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The Cursed Alpha’s Mute Bride – Episode 08
Rain tapped through the leaves as the wolves formed a loose circle around Wren. They wore no guard insignia, but she recognized two from the engagement feast. Both had laughed when Gertrude stripped away her name and sent her into the woods.
The third man stepped onto the path behind her, cutting off escape. “Look at that,” he said. “The Alpha’s castoff still thinks she’s too good to look at us.” His eyes gleamed amber as he breathed in the scent of her fear.
Wren drew Hunter’s coat tighter around herself and backed toward an oak. The pack bond was gone, leaving her senses strangely hollow. She could no longer guess where Eclipse patrols moved, and even if she could, no patrol would protect a rogue.
“Somebody has to help me,” she thought, though the forest answered only with rain. Her fingers closed around the silver clasp at her throat. Hunter’s scent clung to the fabric, close enough to mimic safety but not strong enough to provide it.
One wolf caught the edge of the coat and pulled. Wren jerked away before he could strip it from her shoulders. “Silver’s mark,” he said, recognizing the clasp. “So the sick bastard really did choose you.”
“We should deliver her properly,” another replied. Cruel laughter moved around the circle. “We’ll do her a favor and take her innocence before handing her off to Alpha Hunter. He won’t care what condition a wolfless rogue arrives in.”
Panic clawed up Wren’s chest, sharpened by the memory of Nikolaus beside the creek. The pack had watched her accuse him, watched Hunter confirm every word, and learned nothing. Her banishment had merely told other predators there would be no punishment.
She searched the ground for a weapon. Wet stones lined the path, and a fallen limb lay beneath the brush, but reaching either would require turning her back. Three wolves tracked every movement with eager attention.
The largest lunged for her arm. Wren ducked and drove her shoulder into his ribs, slipping past him as his boots lost purchase in the mud. She ran between the trees, Hunter’s coat snapping behind her.
They gave chase with delighted shouts. One seized the coat’s hem and dragged her backward. The clasp tightened against her throat, and for one horrifying second Gertrude’s curse seemed to close around her again.
Wren released the fastening and slipped free. She hit the ground, rolled, and came up without the coat. Cold rain soaked her thin dress at once, but she had gained several precious steps.
The forest blurred. She followed the mate bond rather than the path, chasing the faint warmth inside her while branches tore at her skin. Hunter was near. She could feel his anger building beyond the trees, responding to terror she had no voice to share.
A wolf struck her from behind before she reached him. Wren fell hard, palms sliding across gravel. The man planted a boot beside her hand and caught a fistful of her hair.
She twisted and clawed at his wrist. He laughed, hauling her upright while the others approached. “The mute has spirit. Maybe Gertrude should have banished her sooner.”
Wren kicked backward, connecting with his knee. His grip loosened enough for her to tear away, but another wolf blocked her. He shoved her against a tree, forearm pressing beneath her collarbone.
The pressure trapped what little breath her cursed throat allowed. Darkness crowded the edge of her vision. Wren struck his chest, then reached desperately for Hunter through the strange new connection inside her.
She could not shape his name aloud, yet the bond carried her terror like a flare through the storm. Somewhere in the woods, an answering presence surged with such force that every wolf around her went still.
The man pinning her glanced over his shoulder. “Did you feel that?” His confidence thinned. The others tested the air, suddenly aware that the forest no longer belonged to frightened prey.
Hunter came through the trees without slowing, Clay and two Silver warriors behind him. The power rolling from him bent the lesser wolves’ instincts toward submission. His eyes found Wren against the trunk, and the last thread of restraint vanished from his expression.
“What the fuck are you doing to my mate?” His voice was low, each word more dangerous than a shout. The wolf holding Wren released her as though burned.
