Chapter 12 Ambush on the Road

Logan’s POV

"Alpha Logan," Bowie said respectfully, keeping his eyes down. "Both horses are ready for the journey north."

I nodded, then turned to find Valencia standing near the stable entrance. She looked small and uncertain, her eyes fixed on the horses with barely concealed nervousness.

She's never ridden before, I realized, noting how she kept a careful distance from the animals.

The grey mare stamped its hoof, and Valencia actually flinched. Something in my chest tightened at the sight. I'd planned to have her ride separately, but watching her obvious fear made me reconsider.

"Come here," I commanded, my voice perhaps softer than necessary.

She approached hesitantly, her purple eyes darting between me and the horses. Without warning, I reached down and lifted her by the waist. She gasped as I settled her onto my stallion.

"Alpha, I—" she started to protest.

"You'll ride with me," I cut her off.

I swung up behind her in one fluid motion, my thighs bracketing hers, my chest against her back. She went rigid immediately, her spine straight as an iron rod.

"Relax," I said close to her ear, reaching around her to gather the reins. My arms formed a cage around her body. "If you're this tense, you'll be sore within an hour."

"I've never..." she whispered.

"I know." My hands guided the stallion forward with ease. "Hold onto the saddle horn if you need to."

Knox stirred in my mind, surprisingly content. She fits perfectly, he observed with satisfaction.

Don't start, I warned him.

But he was right. Valencia's body aligned with mine in a way that felt... natural. Her head barely reached my collarbone. The curve of her back pressed against my chest with each of the horse's movements.

"Thank you, Alpha Logan," Bowie called as we exited the stables. "Safe travels to Cliffwatch."

The castle gates opened before us, and we rode out into the grey morning. Behind us, Mistmarsh Pack's dark towers receded into the mist.

Valencia’s POV

I'd never been on a horse before. Never been allowed near one—horses were for warriors and nobility, not slaves. Now I sat perched on Alpha Logan's massive white stallion, acutely aware of every point where our bodies touched.

His chest was solid against my back. His arms surrounded me as he held the reins, and I could feel the controlled strength in his movements. Each time the horse shifted, I was pressed more firmly against him.

My face burned with embarrassment. I tried to sit upright, to maintain some distance, but the horse's gait made it impossible. Within minutes, my muscles were aching from the effort of staying rigid.

"I told you to relax," Logan's voice rumbled behind me, close enough that I felt his breath on my ear.

"I'm trying," I managed.

"No, you're not. You're fighting the horse's movement instead of moving with it."

I didn't know how to explain that it wasn't the horse I was fighting—it was the terrifying awareness of him. His scent surrounded me. His body heat seeped through my thin dress.

The landscape changed as we rode. The marshlands gave way to rolling hills, then to dense forest. The road narrowed, forcing the horse to slow occasionally to navigate between ancient trees.

"How long will it take?" I finally asked, needing to break the silence.

"Nine hours, if we don't stop."

"Is it far? Your pack?"

"It's in the northern mountains. Cliffwatch Pack borders the kingdom's edge."

I wanted to ask more—what was his territory like? His pack? But I bit my tongue.

But then Logan did something unexpected. He pointed with one hand, keeping the reins steady with the other. "See that ridge? That's where Mistmarsh territory ends and neutral ground begins."

I followed his gesture, surprised he'd volunteered information. "Oh."

"We'll cross through neutral forest for most of the journey. Safer that way."

Was he... trying to reassure me? The thought was so foreign I almost couldn't process it.

Yet here he was, his voice almost gentle as he pointed out landmarks along our route.

The horse's rhythm became hypnotic. Despite my best efforts, my body began to relax, swaying with the animal's movements instead of fighting them. My back settled more fully against Logan's chest.

I felt him shift slightly, adjusting his position. His arm tightened fractionally around my waist—steadying me or... something else?

The sun climbed higher as we rode, filtering through the forest canopy in golden shafts. Birds sang in the trees. A deer bounded across our path, startling me enough that I gasped and pressed back harder against Logan.

His hand moved from the reins to my hip, steadying me. "Just a deer."

But his hand stayed there even after I'd relaxed again. The weight of it burned through the thin fabric of my dress.

Logan’s POV

By midday, we reached a small clearing beside a stream. The water ran clear over smooth stones, and sunlight dappled the grass. My stallion needed rest, and truthfully, so did I. Not from the riding—but from the constant awareness of Valencia's body against mine.

"We'll stop here," I announced, dismounting in one smooth motion.

Valencia remained frozen on the horse, clearly uncertain how to get down. I reached up and gripped her waist, lifting her down easily. For a brief moment, her body slid along mine, and I felt every curve, every soft place.

Focus, I ordered myself sharply.

"There's water," I said, perhaps more gruffly than necessary. "Drink. Rest."

She nodded and moved toward the stream with careful steps. I watched her kneel by the water's edge, cupping her hands to drink. The sunlight caught in her brown hair, and for a moment, she looked almost ethereal.

Why do I keep noticing these things?

I turned away, busying myself with the horses. I loosened the saddle, checked their hooves, gave them water. Routine tasks that should have cleared my mind.

Instead, my thoughts kept circling back to her.

That torn dress. It was practically falling apart, held together by the few intact seams. Once we reached Cliffwatch, I'd have the pack's seamstress make her proper clothing. Multiple dresses, a cloak, boots that actually fit.

Why does it matter what a slave wears?

The thought of her in that ragged dress, shivering and exposed, made something primal rise in my chest. She was mine. My property deserved better than scraps.

Except... was that really all she was? Property?

Knox's presence pushed against my consciousness. You saved her. You defended her. You killed for her. Stop pretending you don't feel it.

I didn't answer. Because he was right. I did feel it—this pull to protect her that went beyond any rational explanation. It should have been impossible.

"Alpha?"

Valencia's voice pulled me from my thoughts. She stood a few feet away, her hands twisted nervously in front of her.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, I just... wondered if we were leaving soon."

I studied her face. She looked exhausted, though she was trying to hide it. Dark circles shadowed those unusual purple eyes.

"We have time," I said. "Sit. Rest properly."

She hesitated, then lowered herself onto a fallen log. I should have turned away, focused on the horses. Instead, I found myself walking over to her.

"Your dress," I said abruptly. "It's falling apart."

She looked down at herself, color rising in her cheeks. "I know. I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't apologize." The words came out sharper than intended. "When we reach Cliffwatch, I'll have proper clothing made for you."

Her eyes widened. "Alpha, that's not necessary. I'm just—"

"Yes, it is." I cut her off, my jaw tight. "You're part of my household now. You'll be dressed appropriately."

The justification sounded hollow even to my own ears.

Valencia was staring at me with an expression I couldn't quite read—surprise mixed with something that might have been hope.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Those two simple words did something strange to my chest. I turned away before she could see whatever might show on my face.

"Finish resting," I said gruffly. "We leave in ten minutes."

Valencia’s POV

The afternoon passed in a blur of forest and sunlight. My body had finally adjusted to the horse's rhythm, and I found myself almost comfortable in Logan's arms.

But then everything changed.

Logan went rigid behind me. His entire body tensed, muscles coiling like a predator about to strike. One hand moved from the reins to rest on his sword hilt.

"What's wrong?" I whispered.

"Quiet." His voice was barely audible. "Something's not right."

I strained my ears, trying to hear what he heard. The forest had gone silent. No birdsong. No rustling of small animals in the undergrowth.

Logan dismounted in one fluid motion and pulled me down after him. "Stand behind me. Don't move. Don't make a sound."

Terror flooded through me. I pressed myself against his back, my hands fisting in his shirt.

Then I heard it—the snap of twigs. Footsteps. Multiple sets.

Six men emerged from the trees, surrounding us in a loose circle. They wore dark clothing and masks covered their faces. But I could see their cold eyes. Armed with swords and crossbows.

Logan's hand never left his sword hilt. "Who are you?" His voice carried that lethal calm I'd heard before. "What do you want?"

The leader—taller than the others, stepped forward. "Alpha Logan. We have no quarrel with you. Give us the girl, and you can leave unharmed."

My blood turned to ice. They were here for me.

Logan's laugh was dark and entirely without humor. "You actually think I'm going to hand over my people?"

"She's not worth dying for," another attacker said. "She's just a slave."

"She's mine." Logan's voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "That's all that matters."

I felt the moment he decided. His muscles bunched, his breathing changed. He was going to fight.

"Valencia," he said without turning his head. "When I shift, run. Find cover. Don't look back."

The shift was immediate. Logan's body erupted in a cascade of bone and muscle, fur and fang. Within seconds, Knox stood where Logan had been.

The attackers hesitated for just a moment. Then they shifted too—brown and grey wolves, large but nowhere near Knox's size.

The fight was brutal and swift. Knox moved like liquid death, his jaws crushing one attacker's spine before the others even finished their shifts. Blood sprayed across the forest floor.

I should have run. Logan had told me to run. But I was frozen, watching the carnage unfold.

Three wolves circled Knox, trying to coordinate their attack. He was faster, stronger, more experienced. But they had numbers.

And then I heard it—words that made my heart stop.

"Angalia! Usimdhuru msichana mwenye macho ya zambarau!"

（Careful! Don't hurt the purple-eyed girl!）

The voice was speaking Aldermer's dialect. My native tongue.

Another attacker lunged at me while Knox was occupied. He shifted mid-leap, his human form landing in a crouch. "

"Macho yake... yapo—!"

（Her eyes... it's—!）

He never finished. Knox's jaws closed around his throat, crushing his windpipe. But the damage was done.

They knew. They knew about my purple eyes. They knew what it meant.

These weren't Elton's men. These were from Aldermer. From home.

Knox tore through the remaining attackers with ruthless efficiency. The last one—the leader—fell to his knees as Knox's claws raked across his side, forcing him back to human form.

"Please," the man gasped, clutching his bleeding side. "Please, we were just following orders—"

Logan shifted back, grabbing his torn shirt from the ground. "Whose orders? Who sent you?"

"We were hired to capture the purple-eyed girl. Bring her back to—"

An arrow whistled through the air, piercing the man's throat. He made a wet, gurgling sound and collapsed.

Logan whirled toward the source of the arrow, but the forest was empty. Whoever had fired remained hidden.

"Fuck," Logan snarled, scanning the trees. His body was tense, ready for another attack.

But none came. The mysterious archer had eliminated the last witness and disappeared.

Logan turned to me, his gray eyes intense. "Are you hurt?"

I shook my head, unable to speak. My mind was reeling.

They came for me. People from Aldermer came for me. They recognized my purple eyes. What did that mean? Why would anyone from my home kingdom hunt me after fifteen years?

Logan began searching the bodies, checking their clothes and weapons. "Professional killers," he muttered. "Quality gear, but no identifying marks." He stood, his expression dark. "Elton. It has to be. He threatened you yesterday, and today he sends assassins."

I wanted to tell him he was wrong. That these men spoke Aldermer's dialect, that they seemed to know exactly who I was. But I couldn't. If Logan knew I was from the enemy kingdom, he might kill me himself.

So I stayed silent, my secret burning like acid in my throat.

"This isn't safe," Logan said, still scanning the forest. "That archer is still out there. We need to move. Now."

He whistled, and his stallion trotted over. Logan lifted me onto the horse with more urgency than gentleness, then swung up behind me.

"We're riding through the night," he said grimly. "No more stops until we're far from here."

His arms came around me, holding me tighter than before.