Dara ran breathlessly. The heat of the flames scorched her back, and the glow shoved into her nostrils like a raging spirit. Her mother’s scream rang in her skull so hard she wanted to cover her ears—but couldn’t. Her legs pushed through tall grass, stumbling over stones and roots. Once she plunged into mud stained a strangely red hue. Branches tore at her skin, but she hardly felt them.

  The forest received her with cool and quiet—unnatural quiet. Far off, the howls of the demonic wolves still echoed. Dara ran deeper into the dark. Her dress snagged on a bush; she yanked, and the fabric tore. It felt as if every shadow watched her, as if every tree had eyes.

  At last she dropped to her knees, sucking air greedily like a drowning woman. She was shaking all over. Her fingers were bloody from scratches; her hair clung to her face.

  “Live…” she whispered, as if the word alone could hold her up. She remembered that strange dream. She had to live.

  Something cracked in the brush to her left. Dara froze. She braced for a demon—but a human shape slid from the shadows. Then another. Then a third. Filthy, unshaven, smelling of smoke and sweat. Their eyes gleamed in the dark—not with fire, but with greed.

  “Look what we’ve got here,” one said, lifting a cudgel wrapped in wire. “A girl from the burning village. Probably rich, running around dressed like that. Nice sandals.”

  Dara backed up, tripping. She looked for a way out, but one of the men blocked it. He had a crooked, rusty knife and a mocking smile.

  “Don’t be afraid, little one,” said the third—shorter but broad-shouldered. “We won’t hurt you. Not more than they did, anyway.”

  Her heart hammered like a mallet. She wanted to scream, but her voice stuck.

  “Out of my way!” she managed, not knowing where the courage came from.

  “And if we don’t?” the first thug laughed, showing crooked yellow teeth.

  They advanced. She turned and ran. Their breath and their laughter followed her. Branches slapped her face; the ground slid underfoot. She wouldn’t last. They were faster.

  They caught her in a thick copse. One man grabbed her arm and slammed her to the ground. The hard earth tore a gasp from her. She thrashed, clawing at his forearms.

  “See? She’s got claws,” the second croaked. “I like when they fight.”

  Tears blurred her sight, but she didn’t stop. She kicked one in the knee; he swore and loosened his grip for a heartbeat. She tried to run, but another man yanked her by the hair. She screamed so loudly the sound rang through the forest.

  “Stop it!” she snarled. Their laughter answered her.

  Dara fought wildly, kicking and scratching, but her struggle only amused them. The one with the knife seized her wrists and twisted them behind her. Pain shot through her shoulders. The second man opened a bag and pulled out a thick length of rope.

  “Easy now, miss,” he hissed, winding the filthy cord around her arms. “Hold still and I won’t nick you.”

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  “Let me go!” she shouted, but her voice sank into the stale air, swallowed by the trees.

  “I like that spark,” the third laughed. “This could be fun.”

  Once her hands were bound, the thug with the cudgel shoved her between the shoulders. She fell, scraping her knees on stones.

  “Up,” he growled. “We’ve got a quiet spot for you.”

  Blood pounded in her temples. She knew exactly what they meant to do. The knowledge was worse than fear. Tears stung her eyes, but anger and despair forced her forward.

  See, Father? Not a well-born suitor—just cutthroats to have me.

  She remembered how she’d cursed her parents. By the gods, I brought death on them. Everything around her felt distant, unreal.

  “How much gold d’you think we’ll find in those burned-out huts?” the short one asked. “Maybe someone hid something in the cellars.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. First we’ve got our fun,” said the one with the knife, staring at Dara. “You don’t get chances like this. The last one was too fat and had a wart on her cheek.”

  “And you got to her first anyway. This time I start,” the third said, whistling and twirling his club.

  “The hell you do,” the smallest snapped. “We’ll throw lots.”

  She bit her lip until blood welled. Every step deeper into the forest felt like descending into hell. If she did nothing, they would violate her—and that would only be the beginning. Either they’d drag her along to abuse her night after night, or leave her for the demons. She searched desperately for an idea. A branch. A rock. Anything. But the ropes held tight.

  They stopped in a small glade where the moss was soft and damp. The thugs flung her to the ground. The cord bit into her wrists, wearing the skin raw.

  “Let’s make a fire,” one said. “And make sure she doesn’t scream too loud.”

  “Idiot, no one’s coming,” the other muttered. “Everyone’s dead already.”

  Dara tried to crawl backward, but a hand clamped around her ankle. Pain shot up her leg.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” she heard above her. “We haven’t even started. Scream all you want, girl. I like it.”

  She looked up into dead, empty eyes. He didn’t see a person—just a toy.

  Her heart pounded faster. One of the men dropped to his knees beside her and yanked her by the hair.

  “Wanna live, little girl? Then be nice. Maybe we’ll feed you tomorrow.”

  Tears streaked down her cheeks, but one thought drowned out everything else: I have to get away. I have to outsmart them. I have to, have to, have to.

  She lay face-down in the forest litter. Her heart thundered; cold sweat slid down her spine. One bandit had already torn off his belt. Another pinned her arms, his knee grinding between her shoulder blades.

  “Easy now. Won’t take long,” he hissed in her ear. His breath stank of beer and rot.

  The third lingered nearby, sniggering—like he’d stumbled on a purse full of gold.

  Dara kicked and twisted, but the ropes drained her strength, and the man on top of her held her fast.

  Then something yanked. A snarl ripped through the trees. A scream—raw, panicked—split the night.

  The weight on her back vanished. The man above her was lifted clean off the ground. He shrieked once before the sound broke off in a wet, choking crunch.

  The other two froze. One snatched for his knife on instinct. The other stumbled backward—eyes wide, reflecting an eerie black flame. At last they understood: something in the forest was hunting them.

  A wolf-shaped nightmare slipped out of the shadows—massive, matted in dark fur, its muzzle dripping blood, its fangs long and curved. The same kind she’d seen in the village. A demon.

  They didn’t even move when it leapt.

  It struck so fast the first bandit didn’t raise a guard. The demon’s claws tore across his chest, dragging bone into the open. He collapsed, drowning in his own blood.

  The last man tried to flee, but his legs tangled beneath him. He hit the ground and scrambled, clawing at the dirt.

  “No… no, please—!”

  There was no mercy. The demon wolf lunged and clamped its jaws around his throat, crushing it in a single bite.

  Dara crawled, dragging herself forward on her elbows. The rope burned her wrists; her legs buckled beneath her. She forced herself upright, swayed—and then ran, even with her arms bound. Her clothes hung in rags, but she ran.

  The forest swallowed her like a shadow. Branches whipped her face, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t look back. She left behind fire, ashes, people, and demons. She had no idea where she was going or whether she would survive.

  But she was alive—and for now, that was enough.

  She had to live.