Page 49 of A Hunger Soft and Wild

“Breathe,” I murmur under my breath, eyes still locked on the approaching figures.

Her fingers twitch again, and this time, she tightens them into fists.

Another figure joins the group, radiating authority, whispering orders I can’t quite make out. I catch fragments—“search,” “don’t let her escape,” “traitor.” The words ignite a spark of anger in my chest.

They’re talking about Aria.

Movement draws my attention to the left. One of the cloaked enforcers breaks off from the group, heading closer to our position. My body tenses. We can’t just wait here to be discovered, and I doubt we can retreat without notice.

My pulse pounds against my ribs as I shift forward, every muscle coiled tight.

Five against two.The odds suck, but I’ve survived worse.

And this time, I have something to fight for.

Aria is silent behind me, but I can feel her presence, her nervous energy thrumming in the air between us. She hasn’t bolted, hasn’t crumpled. But she’s not a fighter, not really—not yet. I can’t let them get to her.

I press a hand back, fingers brushing her arm in the faintest of reassurances.Stay behind me.

She gives a shaky nod, pressing herself against the tree as I slip past her, drawing my sword in one fluid motion. The enforcer moves closer, his steps quiet but not quiet enough. He’s confident. They all are. They think they have this under control.

They don’t.

The enforcer steps into a slant of moonlight, close enough now that I can make out the sharp lines of his face, the gleam of his fangs as he parts his lips slightly, scenting the air. My grip tightens around the hilt of my blade.

Then he freezes.

His head snaps up, his dark eyes locking onto mine.

Shit.

No more waiting.

I lunge.

In one swift motion, I pivot around the tree, sword slicing through the stale air. The enforcer’s eyes widen in surprise—the bastard didn’t expect me to strike first.

Good.

My blade arcs downward, forcing them to raise their own weapon. Steel meets steel with a jarring clang.

They’re quick, pivoting to avoid my follow-up slash, cloak billowing. I push forward, ignoring the sting of branches crunching under my boots, focusing on driving them back. Behind me, I hear Aria’s ragged breaths.

Another figure rushes in, and I shift to block them, taking a glancing blow on my forearm. Pain jolts up to my elbow, but I grit my teeth, batting their sword aside. We trade two rapid strikes, sparks flying in the dim light, before I manage to kick them square in the chest. They stumble into the dirt.

The fight is chaos.

I don’t get a moment to breathe—the other three close in, moving in perfect tandem. Not amateurs. They try to flank me, their steps practiced, their eyes cold. This isn’t some scouting party. They aren’t here to warn or capture.

They’re here to kill.

And they’re here to takeher.

Not happening.

My free hand fumbles for a dagger at my belt, the weight reassuring as I pivot sharply. One leaps forward, blade angled straight for my chest, and I barely parry in time. The impact rattles through my arm, but I keep my stance firm. Another shifts behind me, fast. Too fast. I spin, hooking my foot around their ankle, and they crash to the ground with a sharp curse.

No time to celebrate. The first one is already resetting, coming at me again. I slam the pommel of my sword into their temple, sending them staggering.

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