Soren felt a cold pit form in his stomach when he heard Kaelen mention the place they just landed in.
The Grey Reaches were famous across the entire continent, but for all the wrong reasons.
It was a lawless, dangerous territory ruled by rogue wolf packs, even dark magic syndicates, and mercenary guilds that didn’t answer to the Citadel or the Northern Pack.
In the Citadel, people spoke of the Grey Reaches in hushed, fearful whispers because of the trick and unruly behavior.
“Neither your people nor Lord Boran’s scouts can openly hunt us here without starting a full-scale war with the local warlords,”
Kaelen continued, his jaw tightening.
“Which means we are safe from our pursuers for now.”
“Safe?” Soren let out a bitter, breathless laugh, clutching his cloak closer around his chest as a cold gust of wind blew through the valley.
“Kaelen, we are chained together by a cursed magic bond, my spell-dust is completely empty, and we just landed in the most dangerous territory on the continent.
In what world is this safe?”
Kaelen turned his head to look at Soren.
In the faint sunlight, the faint red mark on his cheek from Soren’s slap the night before was completely gone, replaced by an expression of calm, resolute determination.
“It’s safe because we are still breathing,”
Kaelen said quietly.
He reached down, grabbing the rose-colored chain between their wrists, and held it up between them.
“We stick to the plan, Soren.
We traverse this valley, find a master spell-weaver in the lower towns, and break this chain.”
Soren stared at the glowing chain, then looked up into Kaelen’s golden eyes.
He could feel the steady beat of Kaelen’s pulse through the magic bond, warm and grounding against his own erratic fear.
Part of him—the rational, guarded part—wanted to push Kaelen away and run.
But looking out at the dark, monster-infested forests of the Grey Reaches, Soren knew he wouldn’t survive three steps without the massive Alpha standing at his side.
“Fine,” Soren rasped out, stepping back to create as much distance as the three-foot chain would allow.
“We move together.
We stay alive.
But nothing else changes, Commander.”
Kaelen didn’t argue.
He didn’t try to pull Soren closer, nor did he offer any empty promises.
He simply gave a quiet, solemn nod.
“Fair enough, spell-cutter,” Kaelen replied softly.
“Let’s go.”
They began their slow, careful descent down the snowy slope, taking heavy, calculated steps toward the dark pine forest below.
The path was steep and looked treacherous.
Every few yards, one of them would slip on the hidden ice beneath the snow, forcing the other to quickly reach out and grab the chain or a cloak to keep them from sliding down the mountain.
It was a grueling, silent dance of pure survival.
They didn’t talk about the kisses in the cave.
They didn’t talk about the slap, or the confessions exchanged on the cliff.
They focused entirely on the footing ahead, their minds occupied by the physical struggle of navigating the terrain while chained three feet apart.
By the time the afternoon light began to fade into a dark, purple twilight, they finally reached the tree line at the foot of the mountain.
The air inside the pine forest was dead silent, the thick canopy of dark needles blocking out the wind.
Giant, ancient stone pillars—remnants of a long-forgotten civilization—stood scattered among the dark trees, covered in thick moss and glowing blue lichen and algae.
“We need to stop,” Soren said, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
His face was dangerously pale, dark circles hanging under his eyes from total physical and magical exhaustion.
“My legs…
I can’t walk another mile tonight, Kaelen.”
Kaelen stopped instantly, turning to look at him and Seeing how weak Soren looked, Kaelen didn’t hesitate.
He walked over to a small, sheltered clearing beneath a massive oak tree, shielded by three broken stone walls.
“We camp here for the night,” Kaelen decided, unstrapping his heavy broadsword and leaning it against the stone wall.
“I’ll clear the snow and gather dry wood.”
Soren didn’t argue.
He slid down the side of the stone pillar, sitting heavily on a flat rock, pulling his knees up to his chest to stay warm.
His body was aching from head to toe, the skin on his right palm raw and inflamed where he had crushed the spell-flask.
Kaelen moved quickly around the small perimeter, gathering dead pine branches and dry bark from the undersides of the trees.
Because of the three-foot chain, Kaelen couldn’t venture far.
Whenever he reached the absolute end of the chain, he would crouch down, gather whatever wood was within arm’s reach, and then step back toward Soren before moving to another spot.
It was a slow, tedious process, but Kaelen did it without a single word of complaint.
Within fifteen minutes, Kaelen had built a neat pyramid of dry wood in the center of their small campsite.
He pulled a flint and steel from his belt pouch, striking the metal until a small spark caught the dry bark, igniting a small, crackling fire.
The warm, orange light flickered across the dark campsite, chasing away the freezing shadows.
Kaelen sat down on a fallen log right across from Soren, keeping the three-foot distance between them strictly respected.
He pulled a strip of dried meat and a small canteen of water from his travel pack, offering half of it to Soren.
Soren took the food silently, his fingers brushing briefly against Kaelen’s gloved hand.
The tiny point of contact sent a soft, warm shiver through his chest, but Soren quickly pulled his hand back, keeping his eyes fixed on the small fire between them.
They ate in a quiet, heavy silence, the crackle of the burning pine branches the only sound breaking the dead quiet of the ancient forest.
As Soren chewed on the tough dried meat, his eyes drifted over to Kaelen.
The Alpha sat quietly, his broad shoulders relaxed against the stone wall behind him, his long legs stretched out toward the flames.
Even in the middle of an unknown, hostile territory, Kaelen looked entirely composed—a deadly, stoic guardian who looked ready to spring into action at the slightest hint of danger.
He really didn’t leave me, Soren thought, his chest tightening with a strange, conflicting emotion.
When the cliff collapsed, he could have jumped clear.
He could have used his wolf strength to run ahead.
But he stayed…
he used his own body to shield me.
Soren looked down at his own bandaged hand, remembering how Kaelen’s voice had cracked on the cliff when he confessed his fear of losing Soren’s trust.
The wall around Soren’s heart was still there, but it felt remarkably fragile now.
Suddenly, a strange sound echoed through the quiet forest.
HOOOO—WRRRR!
It was a deep, metallic horn blast, echoing from somewhere deep within the dark woods to the north.
A second later, an answering horn blast sounded from the east, much closer to their campsite.
Kaelen was on his feet in an instant.
Soren scrambled to his feet right beside him, his fatigue instantly forgotten as adrenaline flooded his system again.
He reached for his dagger, his pulse racing.
“Is it Boran’s men?” Soren whispered, stepping closer to Kaelen’s side.
“No,” Kaelen hissed low, his voice dropping into a deadly growl.
“Boran’s scouts use bone whistles.
Those are war horns.”
From the shadows of the dark pine trees surrounding their camp, dozens of glowing green eyes began to illuminate the dark.
Heavy, armored footsteps crunched against the frozen snow.
Ten tall, menacing figures stepped into the firelight, surrounding the small ruined camp from all sides.
Unlike the Northern Pack warriors clad in dark iron, these fighters wore jagged bone armor over dark leather tunics, their faces covered by terrifying wooden masks carved into the likeness of snarling forest beasts.
They carried long spear-halberds tipped with glowing green poison.
A tall figure stepped out from the middle of the group, holding a heavy iron staff topped with a skull.
“Well, well, well,” the leader hissed, his voice raspy and strange, echoing through the mask.
“Look what the mountain storm washed into our territory.
An Alpha…
and a rogue magician , chained together like stray dogs.”
Kaelen stepped directly in front of Soren, his massive sword drawn with a sharp metallic clang, his body blocking the leader’s view of Soren.
“State your business,” Kaelen commanded, his Alpha voice booming through the clearing, commanding absolute authority.
“We are travelers passing through to the lower ridge.
We have no quarrel with you.”
The leader let out a cruel, mocking laugh that sent chills down Soren’s spine.
“You are in the Shadow-Ash Territory now, Citadel hound,” the leader sneered, raising his iron staff.
“In our lands, strangers don’t pass through for free.
You either pay the toll with your blood…
or you become slaves to the Blood Guild!”
The ten masked warriors stepped forward in unison, lowering their poisoned spears directly at Kaelen and Soren.
Soren looked at the spears, then at Kaelen’s broad, unyielding back.
He grabbed his dagger tighter, stepping smoothly beside Kaelen, the three-foot rose-colored chain glowing faint red between their wrists.
“Looks like our rest is over, Commander,” Soren whispered, a fierce, dark smirk touching his pale lips despite the danger.
Kaelen glanced down at him, his golden eyes flashing with a dangerous, deadly light.
“Keep up, spell-cutter,” Kaelen growled softly.
“We have a long way to go.”
They survived the pass, but now they’re trapped in the lawless Shadow-Ash Territory—chained three feet apart with empty spell-dust, no backup, and masked warriors surrounding them!
Geeez!!
How are they going to fight their way out of this one?!
Drop your thoughts in the comments, add the book to your library, and don’t forget to drop your votes!
See you in Chapter 21 guys