Chapter 4 Survival
Seraphine's POV
The northern forests of Frostpine stretched endlessly in every direction—dark pines thick as walls, snow covering everything like a goddamn burial shroud. Three weeks. We'd been running for three fucking weeks through this frozen hell, and I still couldn't shake the feeling of being hunted.
They're still looking. They have to be.
My boots crunched through ankle-deep snow, each step burning my exhausted legs. Beside me, Lyralei stumbled. I caught her arm before she fell.
"I'm fine," she muttered, pulling away.
She wasn't fine. Neither of us were.
Look at us. Mom and Dad would barely recognize their daughters now.
My sister's face was gaunt, dark circles under her eyes making her look ten years older than seventeen. Her jacket—the same one she'd worn the night of the massacre—was torn and stained with blood that had long since dried to rust. My own clothes weren't much better. We looked like what we were: refugees. Survivors of a slaughter, running for our lives.
I'd kept us moving through rivers to mask our scent, through rocky terrain to hide our tracks. Slept in caves and under fallen trees. Ate whatever we could hunt or steal. The emergency cash Mom insisted we carry was almost gone—maybe fifty dollars left between us.
Not enough. Never enough.
Through the trees ahead, I spotted smoke rising from chimneys. Civilization. Finally.
"There," I said, pointing. "Small village. We can—"
"Hide?" Lyralei's voice was flat. "Run some more?"
She's angry. Can't blame her.
"Survive," I corrected. "That's what we do. That's what Mom and Dad died for."
Her jaw clenched but she didn't argue. We'd had this fight a dozen times already. She wanted revenge. Wanted to go back to Ravencrest and tear Malachar apart with her bare hands.
So do I. But we'd die. We're not strong enough. Not yet.
We circled the village's edge, staying in the tree line. It was small—maybe two hundred people. One main street, a few shops, houses scattered around. Rural. Remote. Human territory.
Perfect. Malachar won't look for us here.
That's when I saw it—an old hunter's cabin about half a mile from the village proper. Windows dark, snow piled high against the door. Nobody had been there in months.
"Come on."
The door was locked but the wood was rotting. One hard kick and it gave way. Inside smelled like mildew and mouse shit, but it was shelter. Four walls and a roof. Better than sleeping under trees.
Home sweet fucking home.
I dropped my pack—just a stolen backpack with our few belongings—and checked every corner. Two rooms. A main area with a fireplace and a tiny bedroom with a broken bed frame. No running water. No electricity. But defendable.
"We'll stay here," I said. "Just until we figure out our next move."
Lyralei sat by the grimy window, keeping watch like she'd done every night for three weeks. Always alert. Always ready to run.
She hasn't slept properly since the massacre. Neither have I.
"What's the plan?" she asked, not looking at me. "Hide here until we die? Until they find us?"
"The plan is to blend in. Get jobs. Save money. Figure out where Malachar went and what he's planning."
"Jobs?" She turned to face me. "Sera, we're wolves. They're humans. One wrong move, one angry moment, and we transform. Then what?"
She's right. Control is everything now.
"Then we don't get angry," I said. "We keep our heads down. Act normal. Humans don't know what to look for—they think we're myths."
"And the full moon?" Her voice dropped. "What happens when we can't control it?"
My hands clenched. The full moon was in two weeks. We'd managed to hide during the last one—barely—but it was getting harder. The wolf inside me was restless, angry, wanting blood.
Control it. You have to control it.
"We'll chain ourselves up if we have to," I said. "Lock ourselves in here. Whatever it takes."
She didn't look convinced but nodded anyway.
The next morning, I left Lyralei at the cabin and walked into the village. The cold bit at my face, turning my breath to fog. People stared as I passed—a stranger in their small town, looking rough and desperate.
Let them stare. Just need a job.
The first place I tried was a diner called Maggie's. Warm inside, smelling like coffee and bacon. My stomach cramped with hunger. When was the last time we'd eaten? Yesterday morning? The day before?
"Help you?" The woman behind the counter—Maggie, probably—looked me over with suspicious eyes.
"Looking for work," I said, trying to sound normal. Friendly. "Waitressing, cooking, cleaning. Whatever you need."
"You got experience?"
Hunting prey and watching my parents die. Does that count?
"Yeah. Worked restaurants back home."
"Where's home?"
Shit.
"Out west," I said vaguely. "Moved here for a fresh start."
Maggie's eyes narrowed. "You look rough, honey. You running from something?"
Everything.
"Bad relationship," I lied. "Just needed to get away."
Her expression softened slightly. "I get that. But I gotta say—you look like trouble. And this is a quiet town. We like keeping it that way."
"I'm not trouble. I just need work."
"Sorry, sweetheart. Can't help you."
Of course not.
I tried three more places. Same story every time. Too rough-looking. Too suspicious. The grocery store manager actually suggested I try the homeless shelter two towns over.
We're not homeless. We're just—
What? Fugitives? Orphans? Monsters hiding among humans?
Lyralei had similar luck at the general store and the gas station. By the time we met back at the cabin that afternoon, we were both frustrated and hungry.
"There's notices all over town," Lyralei said, face pale. "About wolf sightings in the forest. They're organizing hunting parties."
My blood went cold. "Did they see us?"
"I don't know. But people are scared. Talking about tracks they found. About livestock going missing."
Fuck.
We couldn't stay here. But we couldn't leave either—not without supplies, without money, without a destination.
"We'll be careful," I said. "Stay low. No transforming unless absolutely necessary."
"Sera, what if we lose control? What if the wolf takes over and we hurt someone?"
Then we become exactly what Malachar wanted—monsters.
"We won't," I said firmly. "Dad taught us control. We just have to remember."
But Dad was dead. And his training felt like a lifetime ago.
That night, dinner was half a stale bagel I'd found in a trash bin behind the bakery. I gave most of it to Lyralei. She needed it more—she was still growing, still healing from injuries she'd gotten during the massacre.
She's wasting away. We both are.
"Your wrist," Lyralei said suddenly, pointing at the bloody bandage I'd wrapped around my hand.
"It's fine."
"It's infected."
Probably. Can't do anything about it.
"I'll heal," I said, pulling my sleeve down to hide it. "Wolf healing, remember?"
"That only works if we're eating enough. If we're strong enough." Her voice cracked. "We're dying here, Sera. Slowly starving. One mistake and those hunters will find us. One full moon without control and we'll hurt someone—"
"We won't."
"You don't know that!"
She's right. I don't.
But I couldn't let her see my doubt. I was the older sister. The one who had to be strong. The one who had to have answers even when I didn't.
"We'll figure it out," I said firmly. "I promise."
Outside, dogs barked in the distance. Lyralei tensed, listening. After a moment, the barking stopped.
"They're patrolling," she whispered. "The hunters. I saw them earlier, walking the village perimeter with rifles and dogs."
Looking for wolves. Looking for us.
"They won't find us. We're being careful."
But even as I said it, exhaustion pulled at me. Three weeks of running, of fear, of barely sleeping. It was catching up. My eyes felt heavy, my body aching everywhere.
Just need to rest. Just for a little while.
I lay down on the floor—the broken bed was too risky—and tried to stay alert. Had to keep watch. Had to protect Lyralei.
Can't fall asleep. Too dangerous.
But my body betrayed me. Consciousness slipped away like water through fingers.
