The Cursed Alpha’s Mute Bride – Episode 10
Hunter led Wren away from Eclipse territory as the rain softened to mist. He kept her hand in his, adjusting his pace whenever exhaustion shortened her steps. Clay and the Silver warriors moved around them in a loose protective formation, alert to every sound behind the trees.
Wren’s banishment still burned inside her. With each mile, she waited for the severed pack bond to stop aching, but its absence remained a hollow place beneath her ribs. The Eclipse Pack had betrayed her long before Gertrude spoke the sentence; only now had that betrayal become official.
She clutched Hunter’s coat with her free hand. Hours earlier, she had feared the Alpha whose border she crossed. Now his familiar scent cut through the darkness, a promise that she was no longer walking alone.
Hunter glanced at her whenever leaves rustled or a branch snapped. His attention never felt impatient. He scanned the forest like a predator guarding something precious, prepared to place himself between Wren and any threat.
“Stay close,” he murmured. It was a warning and a promise wrapped in the same two words. Wren tightened her fingers around his in answer.
The trail narrowed along a ridge where roots coiled above the earth. Her wet shoes slipped, and Hunter caught her at the waist before she fell. He released her as soon as she found her balance, though the warmth of his hand lingered.
No one had ever been so careful with her. Gertrude used touch to control, and Nikolaus had used it to frighten. Hunter seemed constantly aware that protection could become another cage if he ignored what Wren wanted.
That awareness made the mate bond harder to resist. It pulsed between them, strong and steady, carrying flashes of his concern that no spoken reassurance could imitate. Wren wondered if he sensed her fragile relief in return.
Movement stirred on the slope behind them. The Silver warriors stopped as one, listening. Shapes slipped through the rain several yards back—wolves shadowing their route from the direction of Eclipse land.
Hunter guided Wren behind him. Cursed energy flared across his shoulders, dark and electric, while his eyes turned gold. “Show yourselves,” he commanded.
Two wolves emerged between the trunks. Wren recognized them as survivors from the attack, perhaps ordered to track her or foolish enough to seek revenge. They halted when Hunter’s power rolled over the ridge.
“They won’t touch you again,” he said without looking away from them. His voice held the weight of a vow. Wren believed him, yet she also felt the violent hunger stirring inside his curse.
The wolves retreated at once. One lowered his head and dragged the other backward, unwilling to test the mercy Hunter had already shown. Their shapes vanished into the mist.
Clay motioned for his warriors to pursue, but Hunter stopped them. “Let them carry the warning home. We are getting Wren across the border.” His priorities were clear, and none of his men questioned them.
They pressed forward. Wren watched Hunter’s profile as the golden light faded from his eyes. The energy around him did not disappear easily; he forced it down with each measured breath, as if containing a beast that fought to remain free.
The sight reminded her that Hunter was cursed too. The stories had called him monstrous without explaining the battle behind his control. Perhaps his reputation had grown from moments like this, when protection and destruction stood only a heartbeat apart.
Wren touched his sleeve. When he looked at her, she pointed to his chest and then shaped a question with her hands. Hurt?
Hunter studied the unfamiliar signs until understanding came. “Not tonight,” he said. “But every time the curse rises, it becomes harder to force back.” He did not offer comforting lies or pretend strength made him invulnerable.
She touched her own throat, then the place over her heart where her wolf remained sealed. Same, she signed.
Hunter stopped on the trail. Mist gathered in his dark hair as he considered her gesture. “You are cursed?” The question was quiet, but anger sharpened beneath it—not anger at her, Wren realized, but at whoever had caused the pain.
