Sold to the Night Lord - Chapter 89: Chapter 89

The forest seems endless. I'd never stopped to observe just how vast and expansive it could be until now. My legs ache and my lungs burn as if each breath draws in fire. Some branches have torn my dress, but thankfully haven't reached my skin. Blood would only make me an easier target.
Cassian's hands keep pounding against my mind, growing more insistent with each attempt, but every time I've kept the foundations of my thoughts firm. Now I have control over my mind, and I know that infuriates him immensely. It's the dead of night, and occasionally the flapping of nocturnal birds and the sound of insects make my heart race. Every little noise unsettles me.
I open my bag, rummage through the provisions Evanora gave me, and find a small water flask. I drink, trying to restrain myself from finishing it all. I grip the letter opener I brought with me tightly. I'm tired—that's a fact—as my legs constantly remind me when I try to move again. I look around, weighing my options. I know I should rest, even if just for a moment. The trees are too tall for someone untrained and unskilled to climb. I keep moving, scanning my surroundings until I spot a tree with a hollow, rotten trunk wide enough to hide in. I sit on the cold ground, tucking part of my body inside the trunk and pulling my knees to my chest to preserve warmth.
I rest my chin on my knee and try not to think about what will happen if Cassian catches me. He won't. I'll die first. Dead, he'll have no reason to retaliate against my family. If he captures me alive, he'll make me suffer, and he knows the only thing that truly hurts me is my parents and siblings. I hear the snap of a breaking branch and go on high alert. I hold my breath for nearly a minute, terrified, gripping the letter opener's handle, until I see a small rabbit pass by.
"Just a rabbit, Elara. Relax," I tell myself. "Cassian won't find me."
I try to convince myself, though I don't succeed. Cassian will easily catch my scent—if he hasn't already. Could Evanora's spell mask my scent too? It's possible, but not something I should blindly rely on. I clench my jaw, knowing I'll regret this later, and pour a little water onto the dirt. I dig my fingers into the mud and begin smearing it over my face, neck, arms, and every visible inch of skin, hoping it might throw him off.
He's a predator, a born hunter. I'm his prey, and he won't stop until he finds me.
After that, I'm so exhausted that—foolishly—I decide to close my eyes just for a moment, thinking I'll be able to open them again. Mistake. When I do, the sun is rising, and my surroundings are far more visible and less terrifying. With my heart in my throat, I stand up, swallowing a whimper of pain.
"Shit," I mutter.
The mud has dried on my skin. I repeat the process to be safe, then set off again. I can't help but glance over my shoulder with every step. I pick up speed once fully awake, and when my lungs demand I stop, I take no more than a couple minutes' rest.
At times, I swear I feel a presence behind me, but when I turn, I find the forest exactly as it was seconds before. I tell myself it's just paranoia. I drink from the flask several times until it's empty, adding another worry to my list: I need to find a river to refill it.
The sun slowly makes its journey, reaching its zenith. The heat beating down directly on my head is unbearable, so I end up tearing more of my dress. I rip off the hem and use it to bandage my bruised hands.
"I'm going to make it," I repeat to myself over and over.
I spend hours walking at a brisk pace, leaping over large rock formations, sliding down crumbling slopes, dodging logs and protruding roots. I take special care to avoid letting any stones or branches break my skin. I've almost allowed myself to relax when I hear a howl. Every hair on my arms stands on end, and my hand flies to the thick scars on my throat.
I summon strength from nowhere to force my legs to run. Maybe it's just an animal, a wild dog—though that's overly optimistic. I slide down a small slope, scraping my backside, and keep running. The sound of footsteps grabs my attention, and when I look back, my blood turns to ice in my veins. Enormous wolves of varying coat colors are charging toward me. With fists clenched and weapon in hand, I pick up speed, though I know it's futile. They're much faster than me. I can feel them behind me, the ground vibrating with the force of their paws.
I hear the sound of water and think that maybe—insanely—crossing a river might deter or delay them. I use my last reserves to follow the sound. The vegetation thins, and the path opens as I approach. A spark of hope flares in my chest—the worst thing that could happen, because when the vegetation finally clears, I see it's not a river waiting for me, but a cliff dropping into the sea. The Corrupted Waters.
My knees give out. I fall face-first, scraping my skin. It doesn't matter now—I'm going to die. Instinct forces me to crawl backward to the cliff's edge, delaying the inevitable. I glance behind me at the water violently crashing against the rocks.
"Stop resisting. You must come with us."
I tremble at the enormous wolf's voice. It sounds like it comes from the depths of hell itself, reverberating in my very bones.
"I'm not going anywhere," I manage to respond.
"We won't harm you... unless you refuse."
A hysterical laugh escapes me.
"Won't harm me?" I point to my neck. "Then what's this?"
The brown-furred wolf with golden eyes takes a step toward me, revealing its massive, threatening paw. The scars covering its muzzle look eerily familiar, and after a few seconds of doubt, I realize he's the one who gave me these wounds. His ears twitch as he cocks his head, a curious animal inspecting its prey.
"I apologize for my... temperamental behavior," he says in that hellish voice.
I wrinkle my nose in disgust and take another step back, dangerously close to the edge. Just a few more inches, and I could let myself fall. Death would be better than being a captive of another merciless creature. That's not living. I've made my decision when a sudden gust of wind whips my hair into my eyes. I close them reflexively, and when I open them again, a massacre unfolds before me.