Falling For The Demon Wolf-Chapter 72: FEAR

The camp dissolved into chaos.

Women wailed. Men stood frozen, helpless. Children clung to each other, their small faces crumpled in fear. The early morning sun spilled over the treetops, bright and warm... but the camp felt cold. Wrong. Shaken to its bones.

Nora’s body lay limp in Ilyra’s arms, her mismatched eyes half-closed like she’d simply drifted off into a dream she never woke from.

A dream...

My stomach twisted.

She was alive last night. Laughing. Swimming. Telling me things she shouldn’t have known—things no one could have told her.

My child.

A girl.

Dangerous. Like me.

A chill crawled down my spine.

Something happened to Nora. Something unnatural.

And Garrick... Garrick was nowhere.

He should’ve been here first, before anyone. He always was whenever someone cried out, as if he could sense fear long before it reached the air.

Ilyra’s voice cut through the muffled chaos. "We prepare her for burial by dusk. And no one—no child—wanders alone tonight or any night until we understand what took her."

Her words only sharpened the panic.

Nora’s mother collapsed again, clutching handfuls of earth. The young boy—her mate, gods—was on his knees, trembling so violently I thought he’d break apart.

My throat tightened.

I backed away slowly, the noise pressing in on me like a rising tide. My heart thudded painfully, each beat echoing Nora’s warning in my skull:

"She’s going to kill you."

My baby.

No.

No, no.

I shook the thought off violently, even as tears stung my eyes.

I needed answers.

And only one person in this entire camp knew anything about strange bloodlines, strange abilities—strange children.

Garrick.

I turned on my heel and sprinted toward his side of the camp.

The old tents were quiet, tucked against the rocky slope where the forest met the clearing. A few men nodded at me as I passed, but no one spoke. No one stopped me.

Garrick’s tent—larger, older, patched in three places—stood half-open.

"Garrick?" I called, breathless.

Nothing.

I stepped inside.

The scent hit me—smoke, herbs, old paper. And something else. Something metallic.

The tent was empty. His bedroll tossed aside. His cloak gone. His maps left scattered across the low table like he left in a hurry.

"What...?" I whispered, fingertips brushing a parchment he’d marked last night.

A route.

A direction.

Straight toward the northern ridge.

Straight toward where the rogues kept watch for intruders.

My breath caught.

Zain.

Was he close? Close enough to force Garrick to go out to meet him? To warn him away?

Or... had Garrick gone searching for someone—or something—else entirely?

I heard a soft shuffle behind me.

I turned sharply.

It was Eska, her copper hair tied back, her face tight with worry. "Violet," she said, stepping inside. "You shouldn’t be here."

"What’s happening?" I asked. "Where’s Garrick? He should’ve been in the camp by now."

Eska swallowed. "He left before dawn. Didn’t tell anyone. Just took one blade and went."

"For what?" I demanded. "Zain? Something in the forest? Something that killed Nora?"

Eska flinched at the girl’s name.

"We don’t know," she whispered. "But Garrick was afraid. I’ve never seen him afraid."

My hands shook.

Zain was coming for me.

Something had killed Nora.

And Garrick—my only guide to the truth—was missing in the woods between them both.

Eska grabbed my arm. "Violet... what did Nora tell you? Anything strange?"

I hesitated—only for a heartbeat.

"She said my baby will kill me," I whispered.

Eska went pale.

And outside, a low distant howl echoed through the trees—sharp, furious, unmistakable.

My blood turned to ice.

Zain.

He was Here.

The howl faded into the trees, but it echoed inside my skull long after the forest went still.

Zain.

He wasn’t hours away anymore.

He was here—or close enough that every rogue on watch would feel his presence like a pressure in the air.

I spun toward the camp entrance. "I need a horse."

Eska blinked. "What?"

"I have to stop him before he reaches the camp. If he sees what’s happened here if he thinks I’m in danger, he’ll tear through everyone he sees."

Eska grabbed my shoulders. "Violet, you can’t go out there alone—"

"I’m not waiting," I snapped, shaking her off. "If he fights Garrick... if he reaches the camp—"

The image of Nora’s mother screaming over her body flashed in my mind.

I wouldn’t let this place turn into the nightmare from my dream.

I ran.

"Violet!" Eska called after me, but I didn’t slow.

The rogues kept a few horses tied near the ridge for hunting. I reached them breathless, hands shaking as I untied the nearest mare, a dust-gray creature with dark eyes and a patient stillness.

"Waka," Maelra’s voice barked behind me. "Stop her."

Before the woman could lay a hand on me, I swung myself up onto the horse’s back—half-graceful, half-desperate.

Maelra stormed forward, fury and fear clashing across her face. "Are you insane? You’re barely holding yourself together. You’re sick every morning. You don’t know what’s out there!"

"I know exactly what’s out there," I said, tightening my grip on the reins. "My mate. And if he gets here thinking I’m in danger, all of you will be."

"You’re pregnant!" Maelra hissed. "You can’t just—"

"I don’t have a choice!"

My voice cracked.

Silence fell between us, heavy and painful.

Maelra’s jaw clenched. Her eyes softened, not with pity, but with understanding.

"You ride out there alone, with your scent muted, he might not recognize you instantly," she warned. "If he shifts—if he’s blinded by rage—he could hurt you without realizing."

"I’ll call him," I said. "I’ll scream his name until he stops."

"And if he doesn’t?"

I swallowed hard. My hand drifted instinctively to my stomach.

"Then he kills the wrong person today," I whispered, "because it won’t be me."

Maelra looked away—then stepped back.

"Fine," she growled. "But take the north trail. Avoid the pits near the ridge." Her eyes softened again, a rare flicker of something like affection. "And come back alive. Both of you."

I nodded sharply.

Then I kicked the horse gently, and she took off.

The wind slapped my face as we galloped through the narrow path carved between the trees. Branches whipped by, shadows stretching long with the rising sun.

Every beat of the mare’s hooves was echoed by the thunder in my chest.

My bond—muted, dulled by herbs, still pulsed faintly.

But now... now it wasn’t distant or foggy.

It was burning.

Claiming.

Raging.

And getting closer.

"Zain," I whispered into the wind. "Please, Don’t do anything stupid."

As the forest thinned and the ridge opened before me, a figure appeared in the distance, dark, sharp, and vibrating with fury.

My breath caught.

He was here.

My mate. My storm.