It was not sharp like she expected.
It was heavy.
Burning.
Deep.
Her breath vanished from her lungs.
The attacker stepped back, pulling the blade out.
Warmth spread quickly across her side.
She looked down.
Dark liquid soaked through her dress.
Blood.
Her blood.
The world tilted.
She staggered backward.
He did not try to strike again.
He did not need to.
"You only needed to die," he said flatly.
Another roar shook the trees.
Much closer now.
The attacker glanced toward the sound.
Then back at her.
"Too late."
He turned and disappeared between the trees.
Fast.
Silent.
Gone.
Ayra dropped to her knees.
Her hands instinctively pressed against the wound.
It was useless.
The blood would not stop.
The pain sharpened now, radiating through her abdomen and up her spine.
She tried to breathe.
Air came in shallow gasps.
The forest seemed too large.
Too quiet.
The mate bond inside her chest flared violently.
Hot.
Agonizing.
She felt it tug.
As if something invisible was stretching between her and Vincent.
She could hear him crashing through the forest now.
She tried to call out.
His name caught in her throat.
No sound came.
Her fingers grew slick.
Her vision blurred at the edges.
This cannot be happening.
Not like this.
Not tonight.
She had already lost her future.
Was she going to lose her life too?
Footsteps thundered toward her.
A massive black wolf burst through the trees.
He shifted mid-stride.
Fur receded.
Bones reshaped.
Vincent stood before her, breathing hard, eyes blazing.
His gaze fell to the blood.
To her hands.
To the wound.
Something in his expression shattered.
"Ayra."
Her name left his lips raw.
He dropped to his knees in front of her.
His hands hovered over her wound, unsure where to press without causing more damage.
"Who did this?" His voice shook with contained fury.
She tried to answer.
Her lips moved.
No sound.
He pressed his hand gently over the wound, applying pressure.
His palm was warm.
Strong.
Solid.
She felt safe for one small, fragile second.
"I told you to stay inside the walls," he said, but the words held no blame. Only fear.
She focused on his face.
His dark eyes were no longer cold.
They were wide.
Terrified.
Why does he look like that?
If he rejected me… why does he look like he's losing everything?
The mate bond pulsed again.
Stronger.
Brighter.
It did not feel broken.
It felt desperate.
"Stay with me," he ordered.
His voice carried Alpha command.
Normally, it would have compelled obedience.
Tonight, her body did not respond.
She was too cold.
The forest seemed to spin slowly around them.
"I'm sorry," he said suddenly.
The words were rough. Real.
Not like in the hall.
This was not for an audience.
This was not controlled.
It was broken.
Her heart clenched painfully.
Why now?
She wanted to ask.
Why reject me if you care?
Why apologize if you meant it?
Her fingers twitched weakly against his arm.
He caught the movement immediately.
"I'm here," he said. "You're not dying. Do you hear me?"
He lifted her carefully into his arms.
The motion sent a fresh wave of agony through her body.
She gasped.
The world flashed white for a moment.
He began moving fast toward the pack.
Too fast.
Each step jarred her wound.
Blood soaked through his hands now.
She could feel it slipping away from her.
Strength.
Warmth.
Time.
"Look at me," he demanded.
She tried.
His face blurred.
His voice echoed strangely, like it came from underwater.
The mate bond inside her chest flickered.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
It was not fading like a severed bond should.
It was stretching.
Straining.
As if resisting something.
Vincent stumbled slightly but kept running.
"Stay awake," he ordered again.
She wanted to.
She really did.
But the cold was spreading.
From her side.
Through her limbs.
Up her chest.
Her fingers went numb first.
Then her toes.
The pain dulled.
That scared her more than the pain.
"Vincent," she finally managed to whisper.
He leaned closer.
"I'm here."
His voice cracked.
She swallowed, tasting iron.
"You… looked afraid."
The words barely left her lips.
He froze for a fraction of a second.
Then ran faster.
"I am," he said hoarsely.
Her vision dimmed further.
The trees blurred into streaks of black and silver.
The mate bond pulsed one final time.
Then,
Something inside her snapped.
Not the bond.
Something else.
A strange sensation washed over her.
Like falling backward into deep water.
Vincent was shouting now.
She could not hear the words.
Only the tone.
Fury.
Desperation.
Command.
The forest darkened completely.
The cold swallowed everything.
Her last thought was simple.
This isn't how it was supposed to end.
And then,
Nothing.
No pain.
No fear.
No sound.
Just silence.
Absolute and complete.
Ayra Vale died in Vincent Thorn's arms beneath the trees of Nightfall Forest.
And the world went black.