Falling For The Demon Wolf-Chapter 65: My Trail

VIOLET

I didn’t know my way, or how exactly I expected myself to find the camp—but there was just... a sense of validity.

Like I knew where I was headed.

Like the trees recognized me.

Which is a very stupid thing to think.

But still, every time the wind shifted, every time the sun slipped through the branches to warm my cheek, it felt like a path was being laid out before me. Not with signs or markers—but in the tug in my chest, the ache in my bones. Like a thread I couldn’t see, pulling me deeper.

Déjà vu.

That’s what it was.

Not just from this life, but something older. Something that whispered through the rustling leaves and the creak of bark overhead.

The rogue camp wasn’t supposed to be easy to find. It was designed to vanish, to drift like smoke through the cracks of civilization. But still, I pressed on. Letting my horse pick her steps through narrowing trails, past gnarled roots and thickening fog. Hours passed. Maybe more.

And then... I saw it.

A split in the trees, barely wide enough for two men to walk shoulder to shoulder. A scar in the forest that didn’t belong. And the scent—gods, the scent hit me like a punch.

Ash. Blood. Iron.

And something underneath. Faint, but there.

Fear.

I dismounted quietly, tying the reins to a low-hanging branch. My boots sank into the soft earth as I walked forward, ducking low and pushing aside brush until the camp came into view.

Tents. Fires. Rough structures made of scavenged metal and old timber. Rogues moved through it all like shadows, half-feral and suspicious of one another. But none of them looked up. Not yet.

And then—

I froze.

One of them. Near the edge, stacking crates.

His face turned slightly.

The same eyes. The same jagged scar across his cheek.

He was there. The night they beat me.

A rush of heat surged up my spine. Rage. Memory. Pain. My fingers curled into fists. I could feel my wolf stir inside, agitated and snarling even though she had never fully awakened.

Zain would have killed him on sight.

And part of me wanted to.

But instead I stepped out from behind the trees, slow and deliberate.

The man turned, his gaze snapping to mine. Recognition bloomed in his eyes.

And then fear.

"Why are you here?" I whispered, my voice cold and low.

He looked like he wanted to run. But didn’t.

Maybe he couldn’t.

Maybe the forest wouldn’t let him.

"Violet..." he said, like my name was a curse and a prayer all at once.

"Answer me," I said, stepping closer. "You were there. The night they left me for dead."

"I didn’t know," he rasped, glancing around. "I didn’t know who you were."

"That supposed to make it better?" My voice shook. "You dragged me through the mud. You let them—"

"I didn’t touch you," he snapped suddenly, eyes wild. "That wasn’t me. That was Garrick. I—I was ordered to bring you in. I didn’t know who you were."

"You know now."

He swallowed. "We’ve been waiting for you."

That stopped me cold.

"What?"

"Not all of us serve the rogue master. Some of us serve someone older. Something older." He took a step closer, lowering his voice. "They said you’d come. That you’d feel the pull. That the forest would call you back." 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

I shook my head. "What are you talking about?"

"You’re not just Zain’s mate," he said quietly. "You’re something else. And if you don’t remember it yet... you will soon."

A sharp whistle cut through the air. He flinched and stepped back immediately, fear blooming across his face.

"I shouldn’t talk to you," he said. "Not yet. Not until the moon chooses."

And then he was gone—slipping between tents like a ghost.

I stood frozen, the wind catching in the trees above me like a whisper of my name.

I didn’t know where to go next.

But it was clear now—something more than memory lived in these woods.

Something that remembered me.

And maybe... something I was meant to remember, too

The camp was nothing like I expected.l from the last time.

Or was that all in my imagination? Couldn’t be cuz I still had scars and bruises of my broken bones.

So that was definitely not a dream.

Not after all the blood, the screams, the nightmares—I thought I’d find a den of monsters. But as I stepped deeper, weaving through crooked tents and makeshift shelters, I saw something that stopped me cold.

Wolf Cubs.

Small, wide-eyed children ran barefoot through the muddy paths, chasing each other with sticks and wild laughter. One was tugging on a worn wolf plush, the stuffing spilling out of its side. Another clung to a woman’s leg as she stirred something over a smoking firepit. A group of older boys kicked a ball stitched from old cloth, their faces flushed with joy.

While others shifted mid jump, to check who was strongest I guess.

It looked... normal.

Like any other pack. Like home.

The sharpness in my chest dulled a little, replaced by something more confusing. Sadness, maybe. Or a strange guilt I couldn’t explain.

"Hey there," a voice called gently.

I turned to see a woman approaching me, tall and willowy, her hair streaked with silver though her face looked no older than thirty. Her dress was plain, made from repurposed scraps of fabric stitched together with care. She held a woven basket in one hand, a loaf of bread nestled inside.

She gave me a cautious but kind smile.

"You’re new," she said. "What’s your name?"

I hesitated. "Violet."

Her eyes flickered with something—recognition, maybe. But she didn’t press.

"How far have you traveled, Violet?"

"Far enough," I answered. "From the Bloodfang Pack."

That raised a few eyebrows and heads turned at the name. She raised an eyebrow.

"Well, that explains the scent," she murmured. "Alpha Zain’s mate?"

I stiffened. "Yes."

She nodded slowly, as if that answered a question she hadn’t asked aloud.

"Well, you’re not the first to come searching for something. Though few walk in alone." She gestured toward a small bench near the fire. "Sit. You look tired."

"I’m fine," I said. But my body ached, and the smell of warm bread and herbs was enough to make my stomach twist.

Still, I stayed standing. I didn’t trust this place. Not yet.

"What is this camp?" I asked, voice low. "Who runs it?"

"We do have a leader but No one runs it exactly," she replied simply.

I guess the look on my faces made her rethink her statement

Gentle laughing she explained " We have someone to keep us in check and lead the hunter but We all basically work to survive. Some came here to hide. Others were born in these woods. Some... were cast out. But we live."

"You take in rogues?"

She gave a half-smile. "We take in wolves. The rest... is up to them."

I glanced at the children again. One of them waved at me.

It shouldn’t have disarmed me. But it did.

"What do you want from me?" I asked finally.

She studied me for a long moment before shaking her head.

"Nothing," she said softly. "You came here. Something must have led you hear for a reason and That’s enough, for now."

And then, as if sensing I needed space, she walked away—leaving me in the heart of the rogue camp, surrounded by strangers who didn’t feel like strangers at all.

I didn’t sit. Not even when she disappeared down a winding path between tents. My muscles were tight with hesitation, and every sound—laughter, footsteps, the wind brushing through the trees—set my nerves on edge.

But no one looked at me with malice.

Just... curiosity.

Minutes passed, maybe longer, before the woman returned. She walked slower this time, careful not to spill what she carried. A small clay bowl of steaming soup, a folded blanket under one arm, and a thick slice of warm bread balanced in her hand.

She stopped just in front of me and gently held out the bowl.

"Here," she said. "You don’t have to accept it, but you look like you haven’t eaten in days."

My pride warred with my body. My body won.

I took the bowl from her hands, the warmth of it soaking into my frozen fingers like sunlight. The scent of the broth—onions, wild herbs, maybe some root vegetables—made my stomach cramp with need. She offered the bread next, and I didn’t argue.

"Thank you," I mumbled, voice scratchy.

She set the blanket down on a log nearby. "You’re welcome."

She didn’t hover, didn’t ask questions, didn’t demand explanations. She just stood nearby, arms folded loosely, eyes watching the children now chasing each other around a crooked post with laundry strung across it.

I sat on the log, cautious but exhausted. The soup was hot, slightly salty, and surprisingly good. The bread was coarse and dense, but I didn’t care. I ate in silence, and the woman let me.

Finally, I asked, "What’s your name?"

She glanced at me and smiled.

"Calla."

"Are you... in charge here then?" I asked as I sipped the soup, its warmth clinging to my dry throats.

Her laugh was soft. "Not quite. I’ve just been here long enough to know how things work."

"And how do things work?"

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she lowered herself to the other end of the log, watching the camp with a thoughtful expression.

"We don’t follow an Alpha, like I said earlier" she said. "We follow survival. We share what we have, protect what’s ours, and try not to lose ourselves in the dark."

My grip tightened around the bowl. "There was a rogue... at an attack. On me."

Calla’s smile faded. "Not everyone who lives here is innocent. Some take what they’ve suffered and turn it outward. But many of us just want peace. Safety. Family."

I glanced at the children again.

She noticed. "You saw something different today, didn’t you?"

I nodded slowly. "This isn’t what I expected."

"It rarely is." She looked at me. "But you didn’t come just to look, did you?"

"No."

She didn’t push further.

Instead, she stood, dusting her hands on her skirt. "Rest a little. Then, if you’re up for it, there’s someone you might want to talk to."

"Who?"

Calla hesitated, then murmured, "Someone who remembers your name."

And with that, she walked away—leaving me to the firelight, the echoes of laughter, and the strange, steady warmth in my chest that made me question everything I thought I knew