Chapter 5 Into the teeth of it

The fire smelled like old wood and wet fur. Not the clean kind of campfire scent from stories, but the acrid, smoke-choked kind that clings to your skin, curls into your hair, and makes you feel like you'll never be clean again.

Still, it was heat.

And I was shaking.

Not from the cold-though the night air in this part of the forest bit deep-but from something older. Something feral and wired into my bones.

Fear.

Knox hadn't offered a blanket, or food, or anything resembling comfort. He'd simply pointed to the far end of the fire, where a few logs had been dragged into something like a circle. I sat alone. Everyone else stayed grouped together, backs to each other like wolves watching all angles.

Because they were wolves.

Not pack wolves.

Not trained, ordered, structure-fed wolves like I'd grown up around.

These were the strays. The ones who'd slipped through the cracks of every hierarchy. Some probably hadn't even been born into a pack. Others, like me, had been cast out.

Or had run.

I tucked my hands under my arms and tried to stay small. Invisible.

It didn't work.

"You're shivering," one of them said, her voice jagged and unimpressed. I glanced up. The girl from earlier-the one with the knife. She crouched just a few feet away now, chewing on a piece of dried meat like it was jerky, though the smell made me gag.

"I'm fine," I said.

She laughed. "That's what they all say. At first."

"At first?"

Her eyes glinted. "Before they break."

I looked away.

She lingered a moment, then shrugged and returned to the group.

The silence returned with her. And the weight.

Not just of their eyes-though I could feel them, watching from beneath furrowed brows and drawn hoods. But the weight of what I'd done.

Of what I'd left behind.

I'd rejected my mate.

Let the bond fall like ash from my lips.

And he'd told me to.

Damon Spears had stood there, unmoving, unfeeling, as I shattered us both. And maybe that was why it hurt so much. Not because I'd done it. But because he had let me.

I blinked hard, pressing my palms to my eyes to stop the tears before they came. I wasn't going to cry. Not here. Not in front of them.

A soft thud nearby made me flinch.

Something landed at my feet-a lump of fur and bone, still steaming.

A rabbit.

I looked up.

Knox stood a few feet away, face unreadable. He didn't say anything. Just stared at me, waiting.

"What am I supposed to do with that?" I asked, voice rough.

He tilted his head. "Eat."

"I don't have a knife."

He didn't blink. "Not my problem."

Then he walked away.

I stared at the rabbit. Blood still oozed from its throat.

Back in Silver Hollow, I'd helped prepare food, yes-but I'd never had to skin something raw. I knew how. In theory. But theory and practice were very different things when the thing in front of you was still warm.

I looked around. No one offered help.

This was the test, then. Not a formal one. Not like the Trials.

This was how they sorted you.

Eat, or starve.

Bleed your hands, or go hungry.

I found a flat stone and began to work, clumsy and slow. The fur didn't come clean. My fingers slipped, and blood smeared my hands. I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper, willing myself not to gag.

By the time I had the meat vaguely cleaned and tossed over a stick, I could barely feel my fingers.

But I did it.

I ate.

It tasted like smoke and metal and grief.

And still-it was the best thing I'd ever tasted.

Because it was mine. Because I'd earned it.

Because I wasn't dead.

Later, I wandered just far enough from the fire to find a patch of ground that didn't smell like piss or ash. I curled up under a blanket someone must've dropped near the edge of the clearing-damp, threadbare, but better than nothing.

I stared at the stars through the web of branches above.

The forest here felt older. Wilder. Like it remembered things. Like it could judge you.

I whispered to the dark. "Do you hate me, too?"

The trees didn't answer.

But the cold did.

And somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled. Not in grief. Not in rage. But in warning.

You don't belong here.

I must've drifted.

Because the next thing I felt was breath on my neck.

I bolted upright, heart slamming in my chest.

One of the strays had crept close-tall, wiry, with greasy hair and a wide grin that didn't reach his eyes.

"You sleep like prey," he said.

"I sleep like someone who's tired."

He crouched beside me, too close.

"You know, some of us don't like outsiders. Especially ones with Alpha scent still on them."

"I don't wear his scent anymore."

His grin widened. "Sure. But it's in you. You smell like power. Like privilege. Like someone who's always had a place."

I stood. So did he.

"Back off," I said.

He leaned in. "Or what?"

Before I could move, another voice cut through the dark.

"Back off, Silas. Now."

Knox.

His tone didn't rise. It didn't need to. The way the air changed around him was enough.

Silas stepped back, muttering, "Just saying hi."

"Say it again, and you'll say it toothless."

Knox stepped between us, his broad shoulders blocking the moonlight. Silas disappeared into the trees, grumbling.

I kept my chin up, but inside, I was shaking.

"You always let your wolves harass newcomers?" I asked, hating the quiver in my voice.

Knox looked down at me. "They're not my wolves."

"Then why do they listen to you?"

He didn't answer.

Just turned and started walking.

After a moment, I followed.

We moved in silence through the trees until the fire was out of sight.

Finally, he stopped in front of a hollowed tree trunk. He gestured inside. "You can sleep here. No one will bother you."

I stepped inside. It was warmer. Dry. Smelled like moss and bark.

"Thanks," I murmured.

He hesitated. "You handled yourself."

"Barely."

"That's more than most do on their first night."

I sat down, tucking the blanket around me. "Why let me stay?"

"You didn't beg."

That surprised me.

"That's all it takes?"

Knox's voice was low. "Out here, survival is the only test that matters."

He started to leave, then paused.

"I know why you left him."

I looked up sharply.

"You don't know anything about me."

"I know the look. I've seen it on others. Seen it in the mirror. You're not weak. Just... finally done being controlled."

I swallowed. "You ever reject a bond?"

He nodded once. "Didn't have a choice. She chose someone else. I just gave her what she wanted."

The bitterness in his voice was barely buried.

"It still hurts," I said softly.

"Yeah."

He left me then, disappearing into the trees like a shadow.

And for the first time since I'd crossed the border, I cried.

Not the quiet kind of crying. Not the careful, muffled sobs I'd learned to perfect in Silver Hollow.

No.

This was ugly. Raw. A tearing, shuddering release that left my throat raw and my hands clenched in the dirt.

Because now there was no going back.

I'd stepped out of the world I knew and into one where I was no one.

But somewhere in the hollow ache of it, a small spark flickered.

I had survived.

Just one night.

But it was a start.

Morning came grey and wet.

I emerged from the hollow, blinking blearily, to find the fire still smoldering. A few of the strays were already up, sharpening blades, checking traps, murmuring low.

Knox was leaning against a tree, arms crossed.

He tossed something at me.

A piece of bread. Stale. Cracked.

I caught it anyway.

"Eat," he said. "Then you work."

"What kind of work?"

He gave me a half-smile-dry, but not unkind.

"Surviving."

The forest didn't ask questions.

It didn't care where you'd come from or what you'd lost.

It simply demanded you live.

And I was learning how to do just that.

The first days,hell, the first weeks-blurred into a relentless rhythm of hunger, fear, and slow, aching muscle memory.

The strays didn't welcome me with open arms. No. They tested me. Like a wolf testing a stranger's scent.

At first, I thought the worst had passed when Knox let me stay that first night. But trust was a currency no one here gave freely.

The knife-wielding girl, Silas with his greasy hair, even the quiet ones with shadows behind their eyes-they all watched. Waited. Judged.

And I had no choice but to prove I belonged.

I was not a warrior.

I never had been.

I was the pack's omega, the servant girl who kept silent and small.

But here, that was a death sentence.

No one protected the weak.

Because here, there were no weak.

Just survivors.

The mornings were the hardest.

The ache of hunger gnawed at my belly before I even opened my eyes.

No soft bread or sweet fruit awaited me. No warm kitchen or gentle hands to brush dirt from my face.

Just the cold, damp earth beneath me and the ragged breath of a world that demanded I either fight or die.

I watched the others as they moved with effortless grace-tracking, hunting, fighting-like they were carved from the forest itself.

I tried to follow.

At first, I stumbled.

I fell.

I bled.

One morning, after a failed attempt at tracking a rabbit, I returned to camp with bleeding palms and a bruised ego.

Knox looked at me, expression unreadable.

"You don't give up," he said quietly.

I nodded.

"I don't want to be a stray," I whispered.

"You're not," he said. "Not if you don't let them make you one."

The pack-or rather, the ragtag group of strays-lived by rules harsher than any I'd known.

You earned your place or you lost it.

Simple.

Silas was the first to come around. Maybe because I didn't break under her sarcasm and cutting words. Maybe because I refused to run when she challenged me to a spar.

She didn't hold back.

Neither did I.

When I caught her off guard with a quick jab, she blinked, then smirked.

"You're tougher than I thought," she muttered.

That was the first time I felt a flicker of something I hadn't known I'd missed-respect.

I learned to hunt with Knox and the others.

Tracking the subtle signs-the crushed leaf, the broken twig, the faintest scent on the wind.

At first, I thought I'd never catch anything.

But I did.

And each time I brought home even the smallest kill, a small part of the weight inside me lifted.

Because it was proof I could survive.

Because it was proof I was more than the omega who'd been told to reject her mate.

Because I was proving, mostly to myself, that I was worth something.

The nights were cold, and loneliness gnawed at my skin like frostbite.

I missed Silver Hollow-the dull safety of routine, the gentle faces of those who barely noticed me but whose presence was still a comfort.

I missed Damon. Even now, I hated that I did.

But most of all, I missed being known.

Here, I was a ghost. A whisper.

Not someone's mate, not a servant, not a daughter of Silver Hollow.

Just Ava.

Sometimes, when the others were asleep, I sat by the dying fire and let the grief come.

Slow and heavy like a winter storm.

I'd press my palms to my eyes and breathe, letting the tears fall like rain, knowing no one would see.

Because I had to be strong.

Because no one could see me weak.

Knox didn't speak much.

But when he did, it was like the earth itself had cracked open.

One evening, after a hunt that left me bruised and exhausted, he sat beside me quietly.

"You're not running anymore," he said.

I looked at him, startled.

"No," I whispered. "I'm not."

He nodded slowly.

"That means something."

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"What?"

"That you've chosen this life, not because you're forced to, but because you want to survive on your own terms."

Survival became my mantra.

It echoed in every step I took through the thick underbrush, in every breath I stole in the cold dawn.

The strays didn't coddle.

They didn't care about my past.

They cared about the present.

And the present was brutal.

Food was never guaranteed.

Shelter was temporary.

Every day, I fought off the whispers that told me I wasn't strong enough.

I fought off the memories that wanted to drag me back to a place where love was a command, not a choice.

One morning, after a night of rain, the camp was muddy and cold.

Silas caught a small hare and tossed it my way.

"You earned it," she said gruffly.

I caught the animal, heart hammering.

It was more than food.

It was acceptance.

The fire crackled as the others gathered around.

They shared stories-dark, violent, filled with loss and rage.

I listened, learning the history of strays who'd been cast out for crimes, for weakness, for refusal to bend.

I learned that this life was a knife's edge between death and freedom.

I found strength in small things.

In the way Knox's steady gaze didn't flinch when I stumbled.

In the quiet nod from Silas when I held my own in a fight.

In the growing certainty that I could carve out a place here.

The days stretched into weeks.

And I began to change.

My skin grew tougher.

My hands steadier.

My heart quieter but stronger.

One night, as the moon hung low and silver over the trees, Knox approached.

"We're going deeper into the forest tomorrow," he said.

"To hunt?" I asked.

"To test you," he said. "To see if you're ready."

I felt a spark of fear.

And something else.

Hope.

Because for the first time, I wasn't just running from.

I was running toward something.