Chapter 59 – The Only Safe Place
Rowan carried Giselle out of the ruined jail, her body limp and too light in his arms. Every step sent another surge of panic into his gut, his wolf pacing beneath his skin, snarling at the scent of her blood still clinging to them.
The night air met them like a slap—too cool, too still. It should have felt like freedom.
It didn’t.
Just beyond the old stone steps, Luther stood at attention beside the witch, Avella. The soft firelight from her lantern lit her angular features, casting shadows over the sharp curve of her cheekbones. Her eyes locked on Giselle immediately.
She inhaled sharply. “She won’t survive the journey to your pack in this state,” she said. “Bring her to my hut. I can help her. But we must hurry.”
Rowan’s steps slowed, a deep growl rumbling in his chest. “You want me to just hand her over?” His voice was dark, dangerous. “She’s my mate.”
Avella didn’t flinch. “Her *wolf* is dying. I can reach her. You can’t. Not like this.”
“She belongs with me.”
“She belongs *alive,*” the witch snapped, then added with more control, “And in her condition, surrounded by traitors in your own pack? She’d be dead by morning if you took her back there.”
Rowan’s jaw tightened.
Charlie stepped up beside him. “Rowan, she’s right. We can’t protect her in the pack right now—not until we know who’s working with the rogues.”
Beta Kalen nodded. “You saw what they did to her. They’ll try again. You and I both know there are still eyes watching our every move.”
Rowan hesitated, the weight of her in his arms pressing down on every muscle, every heartbeat. “I won’t leave her here alone.” He pulled her in closer to his chest, relishing the weight of her body up against his.
“You won’t have to,” Luther said, stepping forward at last, voice low and solid. “I’ll stay. I’ll guard her with my life.”
Rowan met his gaze, searching for any sign of hesitation—but there was none. Just grim resolve and the glint of deadly intent in Luther’s eyes.
Silence hung between them for a long moment before Rowan finally gave a sharp nod.
“Fine,” he bit out. “But if anything happens to her—”
“It won’t,” Luther said simply, already turning to follow the witch.
They made their way through the edge of the woods in silence. The witch’s hut glowed with soft orange light as they approached, nestled between gnarled trees as if the forest itself had shaped it into being.
Inside, the warmth wrapped around them like a blanket. It smelled of crushed herbs, firewood, and something ancient.
Rowan moved straight to the bed in the far corner, easing Giselle down onto the thin mattress. She didn’t stir. Her skin looked paler now, blood loss dulling her already faint glow.
He climbed onto the bed beside her, wrapping an arm carefully around her waist, cradling her back to his chest. His face pressed into her neck.
“You hold on, wildflower,” he whispered against her ear, lips brushing her skin. “You’re not done fighting. I know you. You don’t give up.”
Across the room, Avella moved to her shelves, gathering bundles of herbs and crushed roots. She lit two small clay bowls and waved her hand through the smoke, muttering under her breath.
The language was foreign—ancient and weighty. The air thickened, humming with the quiet power her chanting invoked.
“What are you doing?” Rowan asked without lifting his head.
“Hiding her,” the witch replied. “From those who might still be watching. From whatever magic is tied to her now. This veil will make her invisible to any seeking eyes.”
The scent of sandalwood and lavender filled the room, earthy and grounding.
When she finished her chanting, Avella turned to face him. “You must leave soon. The spell will work better once the energy in the room settles. She’ll be safe here.”
Rowan’s grip on Giselle tightened. “I’m not ready—”
Charlie touched his arm gently. “You can’t protect her here. Not right now. But we *can* find who did this. And stop them from trying again.”
Kalen nodded. “You’ve done everything you can. Now it’s our turn.”
Rowan looked down at Giselle one last time. Her breath was still shallow, her wolf’s presence still faint—but not gone.
Not yet.
He brushed his lips to her forehead, lingering there longer than he meant to. “I’ll come back for you,” he whispered. “No matter what.”
Then, reluctantly, he stood and followed Kalen and Charlie out the door, leaving a piece of his soul behind on the witch’s bed.
The shadows of the forest swallowed them as they disappeared into the night.
But Rowan’s heart remained behind… waiting to return.
The forest was quiet around them, only the occasional snap of a branch underfoot or the distant call of an owl breaking the silence. Rowan moved through the underbrush with rigid shoulders, his jaw clenched so tight it ached.
“She’ll be safe,” Charlie said softly beside him, her voice calm but firm. “Luther won’t let anything happen to her.”
Rowan didn’t answer, his gaze locked ahead.
Charlie continued, undeterred. “If things take a turn, he’ll take her straight to our pack. No one will be able to touch her there.”
He finally exhaled, the breath heavy with tension. “It shouldn’t have come to this.”
“No, it shouldn’t have,” Kalen muttered from his other side, “but we’re still in the fight. And she’s still alive because of you.”
The reassurance didn’t sit easily in Rowan’s chest, but he nodded once, grateful for their presence—even if the ache in his soul hadn’t eased.
The conversation faded into silence as the trees thinned and the familiar scent of home drifted into the air.
The pack’s border was close now.
And so were the answers they still had to dig up… before time ran out completely.
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