Chapter 3

LYRA

"What are you looking at, little rabbit?" the man in front of me asks, his mouth next to my ear, hands gripping my wrists at my side. I remain silent in his hold, willing the shadows to swallow me whole, to take me from the shell of a life I have been living, away from the heartache and pain.

The smoke clears a bit, no longer a void, instead a creature of some kind. Sharp fangs poke from its jowls as it steps behind the man, its eyes almost level with my own. It's easily the height of a grizzly standing on its hind legs, with embers shooting out from fire-lit eyes, whisping into the darkness surrounding the beast. Whatever it is, it's hauntingly beautiful, all midnight fur and smoke—something plucked from a nightmare, only to be placed in another.

Opening its maw, the creature tips its head to the side, snapping down on the man's throat from the back, leaving my front covered in blood. The carnage is done as soon as it starts, only seconds between seeing the beast and the bloodbath in front of me. I don't even have time to breathe or move before the body hits the ground, slouched in a pile of flesh and clothes, tainted in red. Acid burns the base of my throat at the sight, my stomach tightening as the body twitches, the last threads of life snapping before my eyes.

The hellish, wolf-like being makes no attempts to approach me. Low pants shift its body slightly, its pointed ears pinned back, plumes of smoke pouring from its nostrils with every breath.

"What the fuck?" the man from behind me yells, his hands dropping from my skin as he takes in the slumped form, gagging into his cupped hands. Spurts of vomit escape through the cracks of his fingers, leaking down his arms as he takes off running, his feet slipping and sliding on damp blades of grass.

"Please," I manage to croak, my voice hoarse, pained as I watch the beast hunt him down, calculated in its steps, head hung low, waiting for the moment to strike. Willing my limbs to move, I take the moment to bolt, a little unsteady on my feet. Each muscle burns with the sudden use, pain slicing to the bone. Kicking the limp body in front of me, I start toward the tree line, almost tripping over snared branches that weave between the fallen logs.

A guttural scream cuts through the silence, willing me to up my pace. My fear of men is greater than my fear of whatever the fuck that thing is that saved me. The worst it can do is kill me, but them? Their fate for me could have been so much worse than eternal rest. Yet it's still fear pushing me forward, forcing me to wind through the broken trees, the branches slicing my skin through the layers of my clothes, fear of myself and the way I want to lay down, letting the beast kill me too. It intrigues me, draws me into the smoke with a vice-like grip on the small shred of life I have left in me. Those thoughts alone have my feet pounding the forest floor, slipping on the damp debris as I hear its thundering footsteps.

My thighs burn, pain pulsing through the muscle with every step, slowing me down. Leaping over a log with the only shred of energy I have left, my shins are torn to pieces by stray twigs ripping through the fabric of my leggings. Just as my feet hit the ground on the other side, I'm thrown onto my back, unable to breathe.

All I can see through the smoke is teeth—big, sharp teeth that snap close to my face with a low snarl. I just watched this beast rip grown men to shreds with those teeth, and I'm about to be next. My heart races as its tongue swipes out, flattening along my jawline, licking the tear track up my cheek. The beast hums, the vibration sinking through my skin from its paws, one on my chest and the other beside my neck.

It moves to the other side, repeating the motion, clearing a path for the fresh tears to stream while staring through my soul with its ember-filled eyes. I close my own, allowing the emotion to flow. Despite my attempts to meet my end, the countless stays in facilities, I am still here, beneath a beast that could snap me in two with little effort—and in this moment, I want it to.

A low whine is all I hear before there's pressure across my throat, pinning in at the sides. Colors swirl in the darkness, the stars spinning alongside them, each breath becoming harder. My body thrashes beneath his hold, nails digging into the warm fur before it all slowly darkens. I almost expect to see that white light, memories slowly edging back into the forefront of my mind like a terrifying movie. Playing my darkest moments like a reel because the last eight years have consisted of nothing. No events, no friendships. Nothing monumental to add to my lifes playlist.

My movements become sluggish, my limbs heavy and weak. Each shift of my body is too taxing, sucking all the life out of me by the second. Unable to hold onto the tether of life, I allow the shadows to consume me.

Death isn't supposed to feel soft and warm—not how I pictured it anyway. More pain, more hurt. Not this. Softness caresses my skin, brushing against the skitter of goosebumps covering my flesh. As I pry my heavy lids open, a blurred dark hue surrounds me, the faint glow of orange in the far corner. Where the fuck am I?

My fingers drag along my lash line in an attempt to clear the haze, revealing a small, dimly lit room. Covering my skin are layers upon layers of furs and soft blankets, concealing my near-naked body underneath. My eyes catch on the small fireplace along the side wall, the orange glow bringing warmth to the space as the fire crackles through the silence.

"FUCK!" a voice roars from outside the room, followed by a loud crash of something falling to the floor, shattering on impact. Wrapping the blankets tightly around me, I push myself against the wooden headboard, scanning the room for a way out. Windows line the wall to my left, with heavy drapes pooling decadently at the base. I tuck the corner of the blanket tightly against the skin of my collarbone, creating somewhat of a wrap before I trifle through the drawers for a scrap of clothing.

The scent hits me first, warm and familiar: smokey, but nothing like the smoke from a fire. It's warmer and richer, somehow calming the racing of my heart. Sliding the top drawer open, my fingers run over the mass of black fabric there, letting it unfurl in front of me to reveal a large men's t-shirt.

I shrug it over my head, threading my arms through and praying for it to fit. The hem sits about mid-thigh, but it's enough to be able to make a run for it and not be completely exposed. Just as my hands move to unwrap the blanket from around my chest, the door creaks, stopping me in my tracks. Each thump of my heart echoes through my ears as I strain to see who or what is there, but it's way too dark to make anything out. Fuck.

My last memory before blacking out entirely is being chased by a giant wolf that shouldn't exist, then the weight of him on me. It's smoke flooding my senses, thick on my skin, seeping into every single pore. The beast's teeth gnashed right above my face, its paw to my throat as I waited for the last thread of consciousness to slip. Pain, then nothing.

"Who are you?" I ask, my tone as shaky as my body. Not a single word follows as the figure steps through, leaning their shoulder against the doorway. Flames dance off to the side, giving me small glimpses of the silent person who takes the moment to chuckle. It's a deep sound, raspy, something that has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

He takes a singular step toward me, revealing a touch more: black combat boots with torn jeans, plus a fitted black t-shirt that clings to his muscular chest. Dark tattoos weave their way across his pale skin, covering his arms and hands with pictures I can't for the life of me see properly.

He closes the space between us in a few confident strides, stopping in front of me, and yet I still need to tilt my chin to meet his gaze. Black, shaggy hair falls into his dark eyes as the flames illuminate more of his face. Thick silver gashes slice across his cheek, complete with a dimple on one side. It takes a few moments for the realization to hit that I am either dead and have woken up in some kind of alternate universe, or I am on the verge of psychosis. It can't be.

Standing there, an arm's length away, is the man who has plagued my every waking thought for years, the man who forced me to live a life without him despite being my only tether to the world. The very same that held me as I cried, and watched the torture dealt at the hands of the devil.

"Lyra."