Chapter 2: Into the Wild

The forest loomed like a dark labyrinth, the towering trees stretching their skeletal branches toward the sky. Amara stumbled through the undergrowth, the cool night air biting at her skin. Each step felt heavier than the last, her mind replaying Kael’s rejection and the humiliation she had endured.

She was no longer Amara Blake, the future Luna of the Silver Ridge Pack. She was a rogue now, cast out and left to survive on her own.

Her breath hitched as she tripped over a gnarled root, falling hard onto the forest floor. Dirt clung to her dress, and the sharp sting of a scraped palm brought tears to her eyes.

"Get up," she muttered to herself, her voice shaky. "Keep moving."

But where would she go? Rogues were hunted, feared, and despised. Without a pack, she was vulnerable—an easy target for enemies or wild predators.

The sound of howling in the distance sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn’t the familiar song of her pack but something far more menacing. Rogues. They were closing in, their cries echoing through the trees.

Amara pushed herself to her feet, her legs trembling as she forced them into motion. She had to find shelter, somewhere to hide until she could figure out her next move.

The forest seemed to close in around her, the shadows growing darker with each passing second. She stumbled upon a narrow creek, its cold water glinting faintly in the moonlight. Dropping to her knees, she splashed water on her face, trying to steady her racing heart.

“You’re a long way from home, little wolf.”

The voice came from the shadows, deep and laced with danger. Amara froze, her senses sharpening as she scanned the darkness.

A figure emerged from the trees, his presence commanding. He was tall, with dark, tousled hair and piercing gray eyes that seemed to see straight through her. He moved with a predatory grace, his expression unreadable.

“Who are you?” Amara demanded, her voice wavering.

The man smirked, his sharp features illuminated by a sliver of moonlight. “I could ask you the same question. A pretty little thing like you wandering alone in rogue territory? Either you’re brave, or you’re very, very foolish.”

Amara’s fists clenched. “I didn’t choose to be here.”

His gaze flicked over her torn dress and scraped hands, his smirk fading. “Exile,” he said, his tone softer now. “I’ve seen it before. Pack wolves tossing out their own like yesterday’s trash.”

Amara stiffened, anger flaring in her chest. “I’m not trash.”

He raised a brow. “Good. Because out here, weakness will get you killed.”

A rustling sound from the trees behind her made Amara whirl around, her heart pounding. She could see shapes moving in the shadows, more rogues closing in.

The man stepped closer, his voice low. “Stay behind me.”

Amara hesitated. Trusting a rogue was the last thing she wanted to do, but she didn’t have a choice. She nodded, stepping back as he turned to face the approaching figures.

The first rogue stepped into the clearing, his snarling face twisted with malice. He was a burly man with a scar running down his cheek, his eyes glowing faintly yellow in the darkness.

“Well, well,” the scarred man said, his voice dripping with mockery. “What do we have here? A rogue sympathizer and a lost little pup.”

The dark-haired man didn’t respond, his stance relaxed but ready. “She’s under my protection.”

The scarred rogue laughed, a harsh sound that grated against Amara’s ears. “Your protection? Since when do rogues play hero?”

“Since you started crossing into my territory,” the man replied coldly. “Leave now, and I might let you keep your legs.”

The scarred rogue snarled, lunging forward, but the dark-haired man was faster. He moved like a shadow, a blur of motion as he intercepted the attack. The sound of fists connecting with flesh echoed through the clearing, followed by a sharp cry of pain.

Amara watched in stunned silence as the man fought off the attackers with brutal efficiency. Each strike was precise, his movements calculated. It was clear he had done this many times before.

Within minutes, the scarred rogue and his companions were retreating into the forest, their growls fading into the distance.

The dark-haired man turned back to Amara, his breathing steady despite the fight. “You okay?”

Amara nodded, though her legs felt like jelly. “Who are you?” she asked again, her voice trembling.

He studied her for a moment, his gray eyes unreadable. “Adrian,” he said finally. “And you’re coming with me.”

Amara bristled. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“No,” Adrian replied, his tone firm. “But you need it. You won’t last a night out here on your own.”

He turned and started walking, clearly expecting her to follow. Amara hesitated, torn between her pride and the reality of her situation.

Finally, she sighed and took a step after him. “Where are we going?”

Adrian glanced over his shoulder, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Somewhere safe. For now.”

As she followed him into the shadows, Amara couldn’t shake the feeling that her life was about to change once again—this time in ways she couldn’t begin to imagine.