Wynter and the Wolf

I’m free now, Wynter told herself as she ran through the forest. If he found her then he would kill her.

The trees stretched out in the dim light. Long branches extended like fingers, snagging at her dress and the ties of her corset. She had a sword at her waist and bow in her hand. The quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder.

Her heart was racing, fearfully skipping beats as she lurched from foot to foot. Keep going, keep going, she told herself. Her pale blue gaze fixed on the next oak tree in the distance and she struggled through the gloaming. But I’m free, she promised herself. She wasn’t going back to him. She would never go back.

One step at a time, one step at a time, she promised herself. If she only took one step at a time, then she would be free of him. Her lover, her abuser. The man she had promised herself to. She’d been a fool to fall in love. It wasn’t a mistake that she would make again.

She stumbled, legs caught in a briar bush. The wicked thorns twisting around her boots. Wynter dropped, with a muffled cry to her knees. Her pale blue dress tore as she tried to break her fall. Her weapons fell away with a clatter on the hard summer earth.

I’m not going to cry, she promised herself with a sniff. Wynter Alana, you are not going to cry. She turned, peeling away the clinging vines, wincing as they dug into the bare flesh above her ankles and drew blood. Always tenacious, she wasn’t going to let a rose bush stop her from running.

Overhead the light had faded fast, the sky painted with hues of gold and pink. She worked with strong, deft hands to free herself. It had taken all of her strength to leave Malachi behind.

Wynter kicked herself free, scrambling back to her feet. She caught up her bow and sword once more, centered herself and forced herself to take a breath. How far had she run? It had been three days since she’d left the tower behind. In the distance, through the trees she thought that she heard the sound of hooves.

She turned, setting off again. Hungry, exhausted and determined to keep putting space between her and the past. Had he even realized that she’d escaped? Had returned to the tower? His rage would have been all encompassing. She could imagine the way he’d beat the servants. His screaming rants, his heavy fists as he tore their home apart.

I’m free now, she whispered to herself, and wished that she could believe it. Wynter had set out in the middle of the night, taking only her weapons with her. Not daring to carry anything that Malachi might be able to track. She was sure that he had put magic into her clothes and shoes, so she’d swapped with one of their servants, Evelyn.

Evelyn had been a friend. She’d promised to leave the tower, that she would take the fastest horse and ride until Malachi’s reach fell far behind her. They both knew that being caught by the Lord would mean a brutal end. He had threatened it often enough.

Most rose bushes were scattered between the trees and as darkness fell, she was forced to move more slowly. Frustrated, she stamped down some of the roses in their full summer bloom. In the grey light she couldn’t tell their colour, all the world was in hues of black or white.

She had to keep moving, at least until she reached the next village or town. Anywhere there might be a local Lord or Baron, someone she could beg for protection against Lord Malachi. In the far distance, she’d spotted lights upon the side of a mountain, it had to mean a fort, or something.

Wynter had pushed into the forest that morning, but the forest was deeper than she’d expected, and more treacherous. She was lost, and clouds had moved to cover the sky. She turned, staring up at the bleak greyness, without sign of the moon or the stars, she didn’t know which way to go.

Fine, she lifted her chin and grit her teeth. Wynter focused on the way ahead, praying that it would lead her out of the forest. Was there some garden twisted among the trees? With every step there were more and more rose bushes. She had heard of wild roses growing, but the forest was thick with them. Had she walked into a garden without realising?

They were a nuisance, forcing her to go slowly. To wade through, trying to unpick her skirts from their wicked thorns. Whenever she managed to shuffle herself forward, the theory branches would snag on her dress. She’d turn, tearing the fabric free and try to move on again, but they’d tangle around her ankles.

Wynter wasn’t someone who usually cried, she’d always been happy and carefree. Shy, but resolute. As a young woman she’d worn her heart on her sleeve. Until she had given it to the wrong man. A beautiful man, whose heart was as black as the night itself.

A man who had drawn her into with his smiles and compliments. With his open adoration. A man who had noticed the quiet, youngest daughter of Lord Alana. A man who had encouraged her to leave the safety of her family behind, to love him. To be his. A man who had attempted to break her, body and soul.

He didn’t, Wynter reminded herself. Every step of her journey had been a battle. It hurt to know how badly he had betrayed her trust. It hurt that he had taken her love, and abused it for his own desires. It hurt, that some little part of her, couldn’t help but wonder if she hadn’t deserved his ill treatment. That maybe he was right, that she was nothing more than a penny whore.

Wynter lifted her chin again, but the thorns caught of her legs once more and she cried out. She dropped, bow skidding away from her again. She landed, hands caught in the rose bushes, breaking her fall. Protecting her face.

She could feel the dozens of little scratches and puncture wounds, covering her body as she lay among the thorny roses. She could feel blood, warm, trickling over her skin. She sniffed. Struggling to turn around, whimpering as she tried to find a place to sit.

‘I can do this,’ she whispered aloud to the darkness. Wynter lifted a hand to her cheek, wiping away the tears from her eyes. ‘I can do this,’ she repeated, determined once more. It hurt, but it didn’t hurt as much as Malachi.

She stretched out her hands as she sat, flinching as one long stem scratched the back of her arm. She caught it, gritting her teeth as she bent the rose back, hooking it around a neighbour, then tried again. She needed to free her legs, then her feet then she’d stand again.

‘Would you like some help?’

She blinked, startled as she looked up in the darkness. Her heart thundering, uneven with sudden fright. A man? She squinted. Was it a man? He moved forward as the clouds parted above the tree’s. A sliver of silver moonlight danced between the laden boughs.

The roses that surrounded her were red, a vivid, bloody red. But it was the man who stood over her, that held her attention. He was tall with broad shoulders. His hair was golden, pulled back from his face in a knot at the back of his head.

His lips were full and his eyes were dark. He stole her breath and for a heartbeat, she forgot where she was as attraction flooded her body.

‘Would you like some help?’ He knelt down before her on a patch of grass that seemed to be free of roses and their thorns. A miracle in itself. Maybe he just had better night vision. He was waiting for her answer and she found herself afraid to give it.

‘Yes,’ it was a soft agreement, one that was barely given breath, ‘please,’ she spoke up, nervous in his presence. ‘Please help me.’