“She’s just a girl,” a voice says, appalled.

The soldier holding my hands grunts in agreement. “She can’t be older than my daughter.”

My face bare before these men sends a cold flush of adrenaline through me. It’s enough that my eyes shoot open and I’m able to see... somewhat. I wince as the sunlight makes my head pound worse.

A small squad of soldiers face out, dutifully obeying. The soldier holding my wrists watches me with compassionate blue eyes. Crow feet and smile lines crowd his face, but he remains a well-defined man for his age.

His hair, blond and streaked with grey, is pulled back in a warrior's tail, braided at the scalp and ending just below the beginning of the leather holding the tail. Well made chain link covers his chest and legs. A sword juts out from where he’s crouched beside me.

He’s a tall man, as his face is nearly to my own when he’s bended down on a knee, despite me sitting on a high ledge of the grungy water fountain. My legs swing off the edge of the fountain ledge like a toddler sitting in her mother's chair.

As I struggle no more in his grip, the man kneeling before me releases his hold on my hands.

It irritates me to no end to sit at their mercy. I'm done being a damsel in distress.

The hand on my shoulder stills my attempt to get up. “Easy now. We won’t harm ye.”

I blink, squinting when my eyes don't wish to focus on the second blob. But then it clicks why the guy seems slightly familiar. The second man squatting in front of me is the man who escaped from the criminals earlier—leaving me behind.

“You?” I whisper loudly, and not particularly nicely. Mother would either have my hide for being mean... or she would join me in wanting to stab the fellow for abandoning me to a bloodthirsty group of criminals who were trying to kidnap the man now sitting before me. It's a fifty-fifty with her.

The man smiles, but his brown eyes behind his new glasses (the old ones were broken. I remember that fact. Yay me.) still carries uncertainty and concern, and the black eye continues to blacken as he moves delicately, trying to find a position that doesn't bring pain.

“You thought I went and left you, eh?” His tone betrays humor and a hint of hurt that someone would think that.

I chuckle, then hold my head in my hands as it pounds. My opinion of this tall, thin man has changed a bit. Mayhap mother would've berated me for my malice after all.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

The soldier with the warrior's tail lifts my chin. I wince as he probes the gash above my eye from the board.

“Gotcha good, didn't they?” he asks, a hard glint in his eyes that chills me. This is a dangerous man.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I nod. Even that slight movement sends spikes of pain through the back of my head. My hand finds the back of my head and I feel something warm and wet. My fingers are coated in red.

The older soldier curses. He steps into the fountain behind me so he can see, regardless of the green water splashing beneath his boots and encasing it up to the ankle of what I hope is waterproof leather.

Gently, he eases my head around so that he can expose the wound. I hiss through clenched teeth to keep from yelping as he pokes and prods it.

"You need a healer. Sooner than later." The older soldier has the cultured accents of a noble with the commanding tones of a leader.

He pulls a small herb-infused cloth from a bag and gently wraps it around my head to help the bleeding stop. He puts pressure on the area and I bite my lip to keep from squawking.

"No fracture, far as I can tell. But one nasty hit. The Guild will see you."

My eyes snap open. Ran. She’s close. And she rages. I try to reach out to her, but all I feel is a deep, animalistic anger. She will protect her pack. Even if she has to die trying.

The last thought sends panicked adrenaline through my veins. I don’t want her to die for me. A place deep in my heart—I attempt to ignore it—says I would do the same for her.

The rage grows in increasing intensity, and a hair-raising howl fills the air from one of the side alleys leading to the fountain. If she continues, she is likely to hurt someone, or worse. And the men before me won't go down without a fight. Losing my bond is not an option. These men getting hurt is not an option.

I draw up my hood and stand. My knees shake for a moment. The grizzled soldier and coward turned savior each grab a shoulder as I waver. My hands hold my bruised ribs as I fight to find balance and breath.

I nod to each of them and they release me. Both have disbelief warring with concern in their wide eyes. The big soldier with the cultured upbringing narrows his eyes, as if considering something I wouldn't appreciate. Perhaps he's debating tossing me over his shoulder—if so, I'd like to see him try.

A ring of steel accompanies the naked flash of the surrounding soldiers' blades—still keeping their half-moon formation—facing out. They cast wide eyes at each other, their hands white on the leather hilts. I step between two young men only a little older than me. One reaches out a hand to stop me from facing the wolf.

“Let her through,” the grizzled soldier behind me commands in a controlled tone accustomed to being obeyed.

The young man beside me removes his hand but continues to watch, as if waiting for me to tip over. Have I found some of the good men still left in this world? If so, they are few and far between.

A growl emerges from the shadow between two buildings. Ran pads out with razor sharp talons bared and scoring the ground with every step, causing sparks to fly. Pure white fur bristles on end, and her mane rises around her neck, causing her to look twice her size. The terror of her appearance only heightens the vision that is my wolf. She is beautiful, even as she terrifies the living daylights out of me. Her eyes glow a deep blood red as she paces out of the darkness one measured step at a time.

The hunter to the prey.

A message.

Leave and live. Stay and die.