The Prophecy's Reject

Zylia's POV "Who's there?" My voice came out thin and trembling. No one answered. I only heard the breeze of Dey leaves. I pressed my back to a tree trunk and clutched my bag to my chest like my life depended on it. And I could say, right now, it really did. My knuckles turned white, and legs felt rooted to the ground, as if it did not want me to move. Something moved in the darkness, really fast, my eyes only caught a shape that resolved into a man. Then it turned into two. I caught a scent of rags and sweat. It wasn't of a pack. It was... Rogues. My mouth went dry. I tried to turn, to run, but my feet would not. "Please," I said. "I don't want trouble. I'll go. I'll.." One of them laughed, soft and mean. "Look what the moon spat out. An Alpha's toy." He circled me slowly, his arms folded, his eyes dangerous."All alone....How easy.....must be our lucky night" The other crouched and grinned at me. "Pretty thing. Come on, don't be shy." "Leave me," I whispered, backing until the trunk stopped me. The bag dug into my ribs; I could feel every bruise from the guards' rough hands. My throat burned from the urge to burst into tears. The taller rogue reached out. His hand was close enough to brush my sleeve. "Not so fast." He leaned in, so did the smell of dust. "We'll have some fun, won't we?" His hands brushed my cheeks. I was cornered by both wolves. I couldn't escape, even if I wanted to. I shut my eyes. My mind flashed back to Killian's voice, the priestess, Lilith's smile. "Please," I whispered again. "Just... let me go." "You reek of the Alpha's bond," The taller one muttered to the other. "He's gone," the shorter man said. "The Alpha threw her out. No one cares." "You idiots," hissed a new voice from the trees, low and sharp. It wasn't rogue laughing, nor was it humane. It cut through the air like a blade. The rogues startled. The taller one spun, jaw working. "Who....?" Something huge moved in the darkness. I felt it before I saw it: the air shifted, like a tide changing. A wolf exhaled nearby, long and low. The rogue's grin faltered. "We should leave. Now." He stepped back. They ran as fast as they could. A shape stepped into the clearing now. Broad shoulders, shadowed face, the kind of presence that made breath catch. He moved with the silence of a predator and the ease of a man who owned the dark. He crouched near me, not touching, an arm resting on his knee. His eyes were too bright in the moon, and they measured me like a market buyer. "You shouldn't walk packlands at night, little one." I swallowed. "Who are you?" He let out a chuckel. "A dangerous thing to ask in the Wildlands." He straightened. "Name's Mason." Mason looked at me like a curious animal. "You smell like a bond and trouble," he said. "Alpha's mark still clings to you." My chest tightened. "I..." I bit my lip. "Claimed," he interrupted me, his gaze fixed on mine."Then cast off." His mouth curved. "Poor thing." He touched my chin with care, and then lifted my face to get a closer look. His hands were soft and warm. For a moment there, I could've sworn he was human. His gaze lingered "You're hurt," I checked myself, "Do I have a bruise...or injury?" He chuckled, "Not that type of hurt," He let go as if the touch had burned him. He was talking about my rejection. "Oh..." "Come. Sit." He pointed at the log I had been on and bowed his head in a mock of courtesy. I slid down, hugging my bag to my chest. "Why are you....why are you so nice to me?" He shrugged. "We're not saints. But we don't like thieves. Rogues have rules." He studied my face, and his voice went low. "And I like to know who walks my woods." "You saved me," I said. The words sounded small and ugly next to the memory of Killian's rejection. "Why?" Mason's jaw worked. "Because you're interesting." He paused as if testing the word for weight. "Because you weren't just some weeping thing. You didn't scream. You didn't beg like the others. You looked like you carried more shame than fear." I flinched. "Shame is all I have left." "Maybe." He cocked his head. "Or maybe it's something else. Something the pack hated enough to spit out." He sat across from me on the same log. It was getting quite dark so he lit a flame. The light made his eyes seem amber. "Tell me what happened," he said plainly. "I'm...not" "It's fine, you don't have to say it if you're not comfortable," He said after he saw how I struggled getting the words out. "Thank you," I said, my voice low. Silence drew between us for a while. I swallowed. The story came out in jagged breaths, the hall, the priestess, Killian's hand, the moment he took it, the way it had felt when he claimed me, and then how he had thrown me away. Mason listened, unblinking. At the end he whistled, low. "Oof." It could have been pity. It could have been greed. I couldn't tell. "So," he said, stirring the fire with a stick, "you have half a bond and all the trouble." "It should have been forever," I whispered. "It was supposed to be my place." He looked at me, not too soft or too cruel face, "Lots of things were supposed to be. The world doesn't care for supposed." "But you?" I asked, the question reckless. "Why do you care?" Mason's lips twitched. "I don't. Not really." He blew on the coals, and the embers flared. "But tonight I felt like showing up. Maybe because I don't like other men thinking they can take and then toss what they want." He flicked his gaze to the trees as if expecting someone to appear. A cold breath escaped my lips. "Can I....can I go back with you?" My voice trembled. He leaned forward. "I'm not a savior Zylia. I won't carry you home." He paused, "But I won't let you be eaten by rogues tonight." Relief crashed into me so hard I could not speak. He pushed to his feet. "Stay near me," he ordered softly. "I have camp not far." He stuffed the last of the kindling into his pocket and started to walk, not looking back. I fumbled to my feet, bag heavy on my shoulder, and stumbled after him. "Who are you really?" I asked, keeping pace so I wouldn't lose him in the dark. Mason glanced over his shoulder. A dangerous smirk appeared on his face, "Someone who likes to know things." Then softer, almost private: "And someone who hates being told what to think." We moved into the trees, and the small fire we left died to gray ash. The woods swallowed our footsteps, but not the drum of my heart. I walked with Mason because at that moment, anything that moved with me felt better than standing still in the place where they had thrown me away. Behind us, hidden in the black, eyes watched. And one voice, closer than the rest, whispered a name I'd only ever heard in the hall. "Killian," it breathed, and then silence.