Chapter 8 Hunted
Seraphine's POV
My stomach twisted. I dropped the fish and pressed my good hand against my eyes, breathing hard through my nose.
You had to run. You know you had to run. If you'd stayed, they would've killed you, and then what? Then she'd be alone anyway, except with your corpse to remember.
The logic was sound. Cold and practical and exactly what Dad would've said.
Didn't make it hurt any less.
I picked up the fish again. Forced down another bite. Then another. Mechanical. Necessary. Completely joyless.
This is what you do now. You survive. You heal. You get strong enough to go back and find her.
The plan formed as I ate. Simple. Direct. Probably stupid, but better than sitting here drowning in guilt.
Rest for a few hours. Let the healing kick in properly. Then backtrack toward where I'd lost her. Carefully this time—no rushing blindly into hunter territory. Scout first. Find her trail. Find her.
And if the hunters already found her?
Then I kill every single one of them.
The fish was gone before I realized I'd finished it. My stomach felt heavy and wrong, but at least it was full. That was something.
I crawled away from the river and found a spot between two large rocks—sheltered from the wind, hidden from casual view. The snow was cold against my bare skin, but I was too exhausted to care.
Just for a few hours. Just long enough to not collapse the second I start walking.
I closed my eyes. Tried not to see Lyralei's face. Tried not to hear her voice calling for me in the darkness.
Failed on both counts.
The sun woke me—pale winter light cutting through the trees, making me squint. My whole body had gone stiff and cold during the night. Moving felt like trying to bend frozen metal.
How long was I out?
The sun's position said mid-morning. Maybe five or six hours. Not enough, but better than nothing.
My arm had crusted over with dried blood and scabs. The wounds were starting to close—slower than they should, but closing. I flexed my fingers experimentally. They moved, though it hurt like hell. Tendons somehow intact. Unbelievably lucky.
Lucky. Sure. That's definitely the word for this situation.
I needed to move. Needed to start looking for Lyralei. But my body felt like lead, each movement requiring conscious effort.
Come on. Get up. She needs you.
I dragged myself upright and immediately regretted it. The world tilted sideways. I grabbed a tree for support, breathing hard until the dizziness passed.
Worse than I thought. Way worse.
Three weeks of running on empty, plus blood loss, plus not nearly enough food. I was operating on fumes and stubbornness, and both were running out.
But Lyralei was out there somewhere. Alone. Probably terrified.
Move. Just fucking move.
I started walking. Each step deliberate, careful. The forest looked different in daylight—less threatening, but also more exposed. I kept to the shadows anyway, old habits kicking in.
The direction felt right. Northeast, roughly. Back toward where I'd lost her. The embankment had to be around here somewhere.
She's smart. She would've hidden. Found shelter. She knows better than to wander around in the open.
The reassurances sounded hollow even in my own head.
An hour passed. Maybe more. Hard to track time when your brain felt like cotton and every step required focus. The arm throbbed with each heartbeat. My vision kept blurring around the edges.
The forest pressed in around me—dense and silent except for the crunch of snow under my feet. No birds. No wind. Just that oppressive quiet that meant something was wrong.
I paused, leaning against a tree. My breath came out in white clouds. The cold burned my lungs with each inhale.
Need water. Need rest. Need to stop being such a fucking wreck.
But there was no time for that. Every minute I wasted was another minute Lyralei spent alone in these woods. If she was even still alive.
Don't think like that. She's alive. She has to be.
I pushed off the tree and kept moving. My legs felt disconnected from my body—heavy and clumsy. I stumbled over a root I should've seen, caught myself, kept going.
Just a little further. Just—
Something moved in my peripheral vision.
I froze, every instinct screaming danger. Turned my head slowly, scanning the trees. Nothing. Just shadows and branches.
Imagining things. Too tired. Too—
A branch snapped behind me.
I spun, adrenaline cutting through the exhaustion. "Who's there?"
Silence. But the kind of silence that meant something was listening. Watching.
Hunters? No. They'd just shoot. They wouldn't play games.
I kept walking, faster now despite the way my legs shook. Glanced back every few seconds. Still nothing visible, but the feeling of being watched wouldn't fade.
Maybe an animal. Just a deer or something. Don't freak out.
Another sound—closer this time. Definitely footsteps. Too deliberate to be prey.
Fuck. Something's following me.
I tried to speed up, but my body wasn't cooperating anymore. Vision swimming. Breathing too fast. The world tilting in ways that had nothing to do with the terrain.
No. Not now. Can't pass out now.
My knees buckled. I caught myself against a tree, gasping. Everything hurt. Everything was too bright, too loud, too much.
The bark bit into my palm. Blood seeped from the reopened wounds on my arm. I pressed my forehead against the rough wood, trying to steady myself.
Get up. Have to get up. Lyralei needs—
Eyes in the darkness. Yellow-gold and unblinking. Staring at me from maybe fifteen feet away.
Wolf? No. Too low. Too—
The shape moved, stepping into a patch of sunlight.
Not a wolf.
A lynx. Huge—easily eighty pounds of muscle and claws. Tufted ears forward, lips pulled back to show teeth. Its eyes locked onto mine with the cold intelligence of a predator that recognized easy prey.
My blood went cold for a completely different reason.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
Dad's voice echoed in my head—one of those survival lessons he'd drilled into us on those rare hunting trips before everything went to hell. Lynx are wolf-killers, Sera. Nature's executioners. They hunt our pups, track our wounded, pick off stragglers. They can smell wolf blood from miles away.
Of course it found me. My arm's been bleeding on and off for hours. Probably left a trail a blind dog could follow.
The lynx's nostrils flared. Its eyes never left mine—cold, calculating, completely focused. It knew exactly what I was. Knew I was injured, weak, alone.
Easy pickings.
Oh. Oh fuck.
I tried to straighten up. Tried to look bigger, more threatening. But my body wouldn't listen. I slumped against the tree instead, vision darkening at the edges.
The lynx crouched, haunches coiling. Getting ready to spring.
This is it. This is how I die. Killed by a fucking cat because I'm too weak to fight back.
Lyralei's face flashed through my mind. Her smile. Her laugh. The way she used to steal my food when she thought I wasn't looking.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn't—
The lynx leaped.
