The Ambush

The white wolf flew through the trees like a ghost set ablaze—fur glowing at the tips, paws leaving small bursts of smoldering heat in her wake.

But Seraphine was slowing.

Not from injury. From choice.

They’re overconfident, she thought, her mind curled at the center of her shared body. Too loud. Too close.

Let me handle it, Nyra said, her voice low, hungry, already licking her chops in the dark space behind Seraphine’s thoughts. You’ve run long enough. Let me turn around and burn them to ash.

Seraphine leapt over a fallen tree, then came to a skidding stop. She whipped her head around, ears perked. Four sets of pawsteps behind. Two closer than she liked. One was wheezing.

Now? she asked.

Nyra didn’t answer with words—just a sharp yes that surged through Seraphine’s bones like fire through dry brush.

Seraphine gave control.

And the white wolf turned back.

Not like a hunted thing. Like a predator.

Nyra surged forward—silent now, low to the ground. She knew these woods better than the fools behind her. Her paws left glowing prints in the dead leaves. Her lips curled into a snarl that vibrated in her throat like a promise.

She darted behind a thick veil of brush and waited.

Waited until she heard them curse.

Until the dumbest one said, “Where the hell did she go?”

And then she struck.

Nyra exploded from the undergrowth like lightning wrapped in fire. The closest rogue didn’t even have time to shift fully before her jaws clamped around his shoulder, fire blooming beneath her claws as she dragged him down with bone-breaking force.

The second one lunged with a blade.

Nyra spun, heat gathering under her skin, and released it in a violent burst that knocked him off his feet and set his tunic alight. He screamed and rolled, but the fire clung like it knew his name.

Another to the left, Seraphine murmured from inside, not in fear, but as a reminder.

Nyra pivoted and snarled. The third hesitated—and that was enough.

She tackled him, her claws digging into his ribs, heat seeping into his skin.

But she didn’t kill him.

Not yet.

You tell them, she growled, voice rippling inside his mind like flame on parchment. Tell your pack the Ashborn turned around. Tell them she’s not running anymore.

She leaned in, singeing his cheek.

Tell them the wolf is awake.

And then she vanished into the trees—paws lighting the ground beneath her, fire trailing like a comet in the dark.