Run. Don’t look back. Keep running.

  If there were only a set of words he could repeat to himself, it’d be those. But if he spoke them aloud, they’d hear him. And if they could hear him— on the rare occasion that they sent their bastard son– he’d be fucked. No, they couldn’t be that close. He may have been reckless and mouthy, but slow wasn’t one of his attributes. At least not in this case.

  Faster, hurry up now!

  The sound of his footsteps was lost in the wind, the coolness of the air breathing down his neck as pines and leaves crunched beneath his feet. The puddle of rainwater he ran through gave a quick glance to his tawny, orangish-brown skin glistening with sweat, muscles burning as he darted through the forest. Hazel eyes, glowing like molten gold in the darkness, scanned the trees for any opening, any path that would lead him away from the relentless pursuit while his shaggy black hair whipped across his face as he pushed forward.

  And then there was the red of his arm. The liquid dripped down his arm as he pushed his body to move. He couldn’t feel it, the pain, but it was there.

  God, he just had to be reckless. He knew that bastard heir would grin from ear to ear when he heard about this. How the infamous Night Shadow finally appeared midday instead of night. How his recklessness managed to get him shot–

  “Catch him!”

  “Hurry, men!”

  ‘Shit! Keep running. Faster, hurry up! They’ll catch you!’ pounded at his thoughts, a grunt escaping shut lips. The voices of the hunters echoed through the trees, their shouts growing louder, closer. So much for slow not being one of his attributes, he guessed. Guess that was another effect of him losing his disguise earlier on. It was enough for the townsfolk to spot him and call the hunters after him. His legs ached, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t think about the flaws in his spree—not now. Not when for the first time in months, the hunters decided to follow him into the fucking forest. He sprinted faster, his breath ragged as he weaved between towering pines and low-hanging branches that clawed and cut at his skin.

  His legs pushed his body, ducking and turning past trees. A sharp branch caught the edge of his shoulder, tearing at the fabric, but he didn’t slow. Even when his body winced and the pain of a new cut begged for him to stop, he kept going. His hazel eyes looked a fierce yellow in the dim light, locking on the path ahead. He could almost feel their eyes on him, the weight of their pursuit pressing down like the heavy fog blocking his vision. His heart pounded in his chest, matching the thudding of footsteps farther behind him. The town had long since vanished from his vision, colors and shiny flashing lights too bright for his eyes, being replaced with moonlight and the cover of the trees and night. And the burning glow of torches if he was unlucky enough. Pine and rain filled flared nostrils, and his grip on a tattered sack loosened as he focused on getting to the hole. If he didn’t—

  He froze, his thoughts cutting off abruptly.

  The sound. Footsteps. Not his own.

  His pulse quickened as the realization hit him, a flood of panic washing over him. The hunters were closer than he’d thought, their boots crunching through the leaves and underbrush, chasing him down. His breath hitched, his mind racing as he tried to push himself harder, but his legs were already burning, threatening to give out.

  Torchlight flickered in the distance, creeping between the trees. They were gaining on him. His grip on the sack slipped again, but he couldn't think about that now. He had to keep moving. He had to outrun them. The Grove was still too far, and the hunters’ shouts were too close. But if he could just make it to the hole– burrow his way inside and hide out until they left– then he’d be safe. Then he could get home and back to her. Watch the wolflings smile and feast amongst the fruit and meat he’d bring back.

  He gripped the sack, sucking in another sharp breath. Heavy? Of course, it was. Thirty pounds of meat and fish and grain and whatever else his claws could grab wasn’t going to be light. But did that matter? No, not at all. Not when he was so close to seeing them. So when he leaped over a fallen tree, barely clearing it as the hunters’ cries began to fade and tossed it, watching it sling through the air with a whoosh of wind and into a dark borrowed hole, his chest swelled and his posture straightened.

  “Damn, boy! We’ll get you and your folk- just you wait!” was the last thing that his ears caught, a sigh– pant of relief falling from his lips.

  He was close now. The sound of following footsteps had ceased. The huntsmen had officially given up, cutting their losses, but vowing to catch the one responsible for their thievery. He let out a small sigh of relief, his left hand dropping the sack to cradle his right. Blood. He was sure he could smell it, tangy and metallic. Fuck she’d be so mad at him.

  Yeah, he’d heard that speech about 100 times now. And things never changed, despite this night being another close call. The Grove was always close, lost to the townsfolk but home to the Wild. He needed to get home; everything would go to waste if he didn’t, and he couldn’t afford to come back empty-handed. Not when they were relying on him. He couldn’t take the disappointment in their eyes or words if he did. He was sure it’d kill him this time.

  “Enough food for the next two months,” he whispered, narrowed eyes frowning at the rasp in his voice. He had done a lot of growling, but if his voice carried a rasp then he was definitely going to get a scolding.

  This was supposed to be a simple run, after all. Just enough for them to eat for the next few months. Not a chance for him to try and be cocky. She would be pleased with the accomplishment. Not what he did in the process though.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  His gaze fell back on the hole, lips curling back into a triumphant smirk at the hidden away haven the pack had made. It had existed longer than him; Mother had told him that. But his smirk widened, eyes falling on a gold chain dangling from the brown bag. It shimmered in the limelight of the moon. Treasure, something he managed to swipe off the hand of an aristocrat probably. It wasn’t like he was paying attention to who or what he took from. The only thing that mattered was how much it could sell for….if he met the right person. His tongue trailed over his canines at the thought, crouching in front of the bag to rummage through it. “Yeah,” he whispered, closing the sack back when he finished, re-wrapping the rope around it. “Enough for all of them.” But he’d need to get home first. Needed to make sure everyone ate. Then he could relax. Allow himself to breathe and eat and gain more than an hour of sleep without his thoughts gnawing at his heart and swallowing his brain.

  “Home,” he nodded, quickly moving to the hole. The darkness did enough to cover it, his hands brushing against leaves and brittle dirt. The sack gave him at least an idea of where the hole was, enough for him to get inside until his sight adjusted. But just because he was there didn’t mean he was safe. The hunters were quiet, but they weren’t stupid despite their anger. It kept him looking over his shoulder while he tried to pull himself up and inside the hole.

  And it wasn’t like they were the only problems in the forest. He still found old traps on the occasional run through the forest when it was still light. Bear traps, abandoned holes that had become the homes of snakes or other critters, and occasionally mud pits when the rainfall became heavy.

  Getting himself inside was rougher than he’d thought. Trying to push himself up didn’t work, so now his nails were dug deep into dirt and grim until he had enough momentum to push himself up. Mud and water dripped from the split ends of his curled hair, another rasp, another wheeze escaping his lips. Along with the ache and strain his muscles felt, he could feel another frown forming on his face. But regardless he climbed into the burrow, pushing the sack down the long trail. The earth was cold and damp against his hands. The light of the moon abandoned him, and the darkness greeted him like an old friend the further he crawled through the narrow tunnel. The scent of soil and roots replaced the smell of meat and earthy salty dirt. The smell was thick in the air but not nauseating or hunger-inducing. Maybe for the kids, though. God knew the last time they’d eaten since running out of food once they migrated back to the Grove. But he was so close now, and they’d have food to eat and munch on while they regrew their home.

  Home. He couldn’t wait to be home, to curl back up against the leaves and wood that made up his den. When he had started being the pack’s runner, he didn’t remember. It wasn’t like he minded anyway. It wasn’t forced upon him or assigned to him at birth. He enjoyed returning with things for them to survive and live upon. Even when it meant sustaining a few scratches and wounds. Or a lack of food and comfort when he came back empty-handed. Yeah- it was painful and got him a scolding, but it was all for them. And he owed them everything. Or her, at the least.

  He always bounced back. And he always would if it meant they could live a while longer. The recklessness and injuries were just part of the job.

  Light filtered back in, his eyes wincing at the sudden bright clearing ahead that didn’t give him a chance to blink. Another mutter of “home” escaped him before he could think, his hands pushing against the bag first. The thud of the heavy bag probably alerted more than just the pack to his location; probably a few deer and crows and other forest dwellers, but that just meant more food for the pack. And he’d never complain about that. Ever.

  It took a moment– or rather a few pushes for his body to emerge into the clearer, lighter side of the Grove. The canopy on this end was thinner, allowing soft beams of sunlight to dance on the forest floor. Wolves prowled in the distance, their sleek forms weaving through the trees, while young children ran alongside them, laughing as they chased one another, their carefree energy filling the air. His eyes sparkled in the light while dirtied hands reached down to untie the sack, watching the contents fall loose and splay against the meadow. If the thud of the bag hadn’t gotten their attention before, the smell of food wafting through the air did. His eyes landed back on the young children, the young wildness that’d grow into the shelter, the home that the Grove had provided for them. He stepped away from the contents, watching a set of wolves approach him before taking the food contents of the sack to split up for later.

  The pain in his body nagged at him, an ache that’d quiet once he rested. Once he was sure everyone was fed and taken care of. He couldn’t decide who got what; that’d get him beat and thrown into a fight he didn’t want to deal with again. But as long as they were well fed, homed, and taken care of, he was fine with bouncing back. Maybe he’d stay longer than a night this time. Just to see her— feel her warmth— before returning back to the hollowed wooden cavern he called home.

  “Callen.”

  Okay– he definitely wasn’t leaving for the Hollow tonight.

  “...Mama,” he turned around. The acknowledgment in his eyes, once hardened as a rock, softened at the side of the woman before him. 7 feet tall; that’d be the first noticeable thing about her– possibly frightening, too, if Callen didn’t look so giddy. With shaggy, darkened brown hair that came down to her back, strands blowing in the faint gust of wind. It left her looking whimsical, more majestic to Callen’s eyes than she had before. The clothes that dawned her figure, while probably stolen, added to her height, her beauty– he was far too familiar with her style, the shifting shades of green and brown that adorned her dark sunkissed skin, the gold piercing hooked around her plump pouty lips that shimmered along with every other trinket that decorated her wrists, neck, waist, ears, and hair. The real thing, the beauty of his eyes and the reason he’d get hurt over and over again if it just meant she got to eat.

  “Mama,” he repeated, his face dipped into the hem of her skirt. It danced with the wind, his nostrils flared again at the warm woodsy scent of his she-wolf. A shudder– the only thing that probably could’ve escaped his lips at the moment besides a satisfied hum– left him as her fingers found their way into his hair, newly sharpened nails scratching at his scalp as he rested. Home wasn’t something he visited often– he knew that was wrong of him. That he should’ve visited her more, but the Hollow was his place. The only time he could handle himself without the overbearing dynamics of the wildness and the rules the pack brought. But when she was around, nails massaging at his scalp, getting rid of the itch, the nagging at his brain, and the wicked thoughts that came with his oddity, his place felt like it belonged with her, at her side.

  “Welcome home, son,” came the grumbly hum of her voice, watching the towering figure crouch in front of him, “our shadow.”

  Despite the love in her touch, Callen could hear the frown in her voice. Felt the way her eyes landed on the red seeping through his shirt. Saw the way he winced as the adrenaline finally ran out and the pain thrummed at his body. “Callen,” he heard the lower grumble—almost a snarl— of her voice and froze. Watched her lift up a hand to see the red that had seeped through his shirt stain her palm.

  Oh. Oh.

  Yeah– he was definitely in for a scolding now.